Column

It happens sometimes at home. We sit for dinner, eat, then clear the plates, and return singly, floating back from the kitchen sink, to sit at the table again.

We rest our elbows on the wooden edges, or fiddle with the stuff lying around, but we are sitting because, after a long day during which we are almost as good as being in different hemispheres, we want to talk.

Not necessarily about important matters. Yes, sometimes that could be the issue. A pending purchase, (like the fact that we have been toying with the idea of a dishwasher; should we, should we not; and need to come to a decision), but most often it is just to talk.

To share the evening, to hear one another’s voices, to bridge the gap that the day has caused toyawn between us as we go about being ourselves more than being part of a family.

It is effortless, and I realise as I look into many homes across the world, a vital part of being a family.

Something about after dinner time makes it special. There is a quietude that enters the air at this time, it is as if, with the day’s chores done, you can forget the other little bits and pieces still waiting, like clothes to be put away, bedclothes to be folded in preparation for sleep, and suchlike; and concentrate on relaxing together.

It is as if, in fact, words hang in the air waiting to be exchanged, articulated. Everyone is a bit more at ease, with the food warming the insides, and all edginess smoothed out.

And whether it is at the sink while washing up is being done, or over coffee or cocoa after dinner, or just over a platter of sweets, this is when real family time begins.

I don’t know about other families, but on days when we are scattered, when I have a late night or someone else comes home after dinner, the magic is missing. The rest of the family does gather as usual but the charmed circle is not quite complete.

Families that eat together grow together. This is a given. Yet how many make the effort?
There are homes where people meet like ships in the night, while crossing each other in the hall way, or while rushing out or trooping in late at night, shoes in hand, so as not to disturb the sleeping.

There are meals that stand endlessly on tables, waiting to be eaten piecemeal; the elders eating at nightfall, the juniors as they watch television soaps, mindless of the taste and texture of the food they consume, and the hep party-goers spending weeks without ever knowing what has been cooked at home.

Yet, sad but true, families today live in different spheres. Dinnertimes are spent watching women in borrowed clothes and jewellery annihilate each other emotionally and in many homes, in another room, the younger set would be placing bets over who the winners will be at the latest dance and song show.

I remember times when every festival had a lead up ritual to it, and it was concerned with food.

The making of sweets was a family affair, concerning sometimes the extended family, or at least all the women in the home, mother and daughters sitting rolling out this, kneading that, frying, basting, cooking, filling steel containers in readiness for the big day. It was a sure fire means the ancients had invented to help bonding.

Today, much of it is gone. Even in the smaller towns, the readymade sweet and the made to order savoury is what the Gods are offered, and as they don’t complain, no oneminds either.

It is the equivalent of well-to-do NRIs sending a sizeable cheque home every month to parents who would rather do with less money and more human company, who would prefer an hour of conversation with their children instead of the company of paid nurses and caretakers.

This is indeed the age ofcommunication.

So switch off that TV set, convince junior he must put away the blockbuster his nose is buried in, tear the younger one away from the computer monitor and sit down together to enjoy a meal. And watch the bonding happen.

Email: ssaran@dnaindia.net.