the last thing i need on a summer's day is to wake up to the news of a plane crash. then between people texting me to say happy birthday, i find myself scanning through the debris of a crashed aircraft, trying to get my math right on the number of people injured and the number belonging to a certain nationality.
mornings of plane crashes begin with me jumping out of bed, and literally, straight on to the laptop and punching URGENT words about an ill-fated flight. then hours and hours will pass while i sit here, forgetting i haven't had a single cup of tea or even a glass of water. my shoulders start to ache and i wish for the Nepal sky to become safe for travellers.
the only consolation- sometimes, the plane crashes don't kill people and even an eight-month-old baby survives miraculously!
It just never occurred to me what it might be like to get a mother's day wish before this one arrived from my student on behalf of my pup, who i fondly call Chhori. Chhori has been my baby ever since she arrived in my life, just weeks after I had miscarried. She's been the centre of my life through all these years, even as things like work, friends, food, sex, arguments, etc, took up so much of my time.
I often wonder how it is that I got so lucky with all the dogs in my life.
Ba often jokes that Chhori watches over me as I sleep because she must think I'm her daughter. Well, she wakes me up with a toy on my pillow every morning, so who knows? :)
But that got me thinking about how pups are babies till the time they're younger than you. And then half way through their life, they are already older than you, and you start wishing they lived as long as you might.
the night is alive with the sound of thunder. raindrops scatter over the front porch and trample on the lawn and flowerbeds. this is the pre-monsoon rain. the first showers that make a lot of noise and spray a little and bring along cool cool breeze.
the dogs are noisy tonight. am tucked between the sheets, tap-dancing on the keyboard, while the sharp wind laps on my bare shoulders.
there is nothing as precious as your space-- a place for yourself to be, to do things or to undo them. there's nothing as reliable as silent walls, that never judge you or accuse you of not being.
i murmur gratitude for 'a room of my own'. independence begins with having your own space and your say.
today felt like a jagged dream.
i walked kanchu in the garden, boiled maggi for mamu and rested my eyes some more, longing for a dream in which you're not walking away with a guitar slung over your shoulder and a rucksack hugging your back, never hearing the sound of my voice.
but when i shut my eyes, am back in that place again, where i always always feel like i'm chasing after a train that's speeding out of the platform.