I miss being ignored

Recently, I’ve noticed that when I call my family, I don’t have much to say. The usual question bank gets exhausted pretty quickly: “How were your classes?” “What did you eat today?” “Have you made any new friends?” After a while, none of us have anything particular to report. So, we sit there in silence. My mother leaves me propped up against her cup of chai as she eats her breakfast. Every few minutes, the phone slips down and my view gradually changes to the ceiling framed by the edge of a blurry cabinet. As it turns out, a cup isn’t a great phone stand. I hear cupboards opening and closing, someone asking where the remote is, my dad saying something from another room, Sayali didi asking my mom what to cook next. Every few minutes, someone remembers I am still there and says, “Mahika?” When I first came to Ann Arbor as a transfer student, I became much more conscious of the silences I had never thought twice about at home.

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