It was one of those days when I was so happy being myself, my own little world defined so much to me that I hardly looked beyond to search for something which could redefine or add meaning to my life. I was myself. You would probably interpret it reader, as a natural consequence of my becoming pregnant with a child; this sudden revelation of the motherhood inherent quenched the thirst of exploring in and out. Well, if you think so I shall not deny. I was engrossed in knowing new aspects of myself. At times I would be amazed to see that I was so much capable of caring for my own self and later realized that it was all for the baby I was carrying.
This flexibility of my child’s identity and mine was wonderful, it would merge into one and the next moment would split into two. So inexpressible it was to see the identities play within me! Can I ever define my joy? Perhaps not. Then one day the identities split into two forever, what had been lighting lamps within me was there radiating in my arms. I kissed him and felt my warm lips touching my own forehead. I smiled; I had got into the habit of feeling him within. He lay there quietly by my side, a smile on his face would suddenly dissipate into a frown and then would break into a cry and I read the expressions on his face as I read a book.
It was then, when I was doting on him, I heard a shrill cry break out in a thunderous shriek, I held him close to my heart. He was still asleep, unperturbed by the sound. The shriek did not end, someone was howling ceaselessly. A mother had lost her month old infant, the nurse told me. Tears overstepped my eyes imperceptibly, I had never seen how it is when a life disintegrates into nothing and all that one knows as a being flies off without bidding a farewell. Yet I shivered and could no longer hold my child in my arms. His poised sleeping face was too large for me to bear upon my chest. I cried and knew that the next moment I could laugh.
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