Morning’s a little misty. Puddles from last night’s rain still decorate the road and make walking difficult. School children are cheerful now that they are on the road finally past the battles at home. They are shepherded carefully past the puddles by mothers. Inside is a little tremor of trepidation about homework left unfinished, lessons unlearnt for tests. A little beam of hope lights them up inside. Hope that that the teacher will be absent, some unexpected function will cancel the test.
Mothers - some in their nighties, some in crumpled sarees, some in old salwars - a bag in one hand, a little hand in the other, stand at the bus stop and breathe fully.
It is a look of satisfaction on their faces. They‘ve made it. It’s the first breath they seem to be drawing fully from the morning.
All the morning rush. Cook breakfast and lunch, wash half a dozen boxes, wake up the children, listen to a recital with one ear, make coffee and tea for the other members of the household, cope with the odd visitor and phone call, give instructions to the milkman and maid, search for lost books and socks and soothe fears, pass on something a neighbor needs.
They’ve done it .Got to the bus on time. Now they can go home and face the rest of the day in peace. And you can see that this is the best moment of the day from their faces.
A moment to stand still and breathe. When hands are not busy with something and yet so much has been accomplished. And there is so much of the day left.
Published on zine5 on 31st jan,2008