Leaving behind the familiar and embracing the unknown
As I stood at the threshold of my father’s home, clutching my dupatta and fighting back tears, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of eeriness. I couldn’t help but think, “This is it. I’m finally leaving the nest… and my four sisters’ constant nagging!” It was as if I was bidding farewell to a part of myself, leaving behind the comfort and security that had cradled me for so long. The occasion was my rukhsati, the traditional ceremony marking a bride’s departure from her paternal home after marriage. Little did I realize that this moment would evoke feelings akin to those experienced in the face of death.
Rukhsati makes us to leave behind the dearest things in life. The warmth of our family, the familiarity of our home, and the comfort of our childhood are all left in the past, like a fading memory. The pain of separation is palpable, a grief that refuses to subside.
As I gazed around the room, taking in the faces I had grown up with, I felt a pang in my heart. My father’s reassuring smile, my mother’s gentle touch, and my siblings’ playful banter – everything I had ever known and cherished was about to be left behind. The thought sent a chill down my spine, much like the numbness that follows the loss of a loved one. My mother, who had fed me with milk and nourished me with love, and my father, who had fed me with knowledge and instilled in me a thirst for education, were about to become memories I’d cherish from afar.
The journey ahead seemed daunting, a path fraught with uncertainty. Just as death plunges us into the unknown, rukhsati propels us into a new chapter of life, full of uncharted territories and untested waters. The fear of the unknown is overwhelming, a trepidation that grips our hearts and refuses to let go.
Growing up, our home was a chaotic yet loving space. My four sisters and I would fight over everything from clothes to toys, while our parents struggled to keep the peace. But despite the chaos, our parents gave us a comfortable life, sacrificing their own comforts for our sake. My father, in particular, would often say, “I’m feeding you with my blood,” referring to the hard work he put in to provide for us.
Now, as I prepared to leave, I realized that their sacrifices had made me the strong, educated woman I am today. And for that, I’m eternally grateful.
With a heavy heart and a hint of humour, I whispered to my sisters, “You guys are finally getting rid of me! No more borrowing clothes or stealing food from each other’s plates!” We shared a laugh, and in that moment, I knew that even though I was leaving, our memories and our love would stay with me forever.
But as I took my first steps out of my father’s home, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of trepidation. Would my in-laws be as loving and accepting as my own family? Would they understand me, support me, and make me feel at home? The fear of the unknown gripped my heart, and I couldn’t shake off the feeling of uncertainty.
I knew that I would face adjustment problems in my new home. Simple things like waking up early, adjusting to new food habits, and learning to live with new people would become challenges. I would have to navigate a new household, learn to manage my time, and balance my responsibilities. The thought of it all was overwhelming, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was ready for this new chapter of my life.
As I began my journey, I held onto the love and support of my family, knowing that it would be my anchor in the uncertain waters ahead. But a nagging thought lingered in my mind – would my parents’ home still be mine when I returned? Would I still be able to sprawl on the couch, take long naps in my bedroom, and raid the fridge whenever I wanted? Or would I become a stranger in my own home, treated like a guest rather than a daughter?
The thought of being treated like a guest in my own home was daunting. Would I have to knock on doors, ask for permission to enter, and wait for permission to sit or eat? Would my parents still scold me for leaving my clothes on the floor or not helping with chores? Or would they treat me with the respect and courtesy due to a guest, rather than the familiarity and comfort of a family member?
I remember the countless times I had taken my parents’ home for granted, assuming that it would always be mine to come back to. But now, as I stood on the threshold of a new chapter in my life, I realized that nothing was certain. Would I still be able to sit at the dinner table and share stories with my family, or would I be relegated to the guest room, feeling like an outsider in my own home?
The uncertainty was unsettling, but I knew that I had to take this step. I had to leave the comfort and security of my parents’ home to build a life of my own. And so, with a heavy heart and a sense of trepidation, I bid farewell to the only home I had ever known, hoping that it would still be mine to come back to, whenever I needed it.
Rukhsati is a testament to the human spirit’s capacity to overcome, to adapt, and thrive. As I begin this new chapter of my life, I know that I’ll always cherish the memories of my childhood, my family, and the home that will forever be in my heart.