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An in-between sort of post. Not being able to claim or set free the emotion. Almost like the weather outside the window, sultry heat in damp lighting, neither here nor there, somewhat in between and in the process, neither. I like the damp lighting of London, the sort that can always legally promise rain and get away with the perennial-ity of it. To some, it is a morose setting, no sun shining and drying off the wetness of the spirits, no dry breeze making them emotions soar high, carefree. But to me, the almost always incumbent rains bring a dance in my step, the splash of the wayward puddle breathes life into my dried up savannah and the dark clouds moving at a fast pace across the skies, bringing in the stiff chill and the brusque nightfall elongates my dream time. For me, there is always a silver lining, and it shines brighter in the darkest of rain clouds.

Maine decide kiyaa hai stage is here of our four year old, scary and exhilarating at the same time. Actually, the other way round. More exhilarating than scary. The onion peels of their layered personality are opening up now, slowly but surely. Will this make us cry? Naaah. The revelations, small ones, bundled up in simple logics and straight from the gut honesty are wonderful packages that lay strewn around all over my day. I keep picking them up from the unlikeliest of nooks and corners, settle down, open the strings and voila, from therein fly out Disneyland dreams, Goa sand castles, unopened letter boxes, drum rolls, glittering fingers, colin spray bottles, diaper bags, newspaper and other important paper pieces, sometimes in the washing machine, books, unopened and stacked, mixed up puzzle pieces, jumbled up crayon sets, homeopathy medicine cabinet turned upside down, Nivea moisturizer bottles.  Noises of feet running towards the train whistles, away from the whistle of the pressure cooker, a lion is in our house roars, secretive laughs holding back sinister, potent plans, smiles that widen till the secret unearthed and accounted for, loud wails, louder than the pain and softer than the hurt, laughters, the ones that make the fairies come to life. Animals everywhere, police cars everywhere, clay marks everywhere, lifebuoy soaps everywhere, lizols everywhere…they must have been here a moment ago. Shriek-y, incessant doorbells, over-enthusiastic goodbyes, dimmed out goodnights, blanket wrapped good mornings, surprise hi-s, the dampened greetings, running feet, slamming doors, last minute instructions, unheard and expected. All of these and more, more mundane than these, more absurd than these, with a spray of magic dust on them, making them all unreal and extra-ordinary.

The sound dying down, the magical clutter picked up and stored in memory shelves, the neat and clean house emerging from the chaos, the sound of my own breathing, the feel of my tired limbs, the throbbing ache of the head coming to the surface, the to-do list swimming in the horizon..I take a deep breath. I exist.