The mind writes

The mind writes

Faster than the pen can commit to paper.

As we headed out this afternoon, already dark at 4:30 pm, I wished the reluctant drizzle would stop. Or just burst forth and empty its load and be done with it. I'm not complaining, but the uncertainty can be annoying. Like a half commitment from the skies, undecided, should they, or shouldn't they? 

I think it is okay to expect a certain decisiveness at this stage in our lives. Time is precious. 

Anyway, when we joined the motorway, I realized I hadn't seen as many Eddie Stobart trucks as I used to. The truth is I'm not looking anymore, either. I suppose the Infatuation with the boys in green is waning. I may have spotted one on the way down, which still stirred excitement. Of sorts. 

Then, on the way back, I was deep in thought, the seat warmer keeping me cozy as the drizzle continued outside in the darkness. The narrow roads in the city, the old churches of stone, remnants of generations before us, and all the other peculiarities of this Old country triggered a deep longing to know how I came to be here. 

If there were anything I could want, any wish I could be granted, it would be to sit with all my ancestors, all those who came before me, and get to know them. Know them and communicate with deep love, sincere compassion, and supreme reverence. 

Whose trauma am I carrying in my bones, to whom belong my fears, and what can I do to comfort and console them so they can be erased from my past? And dispelled from my mother and grandmother's past, and be drained of all residue through me so it does not percolate down to my daughter. 

What of the men, though? What battle scars do they carry? Will we ever know? 

The bright spot of this car ride, which brought a smile, was the realization that it's hard to find people with good camaraderie and quick wit, with a penchant for repartee and a love of knowledge sharing. I wondered who this came from and where they lived when inhabiting this world. 

So, the second thing I would wish for is someone to talk to. Just talk, celebrate life, and maybe hold hands? Holding hands as we walk comes down from my teenage years, walking with my grandfather. 

Veenu Banga

December 7, 2023.

11:43 pm.