Saturday, December 12, 2015

"I was thinking.. Does it ever occur to you that I am sometimes thinking?"

Mom's a bit of a prodder. No maybe I am putting that wrong... she prods..a LOT. I had this protrusion growing underneath my tongue when I was a kid and that worried my parents.  It was a friend to me, till it made it increasingly difficult to eat and then I got operated on to remove it... and here's the thing though, before I'd gotten operated mom had single-handedly held me down and chopped it off with a pair of scissors...and it was somehow legit because she is a doctor. And then it grew back again. Haha.. Tongue Protrusion (TP) 1 Proddy Mother (PM): 0. We'd become friends despite all the pain and trauma...TP and I. Sometimes I run my fingers underneath my tongue just to feel for any traces of its return...

The reason this is all coming back to me now is because this stupid thing that happened to me while waiting for some kachoris on a lovely Saturday morning when I had to go to work(this is how I use an oxymoron in sentences now). There were these men already placing their order at the counter, I was behind them...among these men was a school girl (I know because she was in her uniform). And mom kept prodding me to go and hand the coupon over and I stood there and asked her to go and sit in the car(she wasn't even going to eat from the shop). Because there was something so sad about a mother prodding a 26 year old to skip the line and get her damn breakfast while the school girl watched with interest...she probably thought I was younger than her (doesn't help that I am inordinately short). 

I remember standing there feeling like a complete loser because this is what my life has come down to. Will I ever be able to relate to adulthood the way my other friends do? you know the ones, who leave home, stick it out on their own. 

So TP had taken the form of adulthood now. My mother had taken it on herself to chop it all off...

After the operation, I had overheard them in the hospital bed.. why did you promise her roller skates S? she can hardly move around after this. Look at you being all irresponsible. Can we even afford roller skates now?) 

I keep getting these flashbacks now, like a bad movie reel of birth..trauma..despair and hope.. Can't help reflecting on the choices that we're handed and sometimes allowed to make on our own, every day of our lives. 

The people we meet...their stories...their intent...mom's intent of all this chopping and prodding is love, is protection...ruthless protection.That's why I can't hate her for it...despite all the pain it causes me.

But it's so damn hard,it's the saddest and hardest thing in the world...this living.  I've been going around with that lost feeling lately...like I lost something. I'll be thinking about something and then I'll look distractedly at my palms and realise they are clenched into fists...fists desperately trying to hold on to this shell of what I call my life...its little world of safe actions repeated routinely like all of that matters and adds up to something.

But here's what I find incredible...that so many of us have these moments of quiet desperation and nobody knows...and despite it all..we put our brave faces on and soldier on...don't we? We make friends, we learn to forgive, we try not to let the past get the better of us...

And..

Sometimes we find those roller skates in unlikely places...waiting patiently... and maybe instead of shying away, we allow ourselves to forget, everything, for the few moments that we let ourselves...roll. 


Source: Pinterest


Sunday, December 6, 2015

Mail From Germany

She was woken by a bell
In quick successions it fell 
On her ears like a bad alarm 
But it was from next door by an insistent arm. 

The door did not open sadly. 
The bell ringer went on with it madly. 
She wondered if someone had died
Locked in with the hopes life had denied. 

She gave up on sleep and climbed out
Smoke curled  out sadly from the teapot's spout 
"There's a mail from Germany,
 They want to amputate his leg from below the knee." 

Her mother looked frail with her morning cup 
There were tears welling up. 
"He is not interested in world politics anymore, she writes
"But news from his beloved family, do apprise." 

"Reply to that mail please, " her mother insists
 "I couldn't do it, it's breaking my heart in bits." 
  She replied like a well oiled machine, 
  Her heart had stopped working bathed in pain's sheen. 

She watered the plants and noticed two flowers 
That had started blooming in the late night hours 
A prayer for the suffering was planted in each 
I'll water this every day, till peace is within their reach.