Finding Raga
Today, finally I shut the door to the room. Patti is watching Mowgli and I sit down to write. Something no one told me about childbirth and rearing is that I will have the mental bandwidth of a strand of hair for anything other than the baby in the first few weeks. Its almost 2 months now and that has widened very marginally.
I have thought of writing all these days though. Time, a precious commodity, is more scarce than ever. I have squandered the time when the baby is asleep vacantly staring outside at the green enjoying the quiet and the breeze or browsing mindlessly. So many wonderful moments hover in my mind, begging to be caught in prose. The mind wanders back and forth, tenderly lingering over Mowgli's smiles and expressions, revisiting my own thoughts and emotions, gasping in amazement all over again over everything he says and does. Mowgli, Mowgli, Mowgli.
Then there are the stolen moments. More precious than ever. When a book has been picked up to read. It lies on the bedside, half read, marked, waiting to be picked up again. Coolboy and I hold hands and go to pick up groceries, our weekly night out. I sit down to write. It looks warm outside and I wonder about things, just things. I wonder whats happening in the world outside. Politics and Economics. I wonder who I will vote for ? I want to dress up all nice and go on a dinner date with Coolboy. He did mention something about restaurant week. Will I be able to actually go for dance classes anytime soon? I have not gone for a walk in a few days now. What on earth is playing on radio these days ? I barely remember any song other than the ones I sing to Mowgli. I wonder which exotic place I can visit and then I chastise myself for forgetting that in the other room Mowgli is playing, growing faster than I imagined, making faces and cooing to Patti. And what am I doing in here cooped up all by myself, in this room, sitting and wondering?
In this maze of words, in the jungle of my thoughts, in all this chaos, some where the girl from before she became a mother, is hiding. Waiting. It's only a matter of time before I find myself again. I hope.
I have thought of writing all these days though. Time, a precious commodity, is more scarce than ever. I have squandered the time when the baby is asleep vacantly staring outside at the green enjoying the quiet and the breeze or browsing mindlessly. So many wonderful moments hover in my mind, begging to be caught in prose. The mind wanders back and forth, tenderly lingering over Mowgli's smiles and expressions, revisiting my own thoughts and emotions, gasping in amazement all over again over everything he says and does. Mowgli, Mowgli, Mowgli.
Then there are the stolen moments. More precious than ever. When a book has been picked up to read. It lies on the bedside, half read, marked, waiting to be picked up again. Coolboy and I hold hands and go to pick up groceries, our weekly night out. I sit down to write. It looks warm outside and I wonder about things, just things. I wonder whats happening in the world outside. Politics and Economics. I wonder who I will vote for ? I want to dress up all nice and go on a dinner date with Coolboy. He did mention something about restaurant week. Will I be able to actually go for dance classes anytime soon? I have not gone for a walk in a few days now. What on earth is playing on radio these days ? I barely remember any song other than the ones I sing to Mowgli. I wonder which exotic place I can visit and then I chastise myself for forgetting that in the other room Mowgli is playing, growing faster than I imagined, making faces and cooing to Patti. And what am I doing in here cooped up all by myself, in this room, sitting and wondering?
In this maze of words, in the jungle of my thoughts, in all this chaos, some where the girl from before she became a mother, is hiding. Waiting. It's only a matter of time before I find myself again. I hope.
posted by RagzZmatazZ at
2:42 PM
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5 comments
