Fiction Fragment: On being an adult

She thinks to herself, that this definitely must be a sign of adulthood and independence. Office-going, rent-paying, buying one’s own soap, and a somewhat ill-stocked fridge. She smells the stale air of her barely lived in flat. That, she felt, was indeed the smell of liberation. From the tyranny of conformity that childhood often is.

She was becoming more adult by the day. Wearing colours her mother didn’t approve of. Eating healthy food when she could. Even sticking post-its on various surfaces. Free from the uniformity demanded from children. No uniforms, no matching shirts. She was even invited to a dinner party tonight. The glittering world of individuals.

On stepping through the door, she sees her host’s children. All in a row. Dressed to perfection. Their nails and hair all neatly suppressed into what they ought to be. Her heart tumbles. She adjusts her skirt. She really perhaps couldn’t escape her mother at all.

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8 Comments

Filed under Photographs, Poetry and Fiction

8 Responses to Fiction Fragment: On being an adult

  1. oh yes we do, we so do. Can’t escape the genes, even teeny fragments of it. Unfortunate occasionally..

  2. the host’s children said their good-nights and were packed off to bed. i wasn’t going anywhere. i mingled with the other guests. we spoke about everything under the sun… and i had an opinion about eveything.

    i nursed my lime juice while the others chased bloody marys. the deal with my mother was that i wouldn’t drink. i believe, drinking eats away your soul. or were those my mother’s words?

    the good-looking software sales professional seems interested in me. he’s promised to drop me back home. i am not supposed to have men over in my pad. but maybe he doesn’t have such rules. and i hope he is not living with his parents. i wouldn’t want anything to do with him if he is.

    i’m sure mama will approve of him. he’s got everything she’s looking for. for me.

  3. I don’t know what’s nicer, the story or the figurines. :-)

  4. dipali

    No escape! Lovely photograph, as usual:)

  5. Sneha

    How does this thing always work perfectly? Do you click random pictures and then build a story around it? Or do you have such a huge stock of random pictures that you *always* find something that goes perfectly with the story?

  6. In a year or two, or maybe a few more, she will slowly start to change. The stale air in her partner’s apartment, the grime on the kitchen cabinets and his mismatched, wrinkled shirts will all irritate and disgust her.

    She will spend hours cleaning her own apartment and ironing her clothes. She will step out of the door with each strand of hair brushed to perfection.

    It will be years before she realizes that she has slowly turned into her mother.

  7. rads: Perhaps if we momentarily stopped trying? :)

    guruprasad: Not exactly what I had in mind for her. Rushing from comforts of one’s nest to matrimony?

    Sines: They are beautiful, aren’t they? I think we had something like this at home, long ago. Wonder what came of it..

    dipali: As a mother, you are incredibly kind towards my stories!

    Sneha: I have no idea. Sometimes I take a picture, and forget about it. And then I chance upon it and it reminds me of something and an entire story is somehow born. At other times, I am in the middle of thinking through a fragment, and the memory of a photograph comes flying in. No method to the madness really..

    Lekhni: Such morbid thoughts!

    Choxbox: Thanks. :)