Singin' n wailin' n laughin' n eatin'.

Apr. 17.22.

Helloo! How have you been? Are you looking forward to gadding about? No mo’ lockdown-oh!

Truth to tell, if Ma and I were still in the old family home, lockdown wouldn’t have troubled us. Mosquito or no mosquito!

Seriously though, them Guyana mosquitoes iz bigger than some minibus drivers’ brains.

Them-there mosquitoes scream like the singing engine kite. Weeeeeeeheeeee. And, according to one of my brothers’ friends, they speak English....okay, they know one word. Couzzzzzin couzzzzzin. And they shriek it in our ears day and night (if we ain’t under the mosquito net).

Once upon a time, I, the happy teen, used to catch them and pile up the corpses in a corner, on the floor of my younger sister’s bedroom. The ants were very happy. My sister wasn’t. Could be she was jellis of the ants getting to the free food first. She would wail as though in great hunger after stumbling upon the ants.

The next wailing that could be heard in that home was my brothers and their friends singing Sweet Child In Time. The part that goes aaaaaaa ah yeaaaaah ay ay. The less said, etc. 

Aaah, yes, home was once a busy place. Ma baked on Saturdays. The kitchen would be filled with the heavenly smell of fresh bread, and the sound of young people, siblings, cousins and friends, sneaking in one by one, two by two, to eat hot buttered bread. 

Sad to say, the house was empty when I returned from my vibrant Island days. Only me and Ma now. Grieving. Adjusting. Struggling with heavy emotions. Dealing with power issues. (Let me tell you, parents are Extremely Stubborn People to train. Joke, man, joke).

Bit by bit though, we ended up having many a glorious gyaff...conversation...and delicious lunches with visitors, local and foreign. When the cleaning lady, gardener, and tradesman came to work, they shared hearty chats with my mother and me. 

At nights, if the electricity went off, Ma and I sat in the verandah and waited for comets. In the days, we listened to music.

Slowly, I rediscovered the essence of home. 

It is where we learn to compromise, to adjust, adapt to changes in each other. It is where we play, are our most foolish, most vulnerable selves. We make mistakes, we forgive, we learn again. 

Anyway, enough of me. What does home mean to you? I would love to hear from you. 

Ta-ta for now. Remember, you’ll get my emails in your Inbox if you subscribe right here. 

See you soon , plenty love, neena maiya.