Letter to Daughter VI

Chinkiepie dearest,

Monsoon is here. And the first letter of monsoon goes your way just the dreamy way I found you in my thoughts today, as I slept. For a long time you have been wanting to visit Mommy's Big School. Such was my surprise to see you there, waiting for the lift in a strange, neither deep nor light blue frock in your two plaits and almost heavenly pure face, clinging to your doll as if the tighter you clutched her, the faster the lift would arrive. I don't have a fair idea who brought you there and like in movies we will not try and localize the logic which isn't. Your face looked beatific in that wonder you wore when you saw the samples stuck in the wall of infant and children wear and I felt like running to you then and there and pull you up into my arms.

Dreams, however, are stealthy things. The more urgency with which I run towards them, the quicker it dissolves, as if sucked up in a quicksand of feelings. Where do you live then? Where do you run to? This heart loved you enough to accept you even when you are not, yet you run away in a way which is more real than reality.

The rain washes away the pain, the wise ones say. Perhaps. Mommy disagrees. Chinky, when you grow up and read this letter please ask yourself what makes you so excited about the electronic fireworks in the sky. Why do you run around to find a paper to make a boat? Why do you tease Tucker and scare the hell out of him threatening to take him out for a walk? Why do you catch me in my most personal moment of being lost as it rains, bringing me back to the unbelievable happiness of a reality called you? Bringing me back to the comfort called you, more unreasonable than most reasonable heartaches, ever?

You make me so happy that it is sad, the beguilement of it all. This is what the rain does. Washes away the thickset of illusions. Did it this time though?

I am still writing to you, and sealing this with the Mommy-kissie you love.

Run to your mom-soon! Each monsoon.

Momsie.