I don’t say good bye to people, I prefer to just leave without anyone knowing. It’s easy for me that way (maybe difficult for people around me. I don’t know). Sometimes good-byes are emotional affairs and I can’t stand when when someone gets emotional. I hate myself when I get emotional, forget about others. And it was the time to say good bye to my family not that I was going away from home forever but I had never been on myself before. My great-grandpa who was strictly against my parents for sending me to boarding didn’t come, he didn’t like it. My grandparents were there though; I can’t recall what exactly happened that time but one thing I know is that my grannies cried their hearts out (and me too). My mother was calm. She did not cry. She was calming everybody till we got on our car (me, my mom and my dad). And the journey started.
I was on backseat, my mom was on front seat and dad was driving. After we left the town she asked me whether she could sit on backseat with me. She started caressing me after she came to backside; we had small talks about my childhood. She was kind of lost in past memories reminding me of silly questions I asked her when I was small kid , how I refused to go to school , how I bunked it hiding behind our compound wall and how she beat me when she found out. She remembered how I was insistent on having bicycle when my father said no, how I did not let her go to meet her father once. She was talking of me insisting to pick up phone first every time it rang, screaming all over the house to tell everyone when some guests came, asking to eat ‘Puran’(sweet dish) before ‘naivedya’ is served. And then she smoothly moved to telling me that I have now grown old and should learn to live on myself, do my own work, and should not cry when I don’t get what I want and all. And I was just feeling happy to be with her.
We stopped at a town nearby hostel; my dad asked me whether I need anything. I said no. “Are you sure?” he said.
“yes.”, I replied.
And we were ready to go.
I think my dad and my great-grandpa (even my grandpa) talked very little about me leaving home and going to hostel. Not that we talked very little; my great-grandpa would tell me a story every evening after he returns from farm. We all kids used to listen it carefully. He used to make it interesting for us and make it sound like an adventure. Then we all used to have dinner. My grandpa(s) on the other hand was my bank. If I needed money for chocolates, for cricket ball, for buying some fancy toy or anything, they were there always. I would ask “I need some money” and they would say “how much?” that was the bond we shared. No reasons asked.
I used to wait for my dad to come home in the night. We used to have the best time after he came. He would become horse, me the rider and my sister the foal. Jokes, fun and play was all we used to do at home before going to sleep. He would invent a new name for me every day and tease me with it. I used fight with him or sometimes cry. It was all fun.
So I never had too-little talk kind of equation with any of the man in our family but we hardly said goodbye to each other. My great-grandpa went to farm without meeting me. My grandpa and I hardly talked (except take care and all). My dad and I had very brief interaction till we landed in my hostel. May be they are the reason why I don’t like good bye or why I avoid saying good bye. Maybe we all pretend to be hard and stiff and normal when we are broke or hurt or sad inside. Maybe we want to pretend we are men. But we all know that love is there even if we don’t express it or there is very little need to express it