Postpartum blues

The grand narrative is that 

the motherhood is entirely glorious 

and the most natural thing in the world. 

But, they don't prepare you 

those early days of motherhood 

when you get that recurring 

thought gnawing your guilty heart 

that you are merely the udders 

that produce life nourishing milk for 

this little monster whose presence 

has acquired epic proportions 

in a crazily ecstatic household.  

While, you are lectured upon 

what to eat and drink 

so as to not harm the little one. 

When to bathe and how to sleep 

by the omniscient ladies,

as you sit smelling of milk, urine and poop

repentant for not being a 

good enough self effacing mother. 

-Neha Bansal

The unwed mother

I  was told time and again 

By my wise mother 

that I was but a field 

to be given away to my husband 

where he shall sow his seeds 

and reap the harvest. 

Harvests are always celebrated!!

Have you not seen the colorful revelries 

of  Onam, Pongal, Baisakhi or Bihu?

Why then the crop of my field 

still unripe and tender 

such a disgrace, an occasion of such lament? 

If the owner of the seeds would not 

accept his harvest, why can't I be 

both the field and celebrator of my harvest? 

-Neha Bansal 

Yashoda

Yashoda

Won’t you turn back and look, Kanha?

and see her tear stained face

and the eyes that stonily stare

at the dimming sight of your caravan?

Won’t you see those quivering lips

moving silently to bless you for eternity?

Would you forget the touch of her scalded fingers

that broke for you the hot bread into tiny morsels?

and the sound of her jingling bangles

as she churned out the frothy butter?

The scent of her jasmine bound hair,

You inhaled as she spun the fairy tales?

The warmth of her hug on those moonless nights,

When the spooky monster chilled your spine?

And, the pearly white smile that grew bigger

At your every big and small achievement?

The courtyard chase in mock anger

at the butter thefts and neighbourhood clamour?

And, the midnight spying by the omniscient mother

As you stole away to sing and dance with Radha?

Would you not think of her

as you fulfil your glorious destiny?

Would you not think of her

as you slay Kamsa and guide Pandavas

on the chessboard of their tumultuous lives?

Would you not think of her

as you take sixteen thousand and eight wives

and prevent disrobing of Draupadi?

Would you not think of her

as you become the Narayana

and come to be known as an incarnation of Visnu?

Would you not think of her

as you herd your tribe to the resplendent city of Dwarka

and when you lay dying with an arrow stuck in your heel?     
- Neha Bansal