Diary of a daughter- 2

By


9th February 1973
Source: Google Images
Today is the day I felt your touch for the first time. The Doc had just told you “Congratulations Malti, you are pregnant” You immediately touched your stomach as if to feel me. Though I could not directly feel your warmth but sitting inside I was smiling and looking forward to bask in all the love and attention I was about to get in the coming months.



21st July 1973

 
Source: Google Images

I am sorry Ma, I kicked you today. I did that thinking I would be scolded but you smiled lovingly and touched the little bump that was “Me”. Your touch was so soothing that it put me off to sleep leaving my playful dreams aside.





10th October 1973

Source: Google Images
Finally after hours of endless wait the nurse brings me to you. With shivering hands you hold in your hands for the first time. With love and care I see fear in your eyes….fear of hurting me. But that very moment I flashed a toothless grin to say “Ma…. You can never ever hurt me. You can only love me”. You held me firmly to reaffirm what I said.

That day for the first time I felt the magic of your hands, small yet large enough to hold all the worries of the world, delicate yet strong enough to face any storms. I was scared of coming out of the warmth of your womb Ma as I feared the outer world but your hands continued to be the cocoon as I undertook this journey here.


Not for one moment did I feel I am alone as your hands always acted as my shell. You held my hand teaching me how to walk, held my cycle from behind as I learnt riding it. You clasped my fingers firmly as I etched the lines of letters for the first time. Every time I cried as child you picked me up with your soft hands, rustling my hair to pacify me. From the maalish in childhood to the champi you did when I was began working, from feeding me as a kid to cooking all my favourite dishes till date, from hugging me when I left for school or work to hugging me as I slept in the night, from wiping my tears when I cried to patting my back when I won, from rocking my cradle to pushing my swing at home – your hands always were there around me Ma….. making me feel secure.

After all these years of holding my hand Ma today you suddenly left it just like that….  I wish I could tell you right now how lost I am without your hand to guide me further. I wish today when I am crying uncontrollably you were here to wipe my tears….. It’s been so long I have slept properly Ma... I wish you could hug me right now to put me to sleep. Just once please put your hand on my head and call me Mole (Translation: Daughter in Malayalam)… I wish I could hold your hand one last time Ma…..


P.S: A very dear friend lost her mother couple of weeks ago and the way she described her last moments with her it touched me a lot. I was moved enough to write this piece as an ode mother’s love. May her soul RIP.

P.P.S - I know my previous Diary of a daughter was a very happy one but could not help titling this post like this!


Popular posts from this blog

Diary of a Lost Wanderer - Lost & Found

By
Image
Dear Diary, I fell in love with Mumbai when I first visited it in 1995. Bombay, as it was then known, fascinated me since then.  If you ask me what made me fall in love with this city, I perhaps cannot explain. It wasn't that I was seeing the sea for the first time. It wasn't even the biggest city I had been to till then. Still, there was something so magical about this place. The trip was a short one lasting less than a week but this city now had my heart. Years later, I arrived here all alone on my first solo trip in 2005 and fell in love all over again. I got my first job and was required to come to Mumbai frequently. The local trains, the chaos on the roads, the crowds, the humdrum, the salty smell in the air, the stale air- everything about this city was intoxicating for me. 
Keep reading »

Essay: How to mourn the loss of love?

By
Image
Image Source: Unsplash.com I remember the first time I mourned the loss of love was when I was eleven.  For me, dance was love at that time. I had discovered a strange joy as I glided in and out of those movements. Every time I swirled; I could feel my heart soar. Any beat that strained to reach my ears, tempted me to move my body to its tune. I just knew I was born to dance and that is the only thing I wanted to do, all my life.  I had my reasons to believe so and a very simple one at that. It made me happy. That was a reason enough. However, my father thought otherwise. Girls from good families, do not dance. That line was enough to break all those rosy dreams of dancing on a stage. The day my brother was sent to the same dance class which was not good for me, was the day I experienced heartbreak for the first time.  That is the day I mourned the loss of my first love- Dance. 
Keep reading »

Metro Diaries: The Art of Making Love

By
Image
Image Source: Unpexels (Cottonbro) “Do you know why is it called making love?” He whispered, pulling the comforter closer.  I don’t remember for how long we had been in that room, on that bed. Lying aimlessly, just feeling each other in silence. I managed to just whimper to denote my curiosity.   “Because that is the moment we create love. We are the closest we could ever be to love, in its purest form. It is sheer magic as we are naked, in every form. Mentally, physically and emotionally before that one person, we love. We know they can hurt us, as much as they want to, in the way they want to. But love gives us that power to trust them, that they won’t.”   “And here I was thinking it is a need. Something you want at that moment and you get it!” 
Keep reading »