Maitreyi.

I had another hour to kill.

I gazed at the pregnant clouds and awaited the intoxicant drizzles; my mind played a restless prance, unsettling my soul with an elegant enigma.

Enigma, it is. I have not an iota of idea, not an inkling of how this meet would turn out to be.
20years!

20years of living in dark about that life that endowed me with a life, about the identity of a womb that nurtured me with care; of my first experience of real love in this surreal world.

But, did she love me ever? At least for that one fraction of second, that first glance? Or did she just simply discard me as an unwanted piece of ugly underwear?

Did she think of me when some statistician wanted the count of her ‘family’ members? Did she gape at the ogling crescent to see my newborn face on the sky? Or did she over the years remember nothing about me but the horrendous labour pain she put up with?

Had she marveled at the idea of beaming at my achievements? Did she see dreams of pride she would experience on knowing that I won the booker prize? Or did she think of me as spoilt food that has stained her party wear; curse me-for iam a product of lust and dirt?

I do not care. I do not care to deliberate on the sanctity of her motherhood. It doesn’t matter if she loved me ever; my love is supreme. It is my ache that aches. It is my longing, which longs. Her absence has made void all the bliss i was blessed with. Every happy moment was marked with a sense of vacuum, a craving to see a glimpse of my joy glow on her face.

Every peaceful moment I experienced, every answer that solved my puzzles still left me incomplete; as I continued to harp on the riddles of my origin. Every sense of cozy affection that ornamented my heart was not fulfilling, I was always left feeling empty.

And I searched all my life.
Like a dog smelling every waste in the dustbin, looking out for that one delicious dish that can satisfy its hunger. Like a nomadic saint looking for enlightenment everywhere in the outside world. Like a writer yearning to write that one awe inspiring masterpiece but failing miserably to do so. Like a man in the whorehouse that has taken everything he can but returns feeling nothing.

I’ve looked for that snug intimacy in every relationship i’ve lived, in the protective warmth i experienced when with my godmother; in the chirpy friendship with my best friend; in the selfless love i felt for him. But alas, none! None of those could define how it feels to have a mother by my side.

An unnamed chasm remained. The gulf widened. With every birthday, with every month, every day, every nanosecond. And i lived the melancholic desire. Yearning. Imagining. Dreaming. Creating. Loving.

Loving. Her. For all that she has given me. A reason to live. A reason to pray. A reason to long. A reason to aspire. A reason for tears. A hope to cherish. A day to wait for.

And the day has bosomed, the day i’d dreamt of all my life. The moment when I would rest my head on her chest, feel the warmth of her closeness, smell that unfamiliar mother’s fragrance and cleave to her cuddling voice. Savoring the first few moments of my life with her, living under her sheltering skin.

Once I manage to breathe peacefully and let the feeling of completeness sink in, I would kiss her on the forehead. Nervously. Smile, blissfully. I then would go on to paint the canvas of my life for her; with the blacks and oranges, animatedly narrate every single event of my life and chide for not having been there. Laugh till iam out of breathe, sing till I my voice turns coarse, cry till the tear glands beg for rest.

And I suddenly felt an inexplicable excitement, a thrill I’ve never known before. If a vague imagination of the meet could make me dizzy with happiness, the real one would kill me!

It started raining outside. And I danced my mood to the flute on the music system, like always. But my toes refused to co-ordinate the steps poetically as they failed to sense the day's flavor. My heart failed to give this mellifluous spirit a name. It is vague; it is intangible; faint and bewildering.

My milieu has always had its part in molding my joy, shaping my minute’s world. But today it seemed to be working otherwise. The clouds sensing the restlessness in me showered the roaring rains with immense rage. Speaking fury, singing screams. Asking pace, asking for the moments to pace. Speaking an euphoric thunder, an anxious lightning. Yes, they are matching moods with me.

Yes…yes………Nature is matching moods with me.
Yes……yes……….I’m God today!
Yes…yes…………..I’m meeting her today!

********************

“Darling, are you in?” She asked.

“Yeah……….Please open the door.” I yelled.

And then she walked in. My godmother, with that familiar stranger tagging along.

I looked at her, her plain pale face. Her sharp nose and oval face. Her long hair and puny fingers. Her diamond earring and sparkling pendant. Her quaint demeanor and the calculated steps. Her long forehead and the voluptuous waist. Her weary eyes and curvy lips.

I looked at her, stood as if hypnotized. I saw her face and wondered if it is this I will look like when old. I desperately wanted to hug her, because I’d planned to. There is a terrible ache that I sense in the breast, one that makes me want to cry. To love and to hate.

I wanted to know her, like never before. She hugged me. My body felt tense, numb, wanting. The world seemed perfect and then it turned imperfect. Our anxiety didn’t unite us; the tears didn’t wrap us together.

We moved away from each other.

And then, she asked silently “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine” I shrugged my shoulders.

I have an entire life to kill.

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(Maitreyi – Motherly)