They say moving out is about freedom. About carving your own path and putting some distance between you and the nest. Mine came with a shortcut to maa ke haath ka daal chawal.
Because I didn’t exactly go far. I moved three floors up. Same building, new vibe, and the old smell of tadka still reaches my window by 2 PM sharp.
I assumed the joy would be the obvious stuff. Calling friends over at odd hours, playing music without getting shushed. Turns out it was a vacuum cleaner. And organizers. Who knew a drawer divider could bring this much inner peace?
The chores became the real surprise. Mopping the floor after a long workday turned out to be therapeutic, washing utensils oddly meditative, and refilling the fridge with overpriced almond milk a genuine rite of passage.
The flat became the whole company
This 2BHK isn’t just my space. It’s my lab, my studio, my war room. The team works here now, so big ideas and small chores share one address. I’m building everything I ever dreamt of out of this apartment, a future that smells faintly of Vim and ambition.
And somewhere in all that domestic chaos, it finally landed. I get why my dad enjoys the household chores and the cooking. There’s a quiet joy in maintaining what you built with your own hands.
I guess I didn’t move away. I just moved inward, into myself.
And if I ever mess up too badly, maa’s daal chawal is just a staircase away.
Originally published on Mataroa.