It's a Family Affair

I had to change at Sheffield so, as the train approached the station, I closed the novel I was reading just at the point where one of one of the main characters arrives at – Sheffield station. I know coincidences are commonplace, but this one was extra-coincidental for I was on that train by mistake. I had intended to catch the faster train, in which case I would have arrived at the station long before I encountered Randeep, the character in the novel. Then I would not have alighted with his description fresh in my mind of the place as “bright and airy”. Again, coincidentally, I also found it to be both bright (it was a sunny day) and airy (it is not enclosed like most big city stations).

Unfortunately for Randeep, his first impression is soon subsumed by the gritty realities of daily life, especially as he is there, as an immigrant of questionable status, to try to make money to send back to his family in India. As it happens, I was also on a family support mission, though one far less onerous. I was on my way to stay with my sister and brother-in-law who were in need of logistical support following medical interventions which had left them both with limited mobility. The extent of my selflessness is paltry when compared with Randeep’s, yet our circumstances highlight an everyday dilemma: how much value does one place on personal freedom when it comes at the expense of familial duty? There is truth in the adage “No man is an island”, even though some would like to pretend otherwise. The freedom to please oneself comes and goes, subject to circumstances beyond our control. Therefore, extended periods of self indulgence might be thought of as holidays – on an island, say. I have had quite a few such holidays in my lifetime, but the birds have come home to roost just often enough to remind me that frailty comes to us all and that family support – if you have it – is the first line of defence.

This may begin to sound like I am paying the premium on an insurance policy that is designed to come good when I am in need of help and, to some extent, this would be true but for the fact that there are no guarantees of a payout. The relatives you help may not be inclined to reciprocate – they may even be dead by the time you need to call on them. In any case, I am keeping up the payments. In the past month alone, I have been to three family get-togethers, offered assistance to one elderly aunt and entertained one nephew: not bad for someone with a life-long aversion to the bosom-of-the-family lifestyle. And, in case my aversion to family life should be interpreted as nothing but selfishness, I would like to make a case for my having inherited an independent streak that was subsequently nurtured and honed by the English boarding school system. Where were mummy and daddy when I needed them?

So, I am temporarily living in my sister’s house, immersed in the life of her immediate family and, while it is a pleasure to be with people I like and love, there are certain aspects that jar with my ‘independent streak’: having to hold conversations over breakfast, for example. Of course, I am working hard to accommodate the alien habits of other peoples’ lifestyles and to find ways to carve out some personal space within the family routines. In the end, however, I have to take example from the novel and its characters, all of whom are entwined in the classic, tightly-knit Indian family structure. There, they have a saying: the bigger the family, the easier it is to find your own space within it.