The bedroom light filtered in thru a crack. I reached out and dragged the heavy curtain towards the wall. The children looked troubled in their sleep. Is it a reflection of me? The air in the room seemed dense. I could not open the window as the trains trying to rid the tracks of people crossing the tracks keep blaring their horns. So i switched on the fan. It whirred into a gentle rhythm. The children seemed more relaxed and heaved deep sighs. It wasn’t me. It was the air.

The moments when the world spins and i become aware of its orbit, i feel lost, minuscule and run for comforting familiarity. The familiarity of coffee, of writing a poem, of hugging the children and kissing their heads that are closer to my own now. I went in to the bathroom. Smearing toothpaste on my toothbrush i started the morning ritual, brush, rinse, lather, repeat, towel dab. I wore my spectacles and the world looked strange. I had worn contacts to bed. Bad girl.

Suddenly a tiny joyous thought struck me. After days of no good coffee, i had procured some decent blend the previous night. Switched the kettle on and boiled the water. Measured coffee into the old fashioned steel percolator. I was ready for my daily scalding. It seems to me that if Louise Hays is to be believed then i have some anger emerging at the rate I have been scalding myself. The kettle did its little dance and i poured the boiling water onto the coffee powder. Shut the lid, did not scald myself and covered the contraption with a towel so the cold air from outside would be a little dissuaded.

A mango peeked out of the giant basket my mom keeps on her counter. Did i mention I’m visiting my folks? They live in a giant metropolis in a large complex in the middle of an old, Brahmin dominated region of the city. I can feel the city, the organisms, human and otherwise, all milling around below my lofty 13th floor apartment. I feel them pouring their energy into each other and especially into the fruit. This mango tasted sweet but also of city and busyness and mushy monsoon streets. Dad said its a bad idea to eat mangoes after the rains. I think he is right.

I have been exploring how my body feels energy wise with a new diet. Trying to increase my raw food content. Its hard. Today after the customary fruit first, i reach out for my coffee. Now i scald my toes with a flying hot water drop as i twist off the top of the percolator. Its only half done. I rested the top cylindrical part in an empty mug and poured myself my first cup. Setting back the contraption and covering it with a towel i realise that i feel quite empty this morning,

This emptiness has become the bane of my existence. I seem to wake up more often to this emptiness. I’m not sure i like it. Its like i have no ambition, no movement, only a quiet absorption of what is. This is happening more since i figured staying in the moment, with my children, allows for flow. Flow of life, flow of energy, so i go with their feelings, loves and am able to meet them where they are. But it has also meant i am sitting with this open maw inside of me.