Of Rains and Bows

Another pregnant miscarriage. With every fetal conception, the mind, heart and body work in tandem coloring the future with multilayered hues. They borrow colors from nature and turn my sepia tinted days into a display of never ending rainbows.

One of the most coveted memory of my childhood, holding my father’s hand by the Strand on a stormy day, when suddenly the thunderous threats of the clouds and lightening mellowed into a rainbow. It was almost as if the sky was making up with me after engaging in a fisticuff that left me exhausted and battered.

Every pregnancy introduces such a rainbow in my life, soothing me from the stormy past. Then voila! It deserts me, leaving the past and present looking bereft of any compassion and placate. Each time I tell myself not to seek those rainbows till my term is complete. But not unlike a mirage, I can never fulfill term and hold my newborn in my arms, exhausted from the experience, but enhanced, enriched and enormously fulfilled.

This eternal quest for motherhood stems from an innate intrinsic incompleteness. The one being, who erodes all the lacunae in me, and completes me. With each miscarriage I try to remind myself of the eternal nausea that entailed my pregnancy, the sleepless nights, the endless weight on my feet which made my toes invisible. But all I remember is the wholesomeness and purpose I was gloating with.

Seldom is the sense of longing compensated with time, but as I brave Time, I await its tenderness, expecting it to immune me to the hurt, or, make my rainbow a reality.