They hated her rude behaviour. But needed her help to work the remote.

They felt they were being bullied. But couldn't step out of the house without her help.

They feared her dominance. But knew they had no one else to turn to.

They cringed away from her temper. But knew they couldn't operate on their own.

She knew she couldn't live without them. But couldn't help getting irritated by their asks for help.

She knew it was their last years. But the demands of the world, hers and theirs, overwhelmed her.

All knew they couldn't live without each other

A glowing orb

Dips into the sea

The sky glows as far as the eye can see

Night cloaks day

But not before the sun has had its last say

Tinting the sky with the dying embers of its fire

I stared pensively at my daughter’s eager reflection in the bus window.

“Why?”

“I’d like to.”

I glanced at my wife who had aged 5 years since that conversation. The permanent worry lines, the crease in her forehead testified to 15 years of untiring motherhood, navigating the fine line between love and worry, discipline and freedom.

Only to be relegated now to also-ran.

We stayed in the shadows as we watched our daughter re-unite with her birth parents.

Post tears, hugs, she introduced us, “Meet my real parents.”

We knew then we had been mistaken to think we had rivals.

“Pick up the phone, Dy,” Mia prayed. The phone rang. And rang. Mia sighed. Back to the usual pattern. She had refused him something he wanted, now he wouldn’t talk to her for a couple of days.

Mia thought back to last night’s party. “Its my life,” she had hissed angrily at him as he waited patiently for her to hand the glass to him. “Its our baby,” he had told her quietly. “The doctor said an occasional drink won’t hurt.” “The doctor didn’t say anything of the sort, Mia,” he was losing his cool now. “And even if she did, I wouldn’t want you imbibing strong spirits at this point.” “You wouldn’t want me? Do you own me?” Mia was furious. She gulped the drink in one go and banged the glass down on the table behind her. He looked at her in cold anger, then walked out of the party. Without her. He wasn’t home when she reached. Now he wouldn’t pick up the phone. She was familiar with the behaviour. Their behaviour.

But this time, please pick up, she hoped. She tried every few minutes, all the way to the doctor.

Dylan reached the hospital at breakneck speed when he received a call from Mia’s best friend. “Where is she?” he shook the girl; the friend pointed mutely. He reached her bedside just as she gave a long, shuddering sob. “Mia,” he cried out and went towards her.

“She’ll be fine in a day,” the doctor looked curiously at him. “Physically that is. She’ll need all the support she can until she recovers mentally. No lasting damage, don’t try for another baby so soon, though.”

Dylan went towards her, wanting to hold her, soothe her. The crying girl on the bed turned toward the wall, rolling up into a tight ball, excluding him. That was the beginning of the end, he realized it now, on hindsight. If only she hadn’t been defiant. If only he hadn’t tried to punish. If only the baby had lived. If only.

12 long years, waiting for the next promotion.

The ‘friendly’ comment I heard most often “You don’t mean that? 12 years? Why are you still here?” Or rather what is wrong with you?

And to be honest, I didn’t know.

But what I also didn’t know was what I gained in those 12 long years.

A mature attitude, patience, a can-do attitude that would help me survive in the jungle of the next job.

What did come was a self-belief thicker than a bear’s skin.

What did come was knowledge that helped me ace the odds in the next job.

The meeting was secretly heralded as the fight of giants. A fight to the finish. One in which I was to be crucified.

You came with a full force, a team of loyalists, on whose behalf you would slay me.

There you sat, less than a foot away from me, surrounded by your cheerleaders. There was I, a paltry team of two to support me, neither of whom I could count on. You were the clear winner. Even before it started.

And yet, here I am. Meeting over, unharmed. Or so it seems.

You didn't raise a finger of accusation. I stared in surprise at you, not more than a foot away. Your polished manner didn't betray the contempt you have always shown me in the past. Your eyes were carefully neutral, your manner painstakingly convivial.

I didn't get it. Wasn't this supposed to be a fight to the finish? Why then did you let me go?

Is that why I have lain awake night after night since then? Grateful to have been spared and wondering why? If so, why am I not analysing the meeting more thoroughly for clues and hidden moves? Knowing what I know of you, a suave politician, who has it in for me.

Instead, night after night since then, all that I can see is the handsome face so close to mine that day. The perfectly sculpted nose, the lips that I almost reached out to explore with the tips of my fingers. The way your eyes wandered to the hoops in my ears. The way you mastered your people's dissent against me with ease.

How did a meeting of clashes turned into nights of longing?

We made a pact,

You and I,

We'd always see eye to eye.

Until the day you looked up high

And used me as a stepping stone to reach for the sky.