The Swing

The swing rocked to and fro. To and fro. To and fro. And happily so. I could hear the giggles of my toddler while my younger baby was getting dirty in the sand. A while later, they both wanted to swing together. Luckily the swing had space enough for two. And now we had two sets of giggles. Well, make that three! To and fro. To and fro. To and fro. And happily so.

It took me back to my childhood days. The swing was my favourite equipment in the park. The slide and the merry-go-round came nowhere close to the competition. The swing gave me a rhythm. A rhythm of thoughts. A rhythm of balance. A rhythm of calm. The occasional kick on the dusty ground to keep the momentum going gave me such a high. The wind on my face with my hair going all over the place, was the happiest feeling ever.

This trance would, almost always, get jolted out by the staring eyes of the other eager children. Giving me looks. Or tugging at their Mum’s palla. And Mums in turn giving me looks. Well, even this waiting and hopping on again had its own charm.

Back to the present. 

I was the Mum, here. No palla but a Mum is a Mum! All the more equipped with determination to chase off other children in the queue with her looks. Well, how the tides had changed! I would justify by saying that they are two-in-one. So they get double the time. And all in the neighbourhood knew that my children come ‘Ek-pe-ek free!’ 

Zoom to the current present.

My taller-than-me daughter is trying to sneak out of the house at 2pm. Me in my Mom voice: Where do you think you are going, young lady?

All her ‘maturity’ goes to the winds. You see, Mom, I am being judged by the younger infants and toddlers and bigger toddlers for enjoying swinging so much. Hence, I am going to the park in the afternoon. There would be no one around to stare me down. Those tiny eyes, Mom…. the world finds them adorable. But they are greedy eyes, Mamma! Please let me go. And with a hop and skip, off she is…. To find her own rhythm. And I stand there smiling. Knowingly.

And I sit on my wooden swing on our terrace with a cup of tea in hand. Thinking how swings also change with age. Or, do they? I am literally basking in the glory of how I do not allow the neighbourhood cats besiege MY swing. 

And my daughter comes back running after her fill for the day. ‘Mamma Mamma Mamma, please please pleeeease can we have a swing in the house!’ And I go back reminiscing about my childhood days. And then rocking to my children on the swing. To and fro. To and fro. To and fro. And happily so.