I really needed to have a good, long cry.
Both my boys were ill and it always, ALWAYS breaks me to see them this way. There is something totally soul draining and heart wrenching about two lively, active boys lying down in bed, weary, watery eyed, feverish and pukish. These two little pieces of my soul who give meaning to the phrase ‘with twinkling eyes and mischievous smiles’; for whom the Bengali word ‘chonchol’ (Hindi, ‘chanchal’) was thought up; who wear me out even if all I’m doing is sitting with feet curled up in a sofa with a comforting cup of elaichi chaa in my hands and watching them, were fighting a bad case of the viral and all I could do was watch helplessly, wishing that my body could suck it out of them by osmosis, prayer, sheer will-power, anything!
This happens whenever they fall sick. I become a pool of tears and my bones seem to melt into a mass of frustration, anger and misery. I carry storm clouds of gloom over my head, ready to drench anyone who comes within a mile of me, with my wretchedness.
I start to berate myself for wishing a moments stillness from them when they’re running around pretending to be Superheroes and trying to climb cupboards and curtains. From now on, I’ll just stand there with arms outstretched, hoping that they don’t fall and even, God forbid if they do, I’ll be able to catch them and even, God forbid I miss, what’s the worst that can happen? A bump on the head and some tears, nothing a spoonful of sugar and a kiss from Mamma won’t fix. (For those of you staring at the comp screen horror-struck, let me assure you…no way can they climb ALL the way to the top…they just try, that’s all!)
I start to wish that I had given them that biscuit or that piece of chocolate just before dinner after all. Next time I will. What can happen? One less spoonful of rice or pasta, or two bites less of roti. Pah! That’s it! Absolutely nothing to equate it to the lopsided smile that reaches their eyes and my heart!
I begin to hate my attachment to my precious computer. All the deadlines, assignments, well-loved blogs, Facebooks and G-mails can surely take a backseat the next time either ray of sunshine sidles up to me. If the Elder One wants a serious discussion on Transformers, I will have the time for a chat so that I can see the animated expressions light up his lovely face and I will come away more wiser after this educating experience. If the Younger One wants to pull me by the hand to show me a ‘baby tikkiki’ (tiktikkee, or domestic lizard), I will get up and follow him wherever he chooses to lead me, be it under a table or squeezing in my bulk (at least trying to) between the cupboards, just to share in the joy of his discovery.
When the two of them lie with their flushed faces on my lap, expelling hot air through their perfectly shaped mouths, their gentle snores seeming like divine music, it takes every shred of self-control and dignity I possess, not to liquefy into a pool of tears. I keep one hand upon each of their warm bodies, I try to shut down the tear ducts that are fast filling to burst-open capacity. And then, one of them opens their eyes, reaches for my hand, shifts his head, meets my gaze and gives me a wan smile.
And the dams burst open.
Both my boys were ill and it always, ALWAYS breaks me to see them this way. There is something totally soul draining and heart wrenching about two lively, active boys lying down in bed, weary, watery eyed, feverish and pukish. These two little pieces of my soul who give meaning to the phrase ‘with twinkling eyes and mischievous smiles’; for whom the Bengali word ‘chonchol’ (Hindi, ‘chanchal’) was thought up; who wear me out even if all I’m doing is sitting with feet curled up in a sofa with a comforting cup of elaichi chaa in my hands and watching them, were fighting a bad case of the viral and all I could do was watch helplessly, wishing that my body could suck it out of them by osmosis, prayer, sheer will-power, anything!
This happens whenever they fall sick. I become a pool of tears and my bones seem to melt into a mass of frustration, anger and misery. I carry storm clouds of gloom over my head, ready to drench anyone who comes within a mile of me, with my wretchedness.
I start to berate myself for wishing a moments stillness from them when they’re running around pretending to be Superheroes and trying to climb cupboards and curtains. From now on, I’ll just stand there with arms outstretched, hoping that they don’t fall and even, God forbid if they do, I’ll be able to catch them and even, God forbid I miss, what’s the worst that can happen? A bump on the head and some tears, nothing a spoonful of sugar and a kiss from Mamma won’t fix. (For those of you staring at the comp screen horror-struck, let me assure you…no way can they climb ALL the way to the top…they just try, that’s all!)
I start to wish that I had given them that biscuit or that piece of chocolate just before dinner after all. Next time I will. What can happen? One less spoonful of rice or pasta, or two bites less of roti. Pah! That’s it! Absolutely nothing to equate it to the lopsided smile that reaches their eyes and my heart!
I begin to hate my attachment to my precious computer. All the deadlines, assignments, well-loved blogs, Facebooks and G-mails can surely take a backseat the next time either ray of sunshine sidles up to me. If the Elder One wants a serious discussion on Transformers, I will have the time for a chat so that I can see the animated expressions light up his lovely face and I will come away more wiser after this educating experience. If the Younger One wants to pull me by the hand to show me a ‘baby tikkiki’ (tiktikkee, or domestic lizard), I will get up and follow him wherever he chooses to lead me, be it under a table or squeezing in my bulk (at least trying to) between the cupboards, just to share in the joy of his discovery.
When the two of them lie with their flushed faces on my lap, expelling hot air through their perfectly shaped mouths, their gentle snores seeming like divine music, it takes every shred of self-control and dignity I possess, not to liquefy into a pool of tears. I keep one hand upon each of their warm bodies, I try to shut down the tear ducts that are fast filling to burst-open capacity. And then, one of them opens their eyes, reaches for my hand, shifts his head, meets my gaze and gives me a wan smile.
And the dams burst open.
4 comments:
awwwww! get well soon to both of them! :)
and hugs for you! such a beautiful post with such raw emotions. god bless...
abha
Thank you Abha! They are on the road to recovery (Thank You God!) and so are my nerves!
Your hugs have warmed poor, old tired me! Needed them! Thanks!
Eveything you have written is so true. Ananya been having fever since last night, so we're kindered sisters right now. Your articles appear so effortless - they just flow. Bravo.
Preeti,
Aww, my poor sweetheaert! I hate when kids fall ill! Sending all my loving and healing thoughts to my darling little girl. And for you my friend, a hot cup of tea and a warm, comforting hug!
As for the writing...look who's talking! When it comes to effortless writing, I should be taking tips from you! This particular piece just gushed out, written by my pain, stress and tears!
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