Parvati’s Grief

You lose a baby.

The weight of that sentence is so heavy and thick with grief that the world tilts on its axis, and everything shifts.

You can’t shift away from that numbing loss that makes you lose interest in everything now that the baby is lost.

Babies can be lost once they are created in the womb. Babies are not those hopes you pin the rest of your life on. For that, the world has another word. That word is dreams.

Dreams are worthy only if you remember them and you do. You remember that the baby with its hair softly curled, skin a rich, foamy chocolate, eyes small and twinkling, and a smile that slowed the whole universe, saved your life and that of your mother’s and father’s and the whole damn family on both sides of the gene pool, hell, the entire bloody cosmos; but no one knew about all that now because the baby was apparently not born like the way a baby was supposed to be born.

The theme of birth keeps recurring in your grief and stems the tears, because how can you – even if you already are the mother of baby, even if your breasts feel heavy with unconsumed milk, even if your womb twitches when you sit – cry over something that doesn’t exist?

The world values only what does exist. So you stop the welling eyes and think that since the baby doesn’t exist now, even the father and mother have nothing in common, nothing to share, and nothing that will make them a unit anymore. Nothing exists.

In this universe only if you create something does it exist. Yet, in this same universe where you had created the baby in your thoughts, in those playful and tender conversations with its father, in those tense moments of hope and longing, the baby doesn’t exist because the baby was apparently not born like the way a baby was supposed to be born, and now you have lost the ability to mother a child.

So when you lost the baby, it was not the actual flesh and blood that meant home, that meant roots, that meant family, that you lost. You lost the baby’s father and the nebulous connection between two loving souls. You lost the thought of ever having a baby, ever being a mother, ever creating a new world, and ever adding to the cycle of birth and death. You lost your ability to pay back your debt to the universe. You lost your power to be a goddess and became instead a hapless, helpless woman at the mercy of the universe and its cruel sense of humour. You lost yourself.

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About Bhumika's Boudoir

I love to laugh, and end up being a part of high drama and stormy emotion even when I don't pursue it. Being creative, and communicating with people get me going. I enjoy all the good things in life especially those that are slightly risque, and apologise little, if ever, for all that I do. Literature is a passion and so is music.
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4 Responses to Parvati’s Grief

  1. Deepa says:

    Wow Bhumika! Just wow!

    Like

  2. Kripa Bansal says:

    That was beautiful! It almost brought me to tears…

    Like

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