On First Holding You In My Arms

From my psychedelic trance I surface,
bright fluorescent rainbow lights now receding, now in my face.
My mind bobs up, plunges down- just refuses to stay sound.

It's scary nice in the depths of fear,
this tunnel which I traverse,
exploding stars in my face-
as at the beginning of the universe.

Then I surface through the haze,
my mind in a warped bend,
where the walls and ceilings recede-
only to come slamming into my face again.

Body in ache, mind quite numb,
I trawl my eyes, bend my head sideways : it feels like ten;
a burden I can hardly bear.

Suddenly you swim into sight,
through the ether induced haze,
flailing limbs sticking out,
attached to a tiny frame.

When I'm made to hold you,
I fret, I may not pass the test,
I worry i'll fail,
under the nurses' strict gaze.

The magical reality hits my stoned mind,
past months of incomprehension pale.
Now it's here and I can't escape-
this dazzling gift of fate.

Delirious with dread,
ecstatic and scared,
stunned, yet unfazed,
I stare at your crinkled pink face,
overwhelmed and amazed.

My Little Girl

Sometimes, every once in a while,
for a few fleeting moments
before the hubbub of everyday takes over
and all dreams are brushed aside,
I feel something roll inside me
and for a fraction of a second I'm transposed
to a time long ago.

I'd dreamed you from the start:
as a tiny mass of cells 
multiplying ferociously inside me -
 I could already see your face,
imagine the contours of your tiny body.
Holding you in my arms
dressing you in little frocks 
and letting you do all that
I wasn't allowed to do.

My precious darling,
you were not to be
I weighed the various facts
and decided to let you go.
You didn't carry enough weight
in my schemes, as they stood:
sucked you out of me, I did:
through a vacuum tube.

Can't afford you at this juncture, 
is the lie I told myself;
set myself free:
to just be me. 
Free to imagine, 
what could have been.

Now when I see little girls
holding mommies' hands, 
and prance around
doing a merry dance,
filled with regret,
I feel a distinct pang-
for what could have been.

But I willed it otherwise.
Don't live with regrets, they tell me
So this guilt, I hide
But I know, I shall pay for it 
only with my life.

Memories

The first memories, of wood smoke
Naresh cooking on firewood.
Running to the kitchen,
through the corridor;
delicious scents wafting from it
of warmth, and succour.

Winters spent in nani's home;
"puas" slow cooked to perfection.
Love ladled out in scoopfuls,
fried a crispy brown tone.

World's best "aloo matar"
with Mummy fussing over
every "poori"  turned out like a ball
fluffy n red, just as I like it.

Shift the kaladeiscope,
see what it throws :
what we choose to remember,
what we forego-
keep the joys, relish  them;
dip into them, as into a treasure trove.