Its been long I lapped or caressed a child closely. But i got pregnant i dont know when. Now I keep looking at him every single minute. I think after you got a child of your own you are totally a different person. You will always think about him/her whenever away. Whenever you are close to him you will be tired. I was walking downstairs today. I could see the window of the room the baby sleeping. The wide shoulder driver of our neighboring flat was in front of the lift. I crossed him from a 100 feet distance. And keep walking. Suddenly there is a scene of a film.The driver with other men entered into our flat as I left the lock open. I came forward with the baby intentionally as if they will consider us weak as a home with child. But no they didnt. They snatched my baby from me and throw him on the floor like washing a big bed sheet on rock. I don’t know the later part of the film. I start reciting Surahs with my trembling heart and soul and limbs. I never recited Surahs, well I never had these sudden filming session. So having a child is not always what you think.
I used to keep journals. Now that I am sitting at home and feeding my son hour after hour I remember my journals. There were not many. May be three or four. I used to write from grade five or six. And never wrote regularly. Never thought about it seriously. My journals were my freedom. The words, thoughts I was not allowed to share with anyone I used to write them all. I stopped writing when I was really intense in writing.
I had a secret lover Riddhi. I used to write letters to him. Where did I get the idea dont remember today but may be for my hormonal upheavals today I can feel my love for him. I can totally remember my teenage trembling heart. At that time it was s if wrong to love someone. Loving someone is strictly prohibited even one lives in my imagination. I remember I had one ash,one yellow and one pink journal. I was always afraid of my secrets. Always tense about someone revealing my secret. May be thats why I stopped writing them.
Al through my life I was afraid. Couldn’t ever practice to be brave in a real sense.So I first denied my dad. Dad is the one taught me books, language, politics, culture and dad is the one wanted me to compromise. I wrote them all in my journals. Each and every time I shouted at him or had a bad talk or was stopped forcefully I wrote my words with tearful eyes. For me it was as if saying prayers or submitting to someone for his punishment. I loved him so much but couldnt ever communicate that.
I was always bad at communication. What I try to say never made my mom understood. I wanted to learn music. Couldnt make my parents understood. I wanted to go to travel with them. Couldnt make them understoood. I wanted to have long addas with them. Couldnt ever make them understood. Still I am a person in bad contacts.
My journals are carrying all my childhood sorrows and grief. Of course my adventures too. My relation with my parents. And my siblings. Me and my sister used to go to school together. We always needed to walk fast of course because of me getting late everyday. So boys in Tikatuli used to call us ‘left right’. I got three love letters. Nobody knows that I know them. I read them and put for my mother to read them and to decide. These letters were my pride. I wrote about them in my journals. So sad not one I kept.
I thought one day I will become a writer. Writing was giving me so much pleasure. I still smell rainy evenings and me writing journals full of emotions and crush and dreams and secrecy. Oh how much I loved writing them.
My journals are still locked in my old drawer. They are my love letters to my secret lover.