I wake up from a fitful sleep, after long. I wake up and put the water on for tea. I wake up bleary eyed, walk past the mirror and stop for a minute… looking back, sleepy puffy eyed, pouty pink lips and pale skin. That is me, but the mirror says differently.
I wake up and get going on the kitchen, the laundry, the music, the jazz… and get Nirvaan up, play with him, get him ready for school.
I wake up and drive to work. Things have changed. The time, when I was work-from-home-mom, full-time-mom and the time when I was… what? It’s too way in the past, obscured by the sunlit screen of the now.
Things shift and turn and shift again.
End of the day, I pack my laptop, ride the elevator seven floors down and then I drive home. The music shattering the noise outside, making a tunnel for my thoughts, consciousness changing from one persona to the other, the twists and turns, the traffic lights and the bumps, all remembered too well. Auto Driving through it all. Through the flyovers and dirt roads and canopied lanes, I reach home.
The place that fills me up with wonder and peace, warmth and energy.
The place that grounds the gypsy me.
There’s a white temple somewhere on the way, I am not a religious soul, but I do a quick bow and pay homage to the whiteness, the clouds and the greens…. And take a breath.
The fact is, of late, I am once again filled with wanderlust, restlessness, an anticipation, a beginning of a hunger, perhaps. I am still getting the hang of this. Haven’t really got the pulse of what’s going on.
It’s like this new thing, I have never seen before. It would eventually come, I know. I think.
This something, which makes things look more possible than possible. It’s like the mirror wants me to see that girl and not what I think I see.
Who really argues with the mirror?
Copyright © Neerja Yadav