Why don't I feel Special?

Why don’t I feel special?

(Every mother’s day I feel bombarded by these random thoughts and so this time I decided to write them down and clear my head once and for all)

That day is upon me again,
The day I am special and great,
And yet that gap remains
Where, I feel undeserving of this praise.
Yes, it is mother’s day,
a day like any other,
since the birth of creation,
to this desperate population boom; always a case
of the condom gone wrong
in my husband's wise eyes.

I was supposed to bear them in sweat and pain
Except they made their way through a slit of a knife
And I was handed creatures I knew nothing about
And for sure they made me a mother,
And they were oh so cute, no doubt.
And while the nannies bathed them
And played with them in the parks,
And the domestic help cooked for them
I was the celebrated mother,
Who worried for them.
Except I didn’t.
Not so much at least.
That one job of worry,
I couldn’t carry, I didn’t bother to pine,
I say they are programmed to grow
Mother Nature has them tuned, just fine.

I am supposed to have contributed to their lives
Other than just the bearing them,
Except that I didn’t. Again.
(How am I supposed to?)
what a failure I have been to them.

But they, these unsuspecting lovely souls
Have brought so much to my life
Made me grow, made me feel
Gushed out creativity, like never before.
They force me to be great for them to see
Drive me to achieve,
To carry on a legacy.
In these innocent souls
I saw a whole new world
A world I want them to protect
And for that purpose make them strong.
They taught me cricket
That their father couldn’t
They make me wish to redo my life
And live once again.

While writing I am suddenly clear
It’s hit me like a bullet from nowhere
I am remembered because no one
Can love them,
Forgive them,
Teach them,
the way I can.
Yes, this is an unconditional love
But I will feel fulfilled
Once they have taken flight
That their life is shaped by values
Where I have taught them wrong and right.

And for all those gushing about this day
Let’s hope our children
When we need them most
Do honour us,
And it is their hand we hold
And not some stranger’s
When we take our last
Evening walk.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

मेरे घर का पौधा मुझसे कहता.......

Hello! It was fun to discover that I could actually write the thoughts that I had in Hindi in Hindi!! So I jotted down what I was then thinking into these lines and well, it was fun. And somewhere along the way I lost my train of thought and out slipped the poem!! Disaster. Although it is not the first time I have attempted writing in Hindi, I might need to keep working on Hindi grammer. Also, whenever I rethink on this topic, I will perhaps edit and re-publish this one again. So this one remains a thought-in-progress. मेरे घर का पौधा मुझसे कहता....... हर रोज़ गुज़र जाती मुँह मोड़ के यूँही न पानी, न ख़ुराक़ देती मुरझाए हुए को मुरझाया छोड़, ऐसे जैसे किसी और की हो ज़िम्मेदारी। बातें होती है, फ़िज़ाओं की दूर देश के हवाओं की मोह लेने वाले नज़ारों की हरी भरी नदियों की; क्या फायदा, अपने आँगन को सूना छोड़ पेैडो के छाओं पे मन ललचाने की।
Read more

Time....

What bothers me most is time. What is it? All it does is pass. Why can't we hold on to it? Would we want to hold on to it? Isn't it wondrous, the constant alterations, sometimes upheavals it causes in our lives. Should it be celebrated? Yes. It is our only true companion during this journey in our world. Seasons change and we understand time has moved on. It has changed us. We can't feel it, we can't see it, we don't hear it, yet we sense it, mapped in our faces. Without it, our journey, wouldn't be a journey at all. Who would keep time? Who would know our beginning, our end, our meaning, our story? Time you mean the most, you are the constant the witness to my life I exist within your books, from start to finish, and you will retell my story when the time is right.  In constant worship, here is an attempt, in Hindi, to say what i feel i may never understand (and while i finally confess my immaturity, it's incomprehensibility befuddles m...
Read more
Sigh, sometimes.... most times.... okay, nearly every time it happens. I feel like writing and I get distracted. It is always easier to blame the external forces but it my own fear, my inhibitions, my laziness and indiscipline that come in the way of my getting any writing done. This one is mostly on the external distractions that like I said are easier to blame. What do you do ? What do you do? When words are trying to make their way out, trying to say something at the wrong time, when you are in the shower scrubbing yourself clean of yesterday. Or when your notepad and pen are in another room, or when the children have a crazy demand or an unresolved fight, or you are thanklessly engaged in a familiar familial need. When the words compete against the pinging phone and a choice has to be made   whether to savor this moment of visit or        to fling   the words in the bed of your soul in the hope of someth...
Read more