The Return

The girls are returning home.
You can see them – the girls returning home from work. Its little after six, dusk is settling in; the regular offices are shutting down for the day – and you see them. The freshly-minted , as yet unmarried girls , returning to their homes after work. This is a different journey from the returning home from college. They have finished a day at work ; and now relaxing, there they are – these bunch of my younger self , unmindful of themselves and their surroundings. Talking, teasing, no hurry to reach home. They must be so hungry, I think. I distinctly remember a cousin coming home and devouring chapattis from the after-office hunger. 

Some days back, I saw a trio , near the Zuari bridge. Oblivious of the hassle , the dust, the chaos. They were probably discussing which is the best mode of transport to take. Or maybe they weren’t discussing anything at all. I stared at them , so long, that I should rightfully have been called a lecher ; so wanting was I of their unshackled camaraderie. The ease with which they seemed to navigate themselves through that chaos was almost indicative of the ease in which they are wading through life.  Last month, I saw another duo. Leisurely getting off their two-wheeler for a bite at the bhel-puri at Miramar. How utterly delish is this whole scenario! I think to myself. I would love to engage in their banter , join in their office stories and their plans for tomorrow. 
You can see independence. If you can look at them long enough , you can even feel it – the air of strength and of comfort. This isn’t an air of rebellious insouciance; in fact, sometimes , there are no airs at all. They are so enough with themselves. So sure of each one ; such confident strides ; and yet no one is yet filled with an exaggerated sense of one’s own importance , which some might build after years of being pushed to do so. There is a certain lift in their step ; even after the end of the long work-day. They know their home is welcoming them – they are no things to do yet ; they are things to savour! 
Tomorrow, they will get growing in their personal and professional lives. The weariness of the strategies that one adopts at home and at work will lug at them. They will , hopefully, look at another bunch of girls-returning-home and will feel the same sense of impossible nostalgia. And continue to still be their own grown up selves. 

So, to you girl,
This is all that I say
May you always be able to gather your sauce, your juice, your mojo
Wrap it around like a python would.
Never to let go. 

Be strong ; charming.
And all of it , only for you.
The world will pass by.
Walk slowly while coming home. 

Your ability to do will expand.
Your ownership will be strong. 
Always, remember that you are 
The girl who sparked me while returning home.

PS : I see hassled mothers with their kids to-and-froing from classes, fathers too. I see youngsters returning from tuitions or sports. I see the silvers taking leisurely walks. But really, it is these girls-returning-home, that spark me. They spark my interest in new things I have never attempted. They spark me to think of what I was when I was them. 

They spark me to know that I am still them.

The mothers are returning home.
To a house they have built with care , concern, love and cooking with the father. The curtains are theirs ; the cuisine is theirs. The name of the door and the deed is theirs. It has taken some bruises, a lot of thought , some beautiful unraveling and sorting and they are now returning home. 
I see them ; after work. Many with a little knit-brow. I wonder what it causing it, perhaps have-to-pick-up-kid-laundry-grocery. So many times, have to pick up self , amidst this daily to-and-froing that life is offering. This hustle that they never want to stop ; this constant jugglery that is second nature to the mothers returning home. 
There is a steady bustle in their walks or drives or public-transporting. The talks they share with fellow mothers-returning-home centre around matters of importance. I hope they get to exchange their ideas and expand their horizons over myriad topics. Because these are the ideas that will shape the home they are returning to. The home that is parenting so many new concepts ; sewing up so many new issues. With these, the mothers are returning home. These mothers still carry remnants of their office-work with them – be it in their calls, or laptops , and mostly in their minds. The resolve to resolve is now a skin , not borrowed, not thrust upon. 
You can see them talk to their children or husband (on the way ; so as to save precious time at home. Really. Time.Management) about school , food, clothes, news. As the mother grows, she learns to share her day with the family. What she did v/s what they did. They laugh, sometime squabble.  She knows there is more to every story she hears. She is hurrying because she wants to catch her serial or maybe there is a function they are attending later on. 

Mostly she hurries because hurry is the only route she knows to take home. 
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Those girls returning home? They are returning home ; to the home that is built by the mothers returning home. Year-on-Year.
PS : Fathers returning home is as just as fantastical ; but being a young girl once upon a time and a mother now, I will always up my swagger!