Saturday, February 27, 2010

little april boy.

"kaleidoscope eyes and a half-toothy grin and aimless crawling. falling off the edge of the bed and crying and bumps on the head - "maathay aaloo hoye gechhe!". toilet training and little dancing feet in the bathroom. finding worlds in starshine, sun beams and moonlit skies. giggling. tears. cerelac kisses. first tooth. first smile. first word. sound sleep on hot, balmy afternoons. licking biscuit ends. teething woes. the beautiful scent of johnsons' baby powder. all this makes my world at present. it is a small, small world, hardly noticeable. the day begins with the little april boy's giggles and ends with his sobs while he fights sleep. i hardly sleep. every hour at night, i wait for morning to arrive so that i can have a look at him, so that i can feel him grow. all this, camouflaged from others. nobody knows i stare at him through the blinds when he is asleep, or when he crawls throughout the house making new discoveries. i have often seen his mother bundle him up in her arms and hold him close to her bosom. sometimes when somnolence holds him tight in its gripe, i have witnessed his mother rush up to him and kiss him gently on his face, oftentimes brushing her lips against his eyelids, as if to gift him sound sleep. it makes me cringe sometimes. cringe out of envy. i want to love the child, you know. to hold him in my arms, close to my heart..."

this, pressed in between the pages of my class twelve 'the mill on the floss' notebook (which i now i use for random notes), reminded me of a time when i attempted to write nineteen letters for someone's birthday. this was around three years back. letters, brown diary, red roses wrapped in blue wrapping paper, tears, cigarette smoke, little april boy all come twirling back to my mind.

the past is never behind you. the past is your passion. it always, always becomes the reason you are living.