The Women I Share My Baby With…

     

Are united with me through the private language of women

Of secrets of healing from childbirth

Of the fragrance of sambrani,

calmly coiling around neglected hair.

Of safety pins around a taali, 

covered by a demure sari.

Of how pleats should gracefully 

Contour the softened edges of my newly maternal frame.

Enna kannamma? they ask

And listen rapt

for familiar sounds on my baby’s garbled tongue.

 

They soften with an inexplicable love

As my baby slumbers fitfully,

unsettled in the darkness of a quiet, still room

When she stirs these women

Whisper sweet assurances

‘Aunty yahaan pe hai.’

Assuring her she is not alone

Aunty carries the light

To fight the shadows.

 

These women resolutely build a fire

To banish the evil forces who trouble my child.

With haldi, kumkum, and time-tested spells

A lock of their hair thrown in for good measure

To appease the Gods.

The only women I trust

To hold my child over this blazing fire

To bathe her skin, her ears and nose in the mysterious smoke

To ward away the evil spirits lurking around my baby.

 

We share meals, sometimes a cup of tea

They sit on the kitchen floor nimbly mashing their daal and rice

Shiny steel plates and fragrant mallipoo in their hair…

They teach her the beautiful poetry of unconditional love

Their coarse hands a soothing balm on her soft scalp. 

 

These women

They love

Without need, without reason

The women I share my baby with 

Arrive in the morning

And in the evening

leave their hearts in my baby’s soft palms

Where it beats until

The next morning.

When they come to reclaim it

And her.