on loving our parents, surviving them, understanding them — and eventually finding them inside ourselves     This morning, after a week-long visit to my place, I saw Mom off on her train back home to Asansol. Yesterday had been her birthday — a quaint, extremely personal celebration that began with puja at Dakshineshwar, followed by a little shopping, a small cake-cutting at home, and dinner with some of her favourite dishes. My friends had been wanting to meet her; some did, while some couldn’t make it owing to their schedules. Some newer friends and acquaintances asked me this week how it felt having Mom stay with me — and today, how I feel now that she’s returning home. And I’ve often said this — “I’ve a tricky relationship with my mother!” I love her. She loves me to the core. I know that. I also know that I cannot imagine living with her under the same roof for more than a few days without eventually wanting to pull my hair out. Both are true. My older friends know it well. For years, I thought the difficult parts of our relationship came from everything that was different between us. Our […]