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Showing posts from August, 2013

Caged Freedom

This poem of mine was published in the Freedom (August) issue of Tamarind Rice. Check it out here . She woke up with a jolt And was asked to clean the floor Her tiny hands working swift Doing chore after chore The kids she helped dress Were in orange, white and green She wondered what was special Definitely something she had not seen As she polished the elder one's shoe A tiny speck smeared her face The innocent tots squealed and giggled A choking gut was her only embrace Her fragile body moved slowly As she packed delicious lunch Stuffing them for the others Never daring to grab a munch After the crowd was gone She grabbed a fallen flag Cleansing it on her dress She sneaked it into her bag This act caught the mistress' eye She then beat her black and blue Thief, thief she yelled and said Slaps more and kicks a few Discretely she wipes the tears Her lips parched in thirst The unkempt head spinning a r

The Third Person

Ever realized that it always is a third person who ruins your peace of mind? Or creates arguments between you and the people close to you. The third person comes out of nowhere with an age old plan to wreck everything for you. Simply because they can't stand your happiness. Or simply because they are jobless. Don't fall prey, beware of this species. Because this is what they have in their mind. Life never was kind to me How can it be for you I shall strive to ruin it Leaving room for nothing new When I'm not happy How can anyone else be Everyone is content with life Why is it not me? I can't stand your joys I shall convert it to sorrow The smile that you have today Shall be gone tomorrow I shall spin my magic web Fill those around with poison I'm just doing it to ruin you With absolutely no other reason While you are being taken care of I'm ignored and left to rot While you are blessed with comfort Unhappin

All is Well - A Smelly Affair

Migraine is a dreaded disease. I personally believe that I can bear any kind of pain apart from that of a headache. My migraine attacks feel like a boulder has been tied to the back of my head weighing me down by blessing me with yellow sparkly hallucinations. And I got my first migraine attack at the age of seven. On getting tested, the doctors told me that I have an awesome sense of smell and some of these smells act like a trigger for the attack. Damn, blessed with a sharp nose and a painful problem. God sure was smiling at me and Murphy, grinning. So most of my childhood was spent in smelling something faraway with accuracy (believe me, I once smelt my neighbor grating fresh carrot) and avoiding some smells that caused me an headache. So when Ambi Pur asked me to write a post about the nostalgia associated with smells, I knew I would have the longest post.  Smells of course come with cart loads of memories. I call it the universal Pandora's box, as you never know

The Honest Post - Phase 5

Read  Phase-1  here  / Read Phase-2  here  / Read Phase-3  here  / Read Phase-4 here It always is a nice feeling when someone repeatedly keeps telling you that they love you. But also it can be a burden when you are uncertain of where you yourself stand. I was busy answering questions within myself that I did not have the time to think about Cal's ' Will you marry me? ' question. Well, honestly that was all I thought about each day, but chose to ignore it because I did not want to commit to something at that point of time. I was very happy with him, and I did not want to put a name to the relationship. I have my own fears. I felt that it would jinx the current whatever that we were in. This was January 2012. Things went on smoothly for a few days and I was happily basking in the happiness when Cal reminded me of the question. I did not know what to say and asked him to give me sometime to think about it. Cliche I know, but do you have a better answer? He nodde

The Unfair Sex

How many of you knew that women are referred to as the ‘fairer’ sex? First, fairer in terms of color and then fairer in terms of letting men live their lives for them. An old saying goes this way. “mukhyo dharmaH smr^tiShu vihito bhartr^shushruShANam hi” Roughly translating to “ Women are enjoined to be of service to their husbands ”. It’s 2013 and still more than 90% of the population thinks the same. Out of it 40% are women. It is sad and irritating at the same time. I’m not a feminist here, but the point is simple. When both men and women come from the same set of sperms, why the inequality? Now you might argue saying that it’s the man who brings the sperm, hence he’s superior. But of what use is an uncooked bun without the oven? The woman not only contributes an egg but also willingly carries the fetus within her for 9 whole months and endures bone crushing pain in giving the family an heir. Doesn’t that in itself make her superior? I’m afraid not many people thin


At the stroke of midnight She sat on her bed wide awake Her parents would come barging in Carrying gifts and of course the cake Holding her phone close to her heart To receive the calls on the first ring Patiently she sat with a wide smile Wondering what this year would bring Last year had been magical All her dreams had come true She hoped that this year would be better In her mind, candles she blew Five minutes passed and no one came Could they have forgotten the date? Not a call, not even a ping For a little longer she decided to wait Then it finally dawned upon her What if she was in for a surprise She rushed and opened her door Hoping to be greeted with joyous cries The room was dark and smelt different She waited for the lights to come on Instead a cloud of dust hit her And then the darkness was never gone Far away, her mother knelt slowly Shedding a tear before Alma Mater A year ago, on this very day She had

She's Beautiful

She has never heard of a holiday, nor will she. As I struggle to strike a balance between my professional and personal life, she comes as the most important inspiration ever. She knows every nook and corner of my house, what item is placed where and when was the last I used it. She doesn't complain about the chores put in front of her. No matter what has to be done, I know that she is only a phone call away. She walks in every morning with neatly oiled hair lingering with the fragrance of the jasmine strung around her tiny plait. As I carelessly wave at her, busy tucked into my newspaper and coffee, she walks straight to the back yard where a heap of dirty clothes await her. Without a sigh or a comment she ties up her saree till her knees and plunges into her “work”. Among a huge pile it is easy to ignore one or two shirts. But her attention to detail and dedication don’t let her do it. Each piece of clothing is soaked separately so that colors don’t mix, they are then soa

The Green Eye

Take a deep look into the mirror Do you like what you see? Are you happy in being what you are Or is there someone else you want to be? Ever thought why it is this way When others flourish why can't it be you? Everyone sure puts in the effort But success comes only to a selected few What gratification in cursing the winners While your work was only half hearted Instead of wondering how they did it Why not put in more effort instead? Don't try to sneak and peek When the fault lies in your home Mind your own business first Only then it becomes the happiness dome Concentrate on your negatives Rather than cursing their joys When they again succeed in front of you You may have the words, but no voice Life no longer comes easy You have to earn it to live it Cheating might give you the comfort But your soul dies everyday bit by bit Do not hate others just for sake Definitely not when poisoned by others They need

Stranger in the Mirror

She lay still, as he finished his business on top of her. She closed her eyes to let out a lone tear as she heard the door slam shut. Slowly, she woke up and gathered her clothes strewn around. Haphazardly dressed she walked to the bathroom. She gathered some water in her palms and splashed it over her face and then looked into the mirror. It was not a familiar face, it was that of a stranger. Her lips bled from his bite, there were bruises on her cheeks and her left eye was swollen. Her body ached to the bone. She felt a bout of dizziness and spat into the basin. The blood caused random shaped dots all over the white background. She looked back at the mirror and adjusted her saree, feeling naked. He had come home drunk the last night and had picked up a fight as usual. She had tried her best in comforting him, but he was not ready to listen. He had beat her up mercilessly, before stripping and pouncing on her. And like all the other million nights, she lay helpless giving in to

Happy Lust in August - Again!

Read last years 'Happy Lust in August' here . Ah well well, so its August already? Before I gallop in joy about my birthday being three days away, I'd want to ask where did the previous seven months go? This year has flown by so quick. I still remember the December 31st night last year, that Cal and me spent together along with our loyal friend the 'Old Monk'. Its been a crazy adventure since then. Marriage, new work place, new family, new friends, new habits etc etc. I've spent all my time on trying to be a successful part of this adventure that I've not lifted my head up to notice that more than half of the year has gone by. Sheesh, talk about getting lost in living. Well, at least I'm living my own life and not poking my nose into anybody else's. Oh yeah, pun intended. Of late I've only been writing for contests or on a prompt. Well, I too have been a victim of the writer's block and I resorted to blogging communities to get

Truth Slammed

Do any of you still remember the so called 'slam-book' or 'autograph' book. Yeah, that bright shiny book that you used to pass around in school proudly. I studied in a girls convent and like true girls we tried to up each other in having a better looking book. My book looked like bokeh art with swirls of red, orange, blue and green on a pristine white background. The girls envied it but I envied another chick who had just bought a pretty slam-book from Singapore. She had asked her sister who was working there to get it. People thronged around her just so that they could get to write in it. It was huge almost like a practical record book with silver spiral binding. It had a plethora of colors as its outer cover and it pages inside were divided color by color with intricate designs. Damn, how I envied her. My book however was simple and neat. And I had another special book for the teachers. A plain pass-book kind where they happily put in their " All the best &