DELHI 1987.

A MOTHER TAKES HER DAUGHTER TO SCHOOL FOR THE FIRST TIME.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You are holding your
Daughter’s little hand
In yours, you are now

 

Taking her to the
School for the first time.
The footsteps of you

 

Both are reluctant,
Slow, like naked feet
Walking over hot

 

Coals. You feel like you
Are walking to a
Strange death, a new kind

 

Of separation.
Part of your life with
Her has changed: she will

 

Not be with you all
Of the time now; some
Others will have her,

 

Share her, impose a
Will other than your
Own, impart knowledge

 

To her ears and mind.
Her hand grips yours like
The little monkey

 

That she is. When she
Feels secure she climbs,
Runs, tumbles in play,

 

But not today; now
She walks clutching your
Hand tightly, staring

 

At you with her dark
Eyes, showing her deep
Apprehension, a

 

Small fear. Where are we
Going? She asks you.
To school, you reply.

 

The young teacher seemed
Pleasant enough: smiles,
Bright eyes, attired neat

 

And knowledgeable. 
Yet, all those people,
Those other children,

 

Those classrooms, those long
Forgotten fears of
School you once had, rise

 

Up and gnaw at your
Mind. Time will go.
She’ll soon be home once

 

More, full of tales and
Energy, mischief,
Laughter and the hand

 

Will no longer grip
Yours or the eyes plead
With a fear. Time to

 

Let go. Goodbye, see
You later, see you
Soon, daughter, my dear.