I read the other day about a rally organised in New Delhi to protest female foeticide and call attention to the deteriorating male:female ratio, particularly in the states of northern India. Just reminded me of something I wrote a long time ago...in fact, much before I became a mother, perhaps in response to a similar discussion in the eighties, perhaps recalled from 'the depths of neo-natal' memory...? But I must say that memory and imagination are partners in a writer's mind, and empathy often makes curious turns into the space usually occupied by experience, and in doing so, touches memory with a brush that recalls feelings unfelt!
A daughter is born
17-3-86
Dredged up
From the depths of neo-natal experience
A memory stirs.
While head and hands groped for life
In the womb-darkness
Of pre-birth,
Tiny feet found
Their first breath
In the bright hospital air.
A little body
Inched out into
The adult world, defined
By adult-set hopes.
Before even,
The baby eyes saw
Their first rays of light,
The voices fell—
“It’s a girl”.
A daughter is born
17-3-86
Dredged up
From the depths of neo-natal experience
A memory stirs.
While head and hands groped for life
In the womb-darkness
Of pre-birth,
Tiny feet found
Their first breath
In the bright hospital air.
A little body
Inched out into
The adult world, defined
By adult-set hopes.
Before even,
The baby eyes saw
Their first rays of light,
The voices fell—
“It’s a girl”.
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