Blessings

Mumbai is slowly coming back to life. For two entire months, birds were the loudest noise-makers in the sleepy afternoon. No longer. The lockdown is in phase 5.0. Shramik trains rumble past. Cars are allowed. Horns blare once again. Various voices fill the air, singing freedom.


It is Sunday afternoon. The city is empty of migrants and daily wage workers - the ones from the other states. We still have to wear a mask before going out, and practice physical distancing. But meat is now affordable when once it wasn't, and is there anything more satisfying than having a late lunch of gosht and parathas?

In the space of one semester

In the last four months, I have learned so much that is new. I know how to change a diaper, burp a baby, bathe her and change her outfit. I have the toys for distraction. I can talk baby-talk and heat up food with just one hand. I know I never need to set an alarm for waking up. 

I know the extent of her clothing better than I know my own, and I know how much laundry it takes. She changes 3-5 outfits a day and her neck is wet with milk and drool. 

I know her tired eyes and offended eyes, tired eyes and sleepy eyes, aching eyes and whining eyes and her pick-me-up eyes. I know how much of her crying I can take. I know love, too, can turn to rage and back again. 

I wonder what she will turn out to be. I am blessed by the moments when she is happy, and in someone else's hands. 

Language

All our lives

We think, speak, and breathe in you, 

And you betray us all with this 

Illusion of truth 

You spread like the vilest of rumors

Mouth to ear
Here, so near, 

Seeping, soaking. 

Fizzah

Your focus takes mine away
I see your eyes watching
Legs kicking, hands grabbing
Mouth open and excited and
Your sounds fill my heart
Your joy fills my mind
Your kicks speaks volumes
You look around with curiosity
And I am steeped with wonder
At you
Child of my body
I am in awe
Dear God, thank you, thank you
Thank you.

Confuddled

Lead us from the dark tides of the mind
Which are full of bogs and potholes and murky lies
Away from the dark horrors of the night

And bring us to something clean and bright
Something cool and sharp like the winter wind
On a snowy field

Take us to a place where we know for sure
What we are and what we should do
Who we are

The Mother's Life

I can no longer do anything
That can't be interrupted.
The stove must be turned off
Poems are left halfway

If I'm sitting, I stand
If I'm standing, I bounce
If I'm bouncing, I pace
I pick her up and grit my teeth

My arms know all the ways of holding her.
One hand under her and one hand across,
Making sure she doesn't scratch herself -

Propagation

One day at a time
Stumbling through life
Cutting up a mango
With an old, blunt knife.

We were six at first
Then doubled, coupled
Decided to have children
Our unexpected jewels