It has been a long time since I sat and
wrote for myself. Not under the dictates of a deadline or as content for
something that needs to be just so. Today, the morning stretches before me bright and sunny – and the
windy, stormy grey afternoon of yesterday has completely vanished from memory.
The dazzling sun outside is tamed by the pergola and yet from my writing nook,
I squint at the brightness it streams into my home. I love the quiet even so
late in the morning.
The big kid lies snoring in his room – his is a deep
contained sleep as if making up for the years in his infancy and early
childhood that he never slept causing me to wonder which idiot sang glorious paeans
to motherhood when all I felt was an increasing sense of resentment and a
desperate desire for sleep. The younger one can hardly be seen in her cloud of
thick hair with sheets entwining her long limbs – she is a messy sleeper – her bed
often resembles the scene of a battlefield and cushions and sheets are tossed
far and wide by the time she is up. No matter how big they get; it is my habit
to check on them in the mornings. I just need to know that they are alright and
then I can go back to my dreaming on these non-school mornings.
I have another baby tucked away in a
curious comma shape on my sofa. He is the one I feed first even before I get
myself a cup of tea. My cup of tea is an inviolable pleasure but oddly enough I
find myself mixing up his milk before I get my own tea. His craving seems a bit
more intense than mine and I thought I was bad! Screaming at the top of his
lungs, he rushes in from whichever window I open to let in some air. He makes a
beeline for the kitchen where I stand, wincing at his noisy cries, trying to
talk to him to calm him down. His tail held up like a candy cane, he adds
vibrato to his cries so that I know that he is really quite desperate for
sustenance.
I can barely open the fridge for his
invasive attempts to block any movement. As I somehow get the milk (yes its
organic A2 desi cow stuff – my family gets healthy food only! ), mix in some RO
purified water (he can’t handle the rich milk) and try and get it into a bowl,
his cries reach an annoying crescendo and he darts between my legs, candy cane
tickling my feet and causing me to trip. It is only my impeccable balance that
keeps me from falling flat on my face in a puddle of desi milk. I finally
manage to get to the bowl in the corner and pour the milk into it and the
vibrating, lustfully demanding fellow quietens down immediately and manages to
lap up the bowl in a few minutes. He follows me around as I make the tea and
then mournfully licks the bowl till it rattles. I look at him “More milk
Caramel?” He looks at me quietly but beseechingly and I mix up one more glass
and pour it in. He laps this up more slowly. He now has time to savour the
milk. I then do my crossword and he plonks himself on the sofa to sleep in a
comma. This is the new addition to my otherwise quiet mornings.
My husband insists that I am far softer on
the cat than I was on my kids when they were little. I told him that if I had had a
baby at 40 I would be nice and kind to that one for sure. Having had both the
kids in my 20s, I confess I wasn’t very patient with Appu – not sleeping at
nights for more than 3 years will do that to you but I still think it’s the age.
I am so mellow now compared to the painfully thin stressed-out creature I was
earlier. I see a long list of things I did wrong, a sea of regrets and a
fervent desire to do right by Appu if given a second chance. I don’t regret
anything with my daughter because she was an easy child and like an extension
of myself. Appu was a child who deserved more patience than I had at the time – I always
wish I had done better but then that is life. One lives and learns.
Caramel is teaching me that I now have come
very far from who I used to be but I still have a young girl inside of me - the one who always loved cats. It’s a good feeling. And on a sunny Saturday
morning, its not a bad place to be …
