Balvinder Banga shares a personal essay exploring his relationship with his Punjabi mother and the search for connection in the face of inevitable fracture.
No more suits, mortgage, or forced smiles at school open days. No more stories of skiing trips ruined by hotels refusing Amex: commuter belt complaints of moneyed success. I was escaping my life, and a brittle joy shook my soul.
I had driven to see my mother, seeking absolution before fleeing her tiny fortress against the world. Seeking her was a purgative for something I couldn’t understand. Not sure it was England that pushed or India that pulled, my plane ticket was one way.
The journey to her commenced long before I knew where I was heading. On the way, it passed university and a flatlined career unable to find the dizzying peaks I had been assured would await me in London. Universities and careers, these were virgin terrain for my family.