dear diary

Life on this co-ordinates has never been divinely effortless, always navigating with the illusion of reference point from that elusive and proverbial lighthouse. Nothing lasts forever.

I will likely not remember these days full of ambiguity and ache. These days when showing up for each day becomes difficult. These days when stars seem that much out of reach, these days when not one thing seems to be going right.

And, yet being here is uncomfortable.

Having little one means showing up for parenting even when you are bone tired. It’s not Nirvaan's fault that I’m worried about money, or that we have reached a no-communication zone and are unable to say anything the other one understands, or that my pants are tight, or I miss my girlfriends. Because these days that are passing? These hours of bright sunlight and wintery evenings; these moments? This is his childhood.

Because it just is the way it is. Littleness demands patience and selflessness and satisfaction in small things.

I know they are not unique, these moments of stress and financial strain. It’s winter and I’m messed, with a mask of smile. I know these days will pass, and I will look back, suddenly much older than I am, with a heart full of longing for the sweet scent of my son’s head.

These times of three of us together. Its hard but we shall wade through and come out sun-soaked. And, in no time, we shall sit with our chai in our mugs and talk about this, we would all of have learnt something together, grown up together!

Thank You, Ma! Thank YOu, Chaamu!


1 comment:

Sojourner said...

roots are roots... aren't they?