The recurring dream

I opened my eyes. In the light, it was something I could do for only up to three seconds at a time. I was cold. After living in a sweet, warm womb for nine months, I had finally entered the big, wide world outside. The hours that had led up to the moment had been happy ones. I was looking forward to getting out of my cramp, congested home. “When I get out,” I had said to myself, “I’ll be able to play, dance and wonder.” In my mind, I would be stepping into a better world, a space that would be all mine, and only mine.

When my days of anticipation had finally come to an end, however, the reality appeared to be contrary to what I had imagined. I could not stand the light, the cold in this place I had come to on my own accord.

“Amma.....!” someone had been uttering these words when I stepped outside. And I couldn’t help feeling like they were words uttered in great pain, perhaps the greatest pain the person had ever felt in her life.

“Don’t worry, dear. Everything is going to be all right. Calm down,” said another voice as it struck on my ear.

The two voices were completely different from each other, and I felt as if I knew the first voice particularly well.

“Congratulations!” said a third voice sometime later, sounding somewhat furious, although it was relaxed. “You have given birth to a beautiful daughter, Mahima jee.”

A winter's tale

As I looked up at the sky, the sun’s weak rays forced me to close my eyes. I hoped spring would come soon

I remember being happy. I remember walking past the frosted trees, enjoying the misty clouds above my head. I remember triumphing over the cold wind that had a very hard time piercing through my clothes onto warm skin. It was the best winter I’d ever had.

Although it was freezing outside, I had on my favourite overcoat and boots. A steaming, steady brew of my favourite tea kept me warm when I was inside, and my satin shawl and long hair danced in accord with the northern winds. The long winter had been a beautifully orchestrated sonata, and I had obediently hummed along.

“It is winter, a time to escape into fantasy, a time to drown in nostalgia,” I had said to myself then, but this is no longer how I choose to remember what used to be my favourite season at the time. I remember being all wrapped up in warm fuzzies one morning and fancying myself a Yeti from the snowy Himalayas.

I could sense the winds were beginning to grow less cold. Soon spring would come and take my winter wonderland away from me. So I wanted to the make the best out of what remained of the frosty season. And what better a way to do so than enjoy a long, morning walk and get some ice cream?

I walked past my street noticing with delight that I was not the lone person in an overcoat. Bundles of clothing and warm coats and sweaters were still wrapped over half of the people I saw around me.

I watched with a sense of forlornness as some ladies fussed over the marked rise in temperature. “We shouldn’t have worn such bulky clothes today,” I heard them say to each other as all of them took of their coats by way of reaching an agreement.