The Threshold Of Tender Ties

Mirthful mayaka's mingling.

- Ritu Kamra Kumar

While travelling in a metro one humid afternoon through the bustling NCR, I caught sight of a newlywed girl seated opposite me — her vermilion shimmering faintly, glass bangles chiming softly with each sway. Plugged into her earphones, she seemed lost in a world woven of memories and monsoon mists. Her gaze was far away, her eyes faintly moist. As the train rattled on, curiosity gently nudged me to glance at her phone screen. It was a song from Bandini (1963):

“Aab ke baras bhej bhaiya ko babul, Sawan me leejo bulia...”

A throb surged in my throat. Despite being in my mellowing years, something about her expression — soft, serene, and soaked in longing — transported me to my own mayka. Though I lost my mother long ago, a deep ache rose in me to rush to my father and hug him — tightly, wordlessly.

Even in today’s progressive world, with supportive spouses and gracious in-laws, the pull of the mayka — a woman’s parental home — remains quietly profound. It is not rebellion, but remembrance. It is not a protest, but a pulse — naïve, noble, and nebulous.

My daughter-in-law Nancy, radiant and rooted, reminds me of this truth. Her mayka happens to be in our own city, yet every visit home brings a spark to her step and a shimmer to her eyes. Whenever she and my son Avinav come over, I ensure she spends time at both homes. And whenever her brother Rishabh arrives to pick her up, I notice the almost cinematic twinkle in her eyes — a reunion of shared codes, inside jokes, and childhood symphonies.