Meandering in the Garden of Poetry with my Daughter Sharanya 

Lopa Banerjee is a poet, author, translator and editor residing in Texas, USA with her family. She is originally from Kolkata, India. Lopa has some critically acclaimed books and anthologies to her credit and works at the Writing Center of Collin College in Frisco, Texas. She also teaches creative writing at Texas Christian University and at University of North Texas.

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[A futuristic letter addressed to my daughter, in which I trace my emotional journey with her through our mutual bond of poetry, literature and writing, a letter to be given to her when she graduates from middle school in 2024.]

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“Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty waltz with their prince charming

In the painted carnival of cherry blossoms and butterflies,

In the wonderland of your dreams, sweet dreams,

Every night, starry, starry night, where I behold you in your silky slumber–

With tender kisses and cuddles,

I seal my enduring trust in your tiny bodies–

My mind, a wanderer in the dark, lustful world,

Yet craving to embrace your sweet nothings….

Soon the wonderland of your dreams will fade away,

The mud and soil of this giant world will surround you,

Howl in your ears to grow up, let go.

Let there still be room for the serenity and magic of your dreamland,

Let the fragrance of human love and life be yours’ still,

In the vain world where you may open your eyes tomorrow.”

Dearest Sharanya, my darling Paku buri (precocious child),

Eight years ago, in the bewildering maze of my mother’s heart, I was watching you quickly transitioning from a toddler to a preschooler, prancing and preening with your elder sister, a preschooler then, following her everywhere like a shadow, truant and redeeming at the same time. I remember crafting this poem then, one fine summer morning, and I don’t know how the algorithm of words and emotions zigzagged in my heart to form this poem, an anthem for your future days.

Your tiny body and your antics, the lilting beauty and cadence of your words, accents and newly learnt diction, the joyous, all-knowing gestures of your face and hands would fill me during those days with a great surge of love and pride and expectation as a new mother. But at the same time, there was a hidden undercurrent of a quintessential understanding of truth that I had quietly, secretly worn as a garment I couldn’t do without. A garment of acknowledging the truth that your growing up days, your adolescent days are just a few blinks of the eye away, as I watched the surf of time washing away our shores.

We have come a long way, haven’t we, from those days when the tiny windows of your mind’s room were expanding, bit by bit, waiting to unravel what was there on the horizon?

Yes, we have come a long way from those days of pencils and crayons scattered haywire and the splattering of pink, green, yellow apple jack cereals to this day, when I see you riding on the waves of an adolescent world of new, insistent truths. By now, you have captured new meanings and nuances of life which I know, will form the structure, the foundation of your world in the days to come. And I also know that now when your middle school years will be behind you, this foundation of your world will also evolve and spill over your being, bit by bit, turning you into your own unique person. But wherever you go in this life, whatever you choose to pursue to define your identity, would you forget the meaning, the essence of this poem that I wrote for you and your sister to celebrate your ‘starry, starry nights’, the wonderland of your baby days? Would you forget that no matter what the grown-up world lures you into, I had instilled the magic of poetry and art into your consciousness since your childhood days to let you know that the poetry of our lives is essential, as we saunter amid the daily rigmarole of our burdens in this life?

By this time, you have changed from the bubbly, chirpy toddler with sparkle in her eyes and mischief in her smile to the very smart and all-knowing, articulate and over-enthusiastic teenager, in love with music, written words, creating objects with your artistry, and above all, with the enigma and magic of growing up. By this time, you must also have a hint of the kind of path you would choose in your career, though the path might be a bit far away still. I know, I know, we have talked about studying English, law, mass media and communications, and even astronomy, in various phases of your growing up (remember your obsession for the NASA scientists when you were in elementary school? Which suddenly was replaced by other disciplines/professions?

But no matter whatever path you choose to tread, would you stray away from your love for written words and poetry, art and build your life without it all, my child? For as much as I know, the bond between us, mother and child, has grown manifold with our written words and art, and I know, it defines you, as much as it has defined me for all these years. It will be only up to you to pick up its precious pearls from the ocean of life, whenever you can.

Yes, as I look up to you today, I truly feel you have turned into poetry in motion, growing up with your starry eyes, your sharp nose, your dusky, gleaming persona. And as much as I am doubtful about the reception about my books of poems, I know that you are the best poem I ever wrote.

Rise and shine always, my child, and remember you will always remain a chunk of my being, living, breathing outside my body, connected to my heartbeat.

Love,

Mamma.

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