Write to me

” And remember, no late night parties,”
“Yesss Mom.” The kid sighed .
“Write to me . at least once a week.” Dry- mouthed , I continued , in the same vein .Oblivious of the irritation , in the kids voice.
“Write?” She sounded hurt, almost as if I had asked her to do shirshasana (head-stand).
“Okay, email.” I was sounding sheepish, desperate. . Some people jostled past her , into the compartment, almost knocking her off her feet. Beasts.
“No jumping into friendships , take your time , use your judgement.” My husband was pulling me away , with the warning look that said “stop it now , enough already, ( Bachche ko tang karna band karo )”
My kid rolled her eyes.
“Don’t miss your meals .”
She waved quickly and the in-front -of -the bathroom-door- crowd , immediately swallowed her.
The train started moving.
Horrified, I freed myself from the grip of my hubby and ran to the darkened windows of the AC coach, scanning for my baby.
Why do they darken the windows?Heart- in -the-mouth,I realized that half of my wisdom, was left unsaid.

The train gathered speed, and rushed away, into a bright and dusty noon, carrying my heart and soul with it. My eyes welled up. When she would study , I would goad her to get good marks and get a seat in a good college. Now that my long -standing dream had come true , I was standing here, weeping on the platform , when I should be thankful to the Lord.

Grateful to a better half also , who is right now , balancing , one bisleri bottle and two coffees , with my favourite magazine under his sweaty armpits.
I smile through my tears .

Life is full of contradictions . That is its beauty.