the son put the bird feed in the aquarium. He was excited to have given the fish a completely new taste. I was aghast. The daughter, so very like me, rushed and brought me the pink fish net that we usually use to remove dead or sick fish.
Her eyes were worried and like big Os on her pixie-like face. My eye were tired, as were my reflexes, though, then they wouldn't be called reflexes right? But, the son's eyes were merry. They were joyous. And, I wanted that in me.
And, in my daughter. She has inherited all that I did not want her to inherit from me - my frizzy, wavy hair and my inhibited-ness. She is sweeter, stronger, stubborn-er than me, but she is as guarded. She thinks of what others will think. Just like me.
It pains me that I have a lot to do in making her this way, because her inherent nature is gentle, kind and soft, peaceful and loving, accepting and lovable, alert and soft-spoken.
Where I found an anchor in her, she found a timid mother, wife and woman; where I found joy and mindfulness in her, she found indecision and fear; where I found I wanted to be better for her, she found that how much better she tried to be, her mother's expectations of life would never be met.
This is a low-point of my life. It is the saddest feeling. And, when I sat down to write, this was not what I had in mind to write. It was supposed to be a post about how last night, I suddenly, yes, very suddenly, wanted to share my boy's mischief. About how it didn't matter that there's nothing intellectual or arty or posh or awe-worthy happening, but still I wanted to share, because this is what is.
And, this is what I had wanted this space to be. A record. A storehouse of memories and thoughts. About things like how in the rickshaw this morning, I might as well have walked in the rain because that was how much I was drenched. There was Sudha and her son Somesh and my son and me. And, the rickshaw was almost flying, the raindrops were sharp on the face and I was almost shivering in the strong, damp wind.
But, all I could think of was to make me some black coffee (dried and ground from the coffee beans in mu husband's home) with jaggery, click a picture of the steamy cuppa against my wet window and post it on flickr.
As with all things Shilpa-proposes, something-disposes. I leave you with a picture of what I finally clicked :)