"Beta, you really don’t have a single steel tumbler?”
Dad yelled from over from the kitchen, and I could almost hear the look Mom was giving my cabinets. My folks were in Bangalore for Diwali, and within minutes, my apartment didn’t feel like my place anymore. My kitchen had turned into a mini spice market, packed with steel dabbas and enough snacks to feed the neighborhood. I watched her rearrange everything, quietly accepting that my “system” didn’t stand a chance against her logic.
See, in my world, life’s all about keeping it simple and quick. Coffee’s done in five minutes, food’s mostly takeout, and my whole setup is based on speed and convenience. But now? Every move had become a family debate. “Why don’t you cook more?” “Why so many coffee mugs but no steel glasses?” And honestly, it just cracked me up how differently we did things.
Diwali night, we lit diyas together, and Mom kept adjusting each one until it faced the “right way.” Watching her, it hit me: this wasn’t just about me and them. This whole “different world” thing probably happened when my parents moved out too, back when my grandparents thought their “modern ways” were too fast or too loose. Each generation has its own rhythm, I guess. Everyone tries to set up life their own way, while holding onto what feels like home.
By the time they left this morning, my apartment was this mix of both worlds - their dabbas lined up next to my coffee pods, the kitchen all “reorganized.” And even though I went back to my usual routines, the place felt warmer, like they’d left a bit of home behind. Just a reminder that, no matter how different we all live, we’re all just trying to build a home that feels right.
