The University has a way of sucking me in and keeping me so occupied I forget to communicate with the outside world. This is especially true with my family, who routinely flood my phone with messages, calls and FaceTimes requests. My inbox is full of voicemails, alternating labelled “Dad” and “Mom,” with the occasional message from my sister sprinkled in. I guess they kind of miss me sometimes.
The other day, though, the occasion arose for me to finally make a call to them: my mother’s birthday. In classic Sumedha fashion, despite the reminder on my phone and the note in my planner, I forgot. It took the sights and sounds of Newcomb dinnertime to make me remember. I guess Baby Bash’s “Cyclone” does wonders for my memory.
Realizing I had royally screwed up, I quickly excused myself from my table and found an isolated corner in the back of the dining hall — everyone’s favorite place for intimate family conversations. My mother picked up in exactly one ring. I wished her a happy birthday and apologized profusely for the late call. I asked her what she wanted in hopes of appeasing her and subduing my own guilt. I should have anticipated her response.
“What I need is for you to call more often! How do I know you are safe and fine? How am I supposed to know anything that you are doing with your life? Are you doing your work? Do you eat? Do you sleep? Do you look both ways before you cross the road? Are you sick? You sound a little sick. OH MY GOSH, YOU’RE SICK, AREN’T YOU? Do you need me to bring you tissues? I can bring some this weekend if you want. You really should call more often.”
Before I could even process my mother’s offer to drive three hours solely to drop off tissues for an illness which did not even exist, the phone was passed to my visiting aunt.
“Why do you make your mother worry like that? You’re not taking care of yourself. Sick already? You should be more careful! You should go to the doctor — don’t sit on that. What have you been up to? It looks like you’re having a lot of fun! So listen, I was on The Facebook and I saw some interesting things… Who is this guy you’re in a picture with? Is he your special friend? Or is it this other one, where you’re wearing the dress? I’m a cool aunt — you can tell me! Here, talk to your cousin.”
Awestruck by my aunt’s knowledge of my social media presence and realizing all of the questions in this conversation were of the rhetorical variety, I remained silent as the phone was handed to my five-year-old cousin.
“Hi! I’m playing video games. Bye!”
We’re very close. Suddenly, I heard the phone rustle, apparently dropped. When it was picked up, I heard soft sobs on the other side — coming from none other than my grandmother.
“How come you never call? We think about you all the time. Who knows how long I’m going to be around to talk to me, and you’re not even taking advantage of this time. Remember how I used to change your diapers? Remember that? Do you remember?”
I did not have the heart to tell her that I did not, in fact, have memories of her changing my diaper, so I just sat in silent discomfort. Luckily, the phone was passed again — this time back to my mother.
“Okay, we’re going to go to dinner now — but call me and update me on your sickness. Take some medicine and let me know if you need those tissues. Bye!”
With that, the whirlwind of a conversation was done. I loved hearing from them — despite only having only said seven words in (and that’s being generous). I guess I’ll have to wait to update them that I am not now — nor was I ever — sick when I call them again in a month. Maybe.
Sumedha’s column runs biweekly Tuesdays. She can be reached at s.deshmukh@cavalierdaily.com.
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