Posted on by Sonia Dogra

Now-Working-Mom

Dear Readers,

It’s been a long time! Kolkata has been drenched ever since we landed here more than a month ago. Setting up the house all over again is an uphill task. It’s building again—friendships, garden, walking routes, favourite grocery shop and a reliable house help. Also, some precious things that break in transit. It’s not easy to let them go, but I must. After all, I’ve let go many places and people, having moved fourteen cities in twenty years.

That aside, I miss writing in these pockets of uncertainty. While notebook scribbles are like a poet’s shadow, the writing rhythm is lost to life. To mundane, routine things. So, I am excited to join Namratha for Poetic Adventures 2.0 (if you remember, earlier this year we wrote ten poems, one each week). She is back with the eleventh week and I’m excited to join her. I’m not sure how the following prose poem has turned out, it’s like warming up after weeks of cold writing. I’ve fashioned it after the two poems shared on Poetic Adventures which you may read here.

The prompt says: Write a poem or a prose poem using the Invisible Girl, or a character of your own.. The Dead Poet, The Nostalgic Cyborg, The Immolated Bride. Use strong imagery in your poem. Try to incorporate alliteration. Start your poem in the middle of the action. Don’t be hesitant to incorporate an element of surrealism. Let your imagination go where it wants to go. Happy Writing!

And now, over to Now-Working-Mom

When Now-Working-Mom gazes into the mirror, she sees a fallen angel. Her phone holds six missed calls and fourteen messages: mummy pokes out in nine like a giant red flag. When did her ears shift from a bat’s to a turtle’s? Outside the new-office window, city traffic snarls like a snake; inside, a downpour of meetings drenches her. At the other end of speed dial is Irate Youngster, urgency scraping her back with impatient fingers, her roaring tempest of aspersions shape-shifting into an iceberg, its icy fingers brushing Now-Working-Mom’s cheeks, leaving behind a trail of frost-bitten tears. Irate Youngster, is your Always-Working-Dad in the know? A shake of head; in her adolescent eyes his busyness is a badge of honour, demanding every minute. A chasm pauses the screens. Irate Youngster continues to breathe fireflies of fury. Now-Working-Mom wears a crown of thorns made from forgotten promises.

Thank you for reading. I’ll see you again next week!

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16 Replies to “Now-Working-Mom”

  1. As I read this piece, Nuclear’s dual meaning was paramount in my mind. You captured the family members’ personality and their relationships, even the never-present, always-working father. This was a brilliant prose poem, Sonia–the imagery, fresh and perfect.

    Perhaps the many relocations and those “pockets of uncertainty’ are exactly what you needed to supercharge your writing. I would like more, please.

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  2. Fourteen cities in twenty years! It’s a wonder you even unpack. May you find much inspiration in a city with such a rich literary history, once the clouds clear and the humidity lessens a little!

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  4. You may be returning to writing after a pause but your pen surely hasn’t rusted. How strong the image of Now-Working-Mom clashing with Irate Youngster was. The last line especially hit hard. Welcome back, Sonia! Can’t wait to read more and more! 🤩

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  6. ‘six missed calls and fourteen messages’, ‘a trail of frost-bitten tears’, ‘crown of thorns made from forgotten promises’ : I loved how you used the images to drive the story forward. The ‘now-working-mom’ holds such truth. Thank you for writing along with me, Sonia.

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