"This is our daughter’s house, not ours."
"Appa, please put this glass in the sink, not on the table. Meera will come back from work and get upset; she doesn’t like a mess. And please take your newspaper, books, glasses, and medicines from here too. The living room should be neat and clean. I’ll make coffee for Meera,” Karthik said to his father, Ramesh, as he continued his work.
Ramesh had recently undergone heart surgery. He had come to the city at his daughter's invitation for better medical treatment. The treatment was ongoing, and the doctor had prescribed medications that needed to be taken on time. Just then, his wife, Lakshmi, entered the room and began tidying up, anxious that if anything was left out of place, their daughter would get upset again, as she had the day before. She picked up the glass herself and put it in the sink.
"Karthik, can you make some tea for your father and me too? It’s getting quite cold," she said to her son, who was busy preparing coffee.
"Oh, Amma! You both just had tea, and now you want more? You need to learn to control yourself a bit. Why drink tea all the time?" Karthik replied.
Hearing this from her son left Lakshmi stunned. She had come to her daughter's house thinking it was her own, but now she realized it wasn’t. They were merely guests here, where even their meals and tea seemed rationed. Back in their village home, she could enjoy tea or snacks whenever she wanted. But here, she had to tread carefully before expressing any desire. They had moved here out of necessity. She and Ramesh had been living a simple, peaceful life until his health suddenly deteriorated. When they consulted a village doctor, the medications provided little help. Upon hearing this, Karthik urged them to come to the city for proper medical care.
Lakshmi somehow managed to bring Ramesh to the city, consulted a doctor, and learned about an expensive treatment.
"Amma, do you have the full amount for Appa's treatment? Only then can I proceed; otherwise, figure it out," Karthik said bluntly.
Holding back her tears, Lakshmi handed over all the money they had from selling their crops to her son. Only then did Karthik take them to the doctor and begin the treatment.
"Let’s leave, Lakshmi. I don’t want to stay here. I feel suffocated in this house. This is our daughter’s house, not ours," Ramesh kept insisting.
"Please, lie quietly. I’m not educated enough to understand these doctor’s prescriptions, and that’s why we had to come to the city. Now, whatever our daughter and son-in-law do, we must bear," she consoled him. "Once the treatment is done, we’ll return."
Meera came home from work. She was known to be quite short-tempered and indifferent towards her in-laws. As soon as she arrived, Karthik handed her the coffee and turned back to his work.
Lakshmi, a diabetic, often felt hungry. It was evening, and the cook hadn’t arrived yet. Lakshmi was growing hungry, but only the cook was allowed access to Meera’s kitchen—Lakshmi had no permission to do anything there.
"I know you’re hungry, Amma, and the cook hasn’t come today. Let’s just go back home. In our daughter’s house, our hunger and existence have no value," Ramesh said.
Just then, Karthik entered the room. "Meera and I are going to a party. There’s some leftover chapati from this morning; you can eat that. I’ve left some pickle out for you."
"But your father is a heart patient; he needs khichdi..." Lakshmi began, but Karthik and Meera ignored her and left for the party.
Lakshmi checked the casserole—there were only two thin, papad-like chapatis. She wasn’t accustomed to eating cold chapatis like this. Back in the village, she always had hot, thick rotis. Gathering her courage, she cooked khichdi for Ramesh, fed him his medicines, and then ate the cold chapatis herself.
She had taken some items out for cooking but lacked the energy to put them back. Karthik and Meera returned late at night and went straight to their room to sleep.
The next morning, Lakshmi was woken by loud voices. She rushed outside.
"Amma, who gave you permission to make khichdi in my house and mess up the kitchen?" Karthik’s voice echoed, clearly speaking on behalf of his wife, as Meera rarely needed to voice her complaints.
This time, Lakshmi couldn't hold back. "Yes, I know this is your house, and only your rules apply here. But let’s not forget that this flat was bought by your father selling his land. We have no rights in this house, not even the right to cook or eat what we want. In this household, we can’t even have a second cup of tea. Yet, when you were young, we went without meals to ensure you had milk every day. We indulged your whims, running after you to feed you the food you loved, simply to see you smile. Your father and I set aside our own preferences for yours."
"In this house, you and your wife can live however you wish, but your parents aren’t allowed to feel happy. Your house feels like a prison to us, where we can’t act as per our own will. Yes, son, this is your house, where your mother can’t even breathe freely. I’ve called your uncle back in the village, and we’re leaving for home this afternoon. Keep your perfect house for yourselves. By God’s grace, we have our home in the village where we will spend our old age; we’ll never set foot in your house again."
"You didn’t feel ashamed asking your sick, weak father to put down the glass in the sink. You could have done it yourself, but you’re too busy catering to your wife to care for us."
Karthik realized his mistake, but it was too late. Lakshmi left with Ramesh for their village home.
Yes, it’s true—just as children live freely in their parents’ homes for years, enjoying meals and comforts, parents cannot live or eat freely in their children’s homes.
