Mumma!

I hear the cry when I am not in the same room when you open your eyes. I roll my eyes , dropping whatever I was doing. Here comes the first in the series of commands for the day. I see you rubbing your eyes, asking if you have to go to school, and the look of sheer sadness that follows. I hold your face, your tiny tiny face in the cup of my arms. The most fragrant smell in the world fills up my nostrils and my being, as I hold you and bury my face in your neck. Gingerly, I pick the sleepy you in my arms, feeling how long your legs are getting. My heart sinks and rises at the same time. There would come a day when I would pick you up for the last time, without knowing so, when you would outgrow my arms. Outgrow the arms which have held you since the day you had first looked at me with your round little eyes, angry at those who had woken you up from your foetal slumber.

You want me to sit beside me when you poop. You try to hold the slippery soap as I give you a bath, your eyes seeking my approval in every experiment of life that you discover. Your hope filled eyes, wanting me to solve your tiny life’s problems, like the network not showing your cartoon at the time you want. Does the wonder woman in your mind shrink every time I am unable to? A strange fear courses through me.

I see you seeking me out in a crowd, your beautiful face light up on spotting me. Your endless questions, your imaginary friends, your very real enemies, I am the sounding board for all of them. What it is to fill oneself with immense joy and immense sense of loss at the same time, I had never known. For I have a piece of me walking beside me, holding me with tiny hands which are growing everyday, getting ready to let go and fly off.

Mannu!

I wake up with a hangover , a dull thud in my head, to hear you cry out from your room. You probably want to go to the toilet, more likely just wanting to see me first thing. I hold my head, here comes the first in the series of commands for the day. I see you struggle to sit up straight, your back giving up on you, rub your sunken yes with your shrivelling hands, asking if I have to go to work and the look of sheer sadness that follows. I hold your wrinkly face in the cup of my arms. You smell of a cocktail of medicines, and probably urine. Gingerly, I help you stand up, feeling how your legs are more bent than ever. My heart sinks. There would come a day when I would pick you up for the last time, when you would outgrow this world. Outgrow the life you have created, and you would look at me with your hollow eyes, smiling as you enter your last slumber.

You want me to stay in the toilet. You try to hold the slippery soap, seeking my approval as you struggle with the gadgets all around. Your eyes fast losing hope, looking at me and wishing you could beat the cancer which is taking me away from you. Does the superman in your mind shrink every time I am unable to? A fear courses through me.

I see you looking out for me in the hospital waiting room, your toothless face lighting up on spotting me. Your endless questions, your dying friend list, I am the sounding board for all of them.

What it is to fill oneself with immense joy and immense sense of loss at the same time, I had never known. For I am a piece of you, walking beside you, holding your ever hands which are shrinking everyday, getting ready to let go and fly off.