Somewhere in this fluid timeline that I live in, lucid dreams flow. I don’t know where one ends and the other begins. I dream of my past life, my life before captivity. It feels like someone is briskly cleaning that slate, but I try and hang on to whatever memory I can.
If this isn’t bliss, I don’t know what is. If there is a wicked witch who can turn the world into stone, I want her to come now. This is the moment I want to be frozen in forever.
A white stick camouflaged against the white marble. Two blue parallel lines stared back at her from a small oval window on it. The lifeless stick was the harbinger of the life growing within her.
I still remember the gush of cool air on my face and the smoky smell of burning charcoal as the train shunted off. The platform slid out of sight giving way to open rail yards strewn with gigantic metal beams. The city would make a brief appearance before melting into acres of green farmland interspersed with little towns from where kids would wave to us as the train sped past them.
I remember the days when Mama sang this to me, only to me. My throat was tight when I heard her singing the same song to Alfie, my little brother. He appeared unexpectedly after Mama and Dad went to the hospital one day. I was dropped off at Gram’s place. Her house smelled like naphthalene balls and Nilla wafers.
Live in the studio today is the two time Milkie winner for being the ‘Most Innovative Creator’. He is the author of the intergalactic bestseller “How to Create new Life Forms” and he has been crowned ‘Spacetastic Superstar of the Current Orbit” by Andromeda Magazine,
There’s an anger, a restlessness about you. You’re carrying scars from your childhood, perhaps. I see you in pigtails laying flowers on your mother’s grave on a winter morning. You’re wondering to yourself why Dad is crying and where Mom went. Or did your dad leave you when you were a child? Mom cried every time you asked her when dad would be back and you didn’t know why.
I am feeling great this Monday morning because I finally roped in Suchitra a.k.a. The PhD Mama to write a guest post for Mixed Bag.
She first felt a low ringing in her ears when Esmeralda made an entrance with her goat, Djali. Was it the magic of Hugo’s writing or the light summer breeze playing with the wind chimes? So strange!
In India, in the 80s, finding something like condensed milk or baking powder was akin to finding water on Mars.