Last evening, I was approaching the main gate of my housing complex, I could hear the screeching sound of the swings from the adjacent kid’s play-area. Also, the conversations of kids, mixed with chirping birds hidden in the bamboo trees.
This uncanny jazz of unrelated sounds is cure for my ever restless soul. I particularly like it for the hope it brings. It allows me imagining bundle of joys swinging, swaying and sliding in their free spirit. It tells me that life is in this moment, the moment which is filled with innocent smiles. That moment hold promises to see those kids everyday enjoying in the same zest.
This sound is my hope song, a prelude before I see my daughter after many hours of slogging in office. This sound allows me to loose myself and takes me slowly into the role where I am nothing else but a mother. This sound is my home calling.
I entered into the main gate and the kid’s park was in my visibility range. I could see the sun setting in the western sky. It was walking along with me. I moved ahead with sun rays falling on my face. The sound was more prominent and more chaotic now. The chaos, that sets everything right. I tried finding my daughter amidst the playful kids. I hoped to close her eyes by standing behind her back. Instead my eyes met fellow mothers. We exchanged smile, whereabouts and worries.
I tugged my bag tighter and moved away from the park. I gathered the dupatta on my shoulder like the hope in wait. Sun was still walking along with me. It wanted to see me meeting my daughter, I assumed. I quickly glanced the kids in the cycling group, swimming group and ringa-ringa-roses group.
There were kids wearing the same skirt as my daughter has. There was even a girl, who looked exactly the same from behind like my own… but..where is she? “Sun, you have to wait”, I told under my breath.
I almost reached my block and for the one last time, I scanned the sea of kids playing hide and seek around the building pillars. Couple of the familiar ones shouted.. “Hello Aunti” and few of them passed a warm smile. I pressed the lift button, and turned back to read the updates on the notice board.
Tiny arms suddenly grabbed me from the back. I met the twinkling eyes and a faint smile.
“Mam.. tum aa gaye…mai dhoondh laha tha tumhe”, she said hiding her face between my two legs. I lifted her up. Felt the face I longed to see. Planted a kiss on her neck. She was smelling happiness.
This is how everyday, I come back to her.
This is how everyday, I come back to myself.
Amrita Thavrani is a mother to a two-year old daughter. Occasionally blogs at amrita.thavrani.com. Say hello to her while strolling at the tweet street @TheSeeSawMother.