Growing pains
By Godaya

I know I know, I haven't been here for a while. And certain other columnists have been slowly creeping into my readership. But now I'm back to claim what is rightly mine.

The past week has been adventurous - to say the least. My parents flew off to Europe, leaving me to fend for my tender self. Three weeks without parental guidance. It's a world crisis worse than Darfur just waiting to happen. They've left irons where I can reach them, have not disconnected the gas cylinder, and a large amount of my "Under Medical Supervision" pain pills all around the place. Even the electricity outlets haven't been child-proofed. Do you know that the average 23-year-old youngster has the same risk of death due to domestic accidents, as that of the average journalist to be abducted in this country? "That's a very high risk you're taking Godaya!" I hear you say. But yet, here I am (almost) all alone at home, with only my dog for company.

And then a friend volunteered to come over. Joy! What was going to be three weeks surviving on kade food, changed. A hasty trip to the super market had to be made. Food was to be bought, and worse, cooked! Disaster in the making.

So there I was happily shopping away, navigating the cart through the urban wilderness of supermarket aisles, and then I saw it: A three in one packet of Jelly! It had a packet of Strawberry Jelly! Jelly had to be made.

So I came home, made Strawberry jelly, had a dinner of bread and chicken curry, watched a movie and slept. This is going to be easy, or so I thought. Woke up the following day (Sunday) at around six in the morning. And then it struck me: They were gone. I, an innocent 23-year-old creature was left all alone at home. To show how innocent I am, I'll quote one person who said "Being mean to you is like kicking a puppy." That statement alone tells you how innocent I am, doesn't it?

Breakfast and lunch were not issues that needed much pondering, thanks to a bottle of fried Seeni Sambol and the local Bath Kade. We were properly fed and satisfied. I, however, for a very short time. I just had to have a brainwave of making…soup.

A look at the deep freezer showed me that there was beef in it, so a quick trip to the supermarket was needed to get the rest of the veggies. I came back triumphant with my haul of mushrooms, potatoes, beans, carrots, and cabbage. I mean, how difficult can this soup business be?

A second friend also comes over. Even more joy! Now I have two people to boss around. Since neither of them knew the culinary arts, I decided the wisest thing to do is to pretend that I do. Worked out quite well, because ten minutes into the adventure I found myself ordering two people around telling them to dice this and peel this and wash that.

Soup was made, everybody (including the dog) was fed, and everyone was happy. No trips to the hospital, no calls to 119, no people running out of the house gagging. Casualties were at an all time low at the Godaya household.

This was a couple of days ago. Now I'm settling into a routine of doing things on my own. While the parents are munching on god-knows-what-they-eat-in-Sweden, I'm happily eating away at Kade food. But I've made a new discovery.

Cost of living is quite high. A trip to the supermarket for basic fruits and vegitables cost an arm and a leg. Thankfully, father dearest made sure that the car was pumped full of fuel before he left, so that's one worry off my shoulders. But one of the empty gas cylinders keeps reminding me that I've got to get a new one, every time I pass it by. And that's where my discovery lies.

Parents, are like good butlers. Wait, don't get exited here. Parents like all good butlers do the routine things in such a smooth way, that we don't even notice. Even for a person at the tender young age of 23, parents manage to make the everyday worries disappear from our radar. And when they leave, we fend for ourselves. And then we realize what they've been silently doing for us all the time. Its time we start taking responsibility.

(I know for a fact that my father would rub that last line in my face, for years to come.)

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