How far?
A glance, an inch, a mile, a light year,
A bridge, a wall,
beyond horizon, a touch,
Eyes closed,
Here.
Tag: writing
When an image gives you words
Motherhood is weird- at one point time seems still even when everything around me including that tiny human that I created is constantly moving. Sometimes I like this stillness, my busy days and nights, two big eyes catching my attention like there is no world beyond her boundary that she drew with an invisible chalk on the day she arrived. Sometimes my mind longs for a randomness, in slow motion. Continue reading “When an image gives you words”
My thoughts about Women’s Day
I grew up in India. That means I know a country that kills its girls before they are born. A country where parents of a girl child have to work hard to save money for dowry. A country where wings of women are chopped and dreams are shoved. A country where love happens only on the screen of Bollywood films because marriages are arranged and girls from rural areas and cities still cannot choose love or life partners. Women’s day should have felt special because in a country like that womanhood definitely deserved a day of celebration to cheer up. India is also the country that had a female prime minister, a female president, a lot of warrior queens and princesses, goddesses who killed the evils and saved the goodness. India is also the country where a lot of women fought for independence from the British Government with guns and peace talks until seventy years ago. There are glories to shade the darkness. Continue reading “My thoughts about Women’s Day”
A strange place
My mom taught me forgiveness: smile more, smile heals hurting hearts. Push yourself more to forget. Then some more. Don’t think the unthinkables. Include everyone, even the ones who exclude your part. Give them what they want. Say yes often. Continue reading “A strange place”
Transformation
“Loss is nothing else but change, and change is nature’s delight.” — Marcus Aurelius
In modern era, too many hushed expectations are set for you if you are a person of my gender. You have to be exceptionally good at everything you do. You have to look beautiful from morning to night year after years. You have to make a home. You have to be perfectly congenial, at least as your virtual reality. You have to be the best mother that social media ever produced. You have to create a perfect human. You have to make magic in the kitchen. You have to hold a smile until your lips hurt. And if there is time, you have to shatter some glass ceilings, while looking like a diva. You have to chase your dreams after doing the dishes in night. You have to make your life worth living. You have to leave a legacy. Continue reading “Transformation”
Petrichor, once more
As I am writing here, rain has returned to the bay. Hills over my shoulder are sleeping, tucked in fog and cloud. This time every year my mind becomes overactive, and creatively wanders on muddy paths, jumps in puddles, rescues fallen leaves, wipes off raindrops on the blurry windows of nostalgia, whispers to the rose bushes, hugs a sad tree, and opens up the refrigerator door multiple times to get some food for thoughts. Continue reading “Petrichor, once more”
Temporary
When I was in my twenties, my life felt like someone’s unending wedding party that I had to attend- joyful but stretchy. Continue reading “Temporary”
Inside November
This life is no metaphor-
fallen like an autumn leaf,
bright from the point of view of a passer by. Continue reading “Inside November”
The Unphotographer
My mother holds my childhood very dearly in a couple of photobooks . She keeps them safe and doesn’t let me take any photo away from her even for a day. She used to be our family photographer until I grew old. I learned from her how to romanticize the past every now and then. Continue reading “The Unphotographer”
Forgive my disappearance
Good people are blessings, but they are so aloof.
It’s what I sense in everyday life,
at elevator door, in the hallway,
and crowded train, at traffic signal,
on lonely gratutude lists, face to face conversations,
or in the presence of preachers and wordy liars. Continue reading “Forgive my disappearance”
