to the one essential part of my identity, prior to my mommy self,
it has to go.
since college i have lived out of jholas, colourful ones, leather ones, post man khakhi ones, drab ones, big ones, small ones. i can proudly say i was the stereotype of the jhola type.
my mommy self continued with the jhola. the prim pastel plastic baby bags lasted for the first few months, and then her stuff was spilling out of jholas too -an extra diaper, a t shirt, a box of raisins and nuts, a small bottle of water, a toffee hidden away, one clip of the pair salvaged from destruction, a toy, a book, and yes, the half eaten biscuit does surface every now and then.
i thought it was going fine. and i would/could be the 80 year old hunched over her pink and red jhola.
life has other plans. she is turning out to be a compulsive archeologist. and my jhola is her site of excavation. and like all good diggers, she finds, and archives- but outside my jhola!
so i am constantly missing a key, an envelope, a bill, a pen, and anything that i desperately need that very minute.
the father of the child urged me a couple of months to reinvent myself. he made me buy an oversize red leather bag, instead of my tan postman type jhola. its stylish, its hip, its intimidating, and it can be FULLY zipped and buttoned up.
will i finally be able to find that little scrap of paper on which i scribbled that very important phone number?
or can i bring the stereotype of the jhola into boring stylishness? and lose that number again!