I, Me, Myself

This story was written in the summer of 2013 as an entry for the annual Deccan Herald Short Story Competition. As she nuzzled against me, I felt the warmth of her little body, the slow breathing synchronising with mine. Her almond eyes tightly shut, her somnolent mind led for a walk amongst the stars. I remember the very first time I held Maya to my bosom. My blood was still throbbing following the eight hours of intense labour. I was drained, parched and broken. Yet true to her name, those little fingers, as I entwined mine with hers, wielded a magic wand. No sooner than did I peer into those brown eyes, that I was healed. My baby. The tiny steps she took, were momentous milestones in our lives. Her tiny feet traced a path the lit its way into our hearts. First a coo then a call, our little girl was growing up fast. It came as a bolt from the blue. One day my little girl was jumping and playing about, walking into walls, losing her balance on the bicycle...

The blue sky, the bird and the butterfly, In all their cerulean glory, for my attention do vie, I strain my brain to not give a grain, Putting to work all those years of train. Teasing me with a sweep and caress, The evening breeze seeks to ease my brows creased with stress. Yet I persevere, hard and fast, But I do fear my will won't last, Alas, I have been at this for the day past. Yet, to my master, I implore, The myriad distractions shall you ignore! Dear, hippocampus , I've a lot of work you see, Do, I can't , all that which would set my spirit free. And so despite the finger itch, I must put in the next stitch. Yet, I see how you're writing without a glitch, And now the urge to have me read has reached , a fever's pitch. Ah well, about physiology, (for now), the devil may care, For I will pick up that pen and lay my thoughts bare. Thus, I write, frigid and terse, And out flows this rusty verse. * to all the connoisseurs out there...