The day I fell in love with me
Carrying a bundle of emotions, I sat down to jot myself, very much confused, tangled myself between emotions and aspirations. I started thinking of myself, when I stopped thinking of me. It may sound weird ,but yes, from the heap of ashes I searched for the fire. From the extinguishing frolic, I searched the missing alphabets. While searching for some familiar image I struck myself with my image. Now my journey continues.
Life was rosy. I though the elder one, was very cozy in the protected shelter of my parents. Warm blood, ample of energy, glowing radiance made me proud. I being a more than an average student categorized among some selected few with whom I interact. I ignored the staring looks of admirers, rather I was looking for the ladder of achievers. Unlike every daughter Dad was my ideal hero, I wanted to do the same what he has done- Brought up in an independent family with a broad outlook, yet later I realized I too was in chain of restrictions then. During teens when dreams became pink, Mummy with sunken face will always say darling dear before every act you think. Your actions will hamper our links. Awww!
I became old, much older than my age, much more conscious of my expression. I shut myself with in a glass jar. Followed elders, obeyed their words, later I realized in doing so I sacrificed all my prejudice. My dreams coiled, and sheltered with me in my glass jar. I don’t know how I developed a suicidal nature, finding ways to end myself. Parents made me married, well of course my approval was taken then but with a warning that before Dad ‘s retirement , I should help him to complete his responsibilities. Hummm,
Am I then his responsibility, an ideal theory for the younger’s?
Why me to act as the solicitor
Questions used to hurt me, adverse situation in my newly accepted house toiled my mental agony to such an extent t hat it helped to grow my suicidal tendency. At the blossoming age of twenty one I attempted to end myself, slit my wrist with desperation. I thought my world ended .Thrived, lost my senses in limbs and lost the crawling figure from my womb. Life became blurry. The luster of my hopes were gloomed among the paradoxes. I started playing different roles, trying to prove myself perfect in the colorful radius. I achieved something by confining myself. In each success story, the basic ingredients I look for is nod of little appreciation. Well behind every unsuccessful imagery I was blamed as every Indian woman’ fate line. The word gratitude was far from my reach always and stint of degrading my curvature will continue. I played a role in cultural hub, NGO activities ,managing a school for a period of time, edited and scripted the data and so on. With all these, the issue of identity lurk on.
My labor and ideas being used and the credit used to go to someone else. Even during the time when I had to climb the stage, I used to stay down and clap for others . In between the concurrence and in concurrence I was moving with the wind. Flying and flapping my wind in every weather. Experiencing the torrents and exhibiting my credence. In my novel of experimenting I tap my feet on the rhyme, waved my limbs and feet to enact in the play, grounded my roots in several firms to establish my image.
Being obese, I became very much ardent in losing weight, gradually exercising became a habit to me. Skipping, which I used in my teens to shed weight helped me to shed twenty kilos at a stretch. As a result I had to get admitted in the hospital for a glucose dose and declared anemic. Then started Mummy’s crucial role feeding me with juices. Obviously I hated milk. Milk products are my favorite but the stench of milk wouldn’t make me gulp down. I never became thin, never became a perfect figurine yet the routine is continuing. Later I realized , exercises unleashes my stress , keeping me confident and energetic to face the challenges .
I learned never to give up. I learned to smile in odds. Till Dad was alive I was his kid, he use to treat me tenderly. His death was a master stroke to me. I become bold and older in a day. All my childish whims vanished . I grew older with the time. Being blessed with two beautiful daughters.I started dreaming me with them, enjoying my childhood in their laughter. My husband, a man of principles lives busy in his office and badminton spectrum. Hardly frees himself to listen to me. Our interactions are of monosyllables. In the jersey of happy married life, the key factor of sustainability. But yes he provided me space to grow. He always stood as a pillar for me. Being a daughter of an administrative officer, then a wife of central govt. employee shifting from one place to another was and is never surprising shot for me. Packing things and then unpacking the things, decorating the quarters to home and then leaving our patches and moving on killed many of my days. Once I adapt the place and surrounding , the next day I could see the name of my father, now husband’s name in the transfer list. I enjoyed each day, lived every moment in every place. Each place bears a significance in my memory. Yet I became lonely within. No permanent friendship, no free exchange of thoughts, made an me introvert. In my soliloquy I interact with imaginary things. I dream cloud of words. When my younger brother and sister flourished in their lives, I suddenly became conscious of my image. No, jealousy of question does n’t arise here. What I mean is I wanted an identity. I wanted my name to scroll out separately, not as a decorum to any relation. Enough of pulling myself with the thread of conception. I aspired to break free from the stereotype path of dependability. A different identity .
That day I decided to break the rules of binding myself with all the patchwork relationship. Honestly I became happy. Happy to see the cracks in my glass jar. Slowly and gradually ,the cracks increased. Prominence could be felt. My batch mate asked me from when did you get the light of independence?
My answer was ,from the day I fell in love with me.
All those words crawling inside me suddenly took a shape of rhyme flowing from the nib. I feel relaxed .
Words and thoughts gave a meaning to me. I began my journey with the proximity of words I pour. Often I wonder Is this me ? who scribbled those ?Is this me who never forgot to dream.
Words gave a new definition to my image. I enjoyed the newly built image of a poetess. Let me be frank in my confession I never loved poetry ,yet in love with it ,is an astonishment .
