The open cage
She would go under the bed, under the table, to the unapproachable hidden places. We will call out her name, but she won’t respond. Finally I would find her and drag her out from her hiding place. Only to hold her, hug her, and kiss her. She would want to run away, trying to get rid of my grip, and I would hold her tighter. I wonder if she understands that all I want is to shower her with my love. Does she understand that holding her seems therapeutic to me? Does she know that’s the kind of power she holds on me?
But she would go away again, to those unapproachable places. Probably hiding from me, from us, from the world. Or probably just wanting to stay by herself, just needing and wanting her space. Because, after all, she had been caged without being actually put in a cage — having the liberty to move around freely in the house, a false sense of freedom that she could do whatever she wanted but within these boundaries and with further restrictions. Because when she did something that wasn’t expected of her, she was scolded at. She was told off if she was caught attempting to do something she wasn’t supposed to. After all there were expectations to be met within these restrictions.
She had accepted it, she had gotten used to it, to all of it. She had started to learn from the scoldings, to try her best to stick to the expectations. After all she liked to be loved when she came out of hiding, when she didn’t want to be by herself. She was comfortable with the restricted freedom. In fact she was comforted by these confined boundaries. Because when the door would be wide open, she would simply sit in amazement and just stare outside. And perhaps sometimes you would see her trying to move towards the door only to come back inside. That could have been the best unapproachable place — the outside, with the world as her oyster. But she didn’t want to escape. She would hide, only to be found, to come back with a surety to be loved.
I wondered how it would be — for her to step out of that door one day? For her to be lost but be completely free? For her to not know what to expect from the world and, at the same time, to not have the burden to adhere to anyone’s expectations. Sure, many would want to take her in and shower her with love. But I could see her rejecting those bouts of love, the love she would not want. And finally she would be found by someone. Someone who she would accept. Someone who would let her go under the table, under the bed, and not drag her out. Someone who would shower her with all the love when she does come out. And she would do things that are not expected from her, without any scoldings. She will learn new things, whatever she wants, she would learn from her mistakes, without being told off. Because this time she will confide in those confinements and it will be her choice. Because this time she would stand up to the expectations that she would set herself.
This is the story of my kitty who has a comfortable life that she enjoys happily living with us. When I was lost in the wonderland with her, it was a life that I could only imagine for her. Because this is also the story of my life.
A life where I was given all the love and the freedom. They told me I could achieve my dreams and that I should. And I did. They told me to find my own identity and that it was important. And I did. I went out and did all I wanted, all I wished. And now, they call me back home to claim their love. A love that now seems imposed and overbearing in the home that has now started giving me a false sense of freedom. Because now they tell me that those achieved-dreams and found-identity don’t hold any value, until they are validated. And I need to find “someone” to validate those for me, with me. Because now they have left the door open for me to “officially” step out. I still do have pseudo freedom, so I reject the validations that don’t seem worthy. But in the process I am seeing my worth slowly fading away. And now when I want to hide under the table, under the bed, I see those spots taken up by the kitty. Maybe she took up my share of love too, the unconditional love that I was supposed to get. But wait, it was never unconditional. After all, the kitty taught me that. Because now I understand that the love for an Indian daughter always comes with a set of restrictions and expectations attached.
