Tuesday, 12 March 2019

Fear






                                                            Photo prompt by CEAyr



The two-wheeler stood in the verandah  with the peepal tree giving it company. A black 

cat stared. I refused to mount on it. He explained to me that the public transportation in 

the villages are skeletal. I understood but refused to bow to his diktat.

“Akka, the lady is in pain”. The farmer came in panting.

I grabbed my white coat and paraphernalia and made a dash.

The road was undulating, muddy and difficult to navigate.

I reached my destination.

The delivery was quick and uncomplicated.

“Congratulations, a healthy boy is born”, said I, smiling.

I had overcome my Vehophobia.


                       


          Written for : Friday Fictioneers

Note : Akka means elder sister. A respectful way of addressing ladies.

Word count  : 100


conversations

                                                    #MondayMusings



I peeped through the half drawn curtain and the Sun had just yawned. Wish I could turn 

back the clock and drift into sleep for some more time. Responsibilities work as alarms 

and I kicked myself out of the bed. My gut instinct told me that today would be a fruitful 

day. 


I stepped into the CIDCO Garden after completing my kitchen chores. The morning 

breeze sauntered and I inhaled the fragrance of freshness. My feet became alert and 

took long quick strides to cover the semi circular jogging track. My heartbeats increased 

and some of my co-walkers (I just coined this word) were already sweating it out. The 

breeze seemed to hold my hand and walk with me. I smiled and asked " How has your day 

begun? ".

"Just as your day has begun", replied the gust smiling and buzzing around me and teasing 

me. Naughty girl.

I started to like the silent conversation.

"You seem to be so cool now. where do you disappear?", I inquired.

"The Sun's rays percolate down my body and I absorb the heat. You dislike me at noon", 

sulking as a small child.

"You too enjoy siesta as I do", pacified me."You join me again in the evening as a true 

friend", I continued.

The breeze howled  and I joined in the laughter.

The trees and the plants swayed to the music of the wind. Were they greeting and 

conversing? 

My grandma had told me that every creation of Nature talks and responds. We have to 

keep the doors of our heart open to understand and reciprocate. Not all conversation 

start with words.

Readers, do you converse with trees and animals? Share your experiences.



 
             Linking this post to MondayMusings hosted by Corrine Rodrigues.

Saturday, 9 March 2019

second innings



"Amma, should I pickle the mangoes? You love mango 

pickle".

"Don't take the trouble, Neha. I have stopped having 

pickle".

"She is so enthusiastic", sighs the old lady. "After-all she has 

a new life", concluded the senior citizen.

"Munna, drink your milk. You will grow up to be a strong 

boy", said the doting grandmother.



Neha and Munna will leave for Pune after two days and the house will be again empty as 

her heart. How different it was three years ago. Her heart and the house was filled with 

happiness and laughter. She would prepare evening snacks and tea and the dining table 

resonated with the happenings of the day. She was so active and full of energy. Until 

that fateful day dawned, which snatched away  her will to live. Neha was weeping 

inconsolably with Munna in her arms. Relatives and friends had gathered to pay 

condolences. After the final rites they were left grieving. Neha joined office while she 

took care of Munna.  Her little grandchild was her solace and succor and her life 

revolved around him.

Neha found love again. She did not approve of the relationship but she kept mum. How 

can Neha forget her first love? Can the new man in her life, love and care for Munna 

with the same fervour as his biological father? Couldn't Neha remain single for the sake 

of her only son? These questions plagued her mind and she felt miserable. 

Neha understood the old lady's anxieties. She sat besides her and took the wrinkled 

hands into hers and lovingly said,"Amma, I can read your mind. My first love will always 

dwell in my heart. I just made a little space in my heart for the new person. Life is a 

long road."  


Tears trickled down her eyes. How selfish she was! Wouldn't she expect her son to re-

marry in case of Neha's demise? Why was she having double standards? As a former 

teacher she had always stood up for gender equality. Now was time to implement it in 

the true sense. She wiped her tears and got up.


"When you will come to Mumbai again, Munna?" , asked the 

grandma as Munna touched her feet.

"Very soon , Amma", replied Neha. "After his final exams, 

we will be shifting to Mumbai for good".

When God closes one door , he opens another door. There 

was no place for grief, thought the old lady.



I'm Writing Bravely for the Write Tribe Festival of Word - March 2019


                                 write tribe festival of words


Trust


                                         Image result for trust

The dictionary meaning of trust is firm belief in the reliability , truth or ability of 

someone or something. The synonyms are belief, faith confidence reliance, conviction.

The true meaning runs much deeper. Trust is intangible and can be felt from the heart.

A child doesn't know the meaning of trust but when she holds her mother's little finger 

she feels safe.


                                    Image result for trust


A mother has full faith in her upbringing and values imparted and hence trusts her child 

that he will never let her down or stray on the wrong path.

An eloping lass has reposed her full trust in her Man that he will never betray her.

An employer trusts his honest employee and hands over the running of the business to 

him.

A devotee in a temple prays to God and trusts Him to find a way out though he has never 

seen Him but has explicit faith in Him.

A patient in the operation theater trusts his surgeon whom he is not familiar with.

But trust is fragile and frangible. The receiver and giver of the trust, both have to be on 

the same page. If scalding deceit creeps into anyone of the duo, the cup of trust breaks.


                                  
                                                   Picture Prompt



Trapeze artists in a circus have to trust their own reflexes as well as in the other artist.

They have an anchor net in case of a slip. Same is the case in real life.


                                  Image result for trust
A couple has to cement each brick of their home with trust. The long innings of 

friendship go on mutual understanding and trust.




                             Image result for trust

Trust is a key that unlocks many hearts and relationships. Beware !! Hand it over to the 

right person.


                                             Image result for trust





Trust is a rope with myraid strands of love , belief, understanding and patience 

intertwined to gain strength.
                               
                         What happens when trust is broken? 

                                 Image result for trust



Do you blame yourself for heaping trust on the person? Is Karma to be blamed? Or do you 

console yourself that the other person is wronged and not you? Or you feel let down for 

misjudging the other person? The questions are many but the answer or solution may be a 

mirage on the horizon.




                                     Image result for trust



What does one do after the incident? Get up, dust off oneself and move ahead? The 

incident may be hard to forget or even forgive?  Should the other person be confronted ? 

Can one trust the other person again? A lady can forgive her husband of infidelity but she 

cannot have the same faith and confidence in him. A reformed convict will  have a 

shadow of distrust looming large over him.

Remember not to invest your trust blindly. At times follow your gut instinct. Never ever 

break anyone's firm belief in you. 


Image result for trust                     Image result for trust



        Readers, were you ever at the receiving end? Share your experiences.


      I'm Writing Bravely For the Write Tribe Festival of Words - March 2019.


                         write tribe festival of words

Thursday, 7 March 2019

Woman's Day



O patriarchy!
give me a chance
to wade in my Ma's womb.
Do not abort my dreams,
let me struggle and come out.

Give me a chance
to sprout , grow bigger.
Let me feel the sun-rays,
dance with rain-drops,
embrace the fog of winter.

Give me a chance,
to celebrate my birthdays,
failures and success alike.
I will fall down and hurt myself,
to stand up and bounce back.

Give me a chance 
for my wings to soar,
like a bird or an aircraft.
let my fins touch the ocean-bed
to discover the beauty of reefs.

Give my pen a chance.
my ink will flow 
to influence lives. 
Permit me to be influenced
by my Ma's teachings.

Give me a chance
to choose and vote.
see me bloom and blossom,
into a lady and 
you will not regret.
let me survive and 
mankind will thrive, I promise.

Happy Women's Day to all the readers. 

Thousands of girl-child did not live to celebrate this day, every-day. A mother who does not differentiate her off-springs on the basis of gender , a lady who is not afraid to call a spade a spade, a lady who uplifts another struggling lady , a mother who stands up for her abused married daughter , a mother who does not shy to face the pedophile is a true feminist.

 A feminist is anyone who recognizes the equality and full humanity of women and men. – Gloria Steinem 


                           











Wednesday, 6 March 2019

Nurture.


Featured post on IndiBlogger, the biggest community of Indian Bloggers




Her face betrayed no emotion of the turmoil inside her heart. With trembling hands, she 

bent down to pay last respects to his mortal remains.


"Amma, you should be proficient with social media", begged he.

"Why do I need it ?", was my straight question.

"One never knows when social media can be put to good use",  he reasoned.


Today I took to twitter. My face book page was full of 'likes' and comments. Did he have 

an inkling of the things to come? God works in a very strange way.


He promised me that he would attend his sister's wedding. He came, wrapped in tri-

colour flag.


The interviewer prodded me for sound bytes. 

There are no winners in a war. Either side loses precious lives. Peace has to be given a 

chance. Ask a child whose has lost a parent to the insane war. Measure the heart-beats of 

a newly wed bride when she sees off her husband joining duty on the border. When 

soldiers are taken as POW and their fate unknown, there is no respite or closure  for the 

family members. A mother nurses and nurtures her children to healthy and glory. Not all 

mothers have the privilege of dying in the midst of their children.

Give peace a chance to survive and thrive.


                     Image result for dove of peace


(Google Image)

                         


                   I'm Writing Bravely for the Write Tribe Festival of Words - March 2019

Social media




Cinderella breaks the glass ceiling to be crowned CEO.

Prince lubricates the domestic front machinery serving love, happiness and home cooked food for her.

Twitter brands it as cruelty and unfair(y).

Facebook berates Prince.

Divorce.

Cinderella eats alone from takeaways.


 
                                     



Prompt : Tell us in exactly 40 words what happens after the fairy tale ends.

Tuesday, 5 March 2019

Peas in a pod

                                                Featured post on IndiBlogger, the biggest community of Indian Bloggers


The tea was scalding hot. And so was the blood in their veins. The tea was laced with 

ginger and burnt their tongue.

The mean machines rested under the trees after refueling their tanks. Their tyres were 

tired. The road was less taken and serpentine. This was intentional to avoid being 

noticed.

They had donned black, the colour of their vehicles. Only one wore white.

"How is the josh, buddy X?"

The words penetrated his eardrums but he close to remain mum. His mind seemed to be 

occupied with something else other than their target. The members exchanged 

questioning glances.

"Are your feet unsteady or your mind wavering?" , mocks Panther A.

"Remember, you are compensated handsomely.", taunts a bearded panther.

Panther X turns away his face in disgust and moves away from the group.

Panther A raises his index finger above his shoulders indicating the group members to 

stay behind while he follows X at a safe distance.. They both settle down under the 

shade of the Chinar trees.

"Panther X..."

"Don't address me with this code-word", the words escaping his throat at a frenzied pace.

"Panther X", raising his voice. "Have your forgotten our vows?".

"I have a name and an identity", tears running down X's bony cheeks.

Panther A, the assumed leader concludes Panther X's behavior to be jejune. 

" We have dedicated our lives to a higher cause", admonishes X.

"There is no noble cause. You are all brain-washed".

"Your words reek of a rebellion", anger spewing from Panther A's gullet.

Sensing the heat and their unfriendly demeanor, the group members start to inch closer 

to the warring duo.

Panther X could not believe that he has inhaled the same air of their serene village as his 

friends who are now reduced to mere code-words. The Sun that shone upon them, 

strengthening their bones, the river that they all frolicked together, celebrated festivals 

and grieved in funerals, could have such bipolar ideas and ideologues. 

"Our journey is ahead. There is no looking behind", Panther B wiping the tea stains off his 

lips.

"This is a dangerous journey and there is no destination", reasons Panther X.

"This is a religious war and it is our solemn duty to free our brothers and sisters", 

thunders Panther C.

           The function of freedom is to free someone else – Toni Morrison

"No religion preaches violence and hatred. Emancipate yourself first from wrong notions ",

Panther X sermons.

The muddy unkempt road undulates and disappears. No one knows where it leads. Is

there a return or a one-way ticket? The questions are many and there are no answers in 

sight. 

The road behind is a bit familiar and treaded. It leads them to their village. Can they 

reverse their gear and head towards Paradise? Would the evil perpetrators spare them? 

There is uncertainty at both ends.

When peeled, they were all similar peas in one pod. Only one pea turned out to be 

on the other side.

                    write tribe festival of words



I have combined the word prompt is  'Serenity' , the picture prompt is via Pexel and the 

quote prompt ," The function of freedom is to free someone else" – Toni Morrison 

together. 


                                  


                   I'm Writing Bravely for the Write Tribe Festival of Words -March 2019

Monday, 4 March 2019

Miracle




                            



His work as the henchman of the Don was to foment trouble in other’s life and fill his 

boss’s coffers. He realized the gravity of the situation when he got a dose of his own 

bitter medicine. An upside down image stared back at him from the mirror. His life was in 

disarray.  He could not reverse the needles of the clock.


He wished to start life anew. He couldn’t fathom how he would break away. The 

tentacles of the underworld would spread to ensnare him. Death would be the only 

penalty. He prayed to Lord Shiva for a miracle. 




Today's prompt is the word  Miracle and the photo prompt via Pexel.


                 I'm Writing Bravely for the Write Tribe Festival of Words -March 2019


                                

Forgiven



The crescendo of the cacophony had reached its zenith. My naked soles were desperately 

trying to find a way back but the sea of human wave pushed me deeper into the noise.I 

cursed my folly to attend the ritual that the city is so famous for I had decided to skip 

this religious place from the itinerary. But it seems that Destiny tweaked my my well 

planned schedule to hold me captive in this suffocating  place.


The spool of memory re-winded back to the many decades as my raconteur dadi ( paternal 

grandmother) whipped up images of 'Maharati' on the banks of River Ganga. The citadel of 

holiness and the cleansing of the soul was not just by the dip in the waters but by emptying 

of the garbage of human mind  that made the city holier. Every human in her /his 

lifetime should visit Kashi , said Dadi.


I gulped a volley of air into my nostrils and gently breathed out. The repetition helped 

me and the tightness in my chest eased out. I opened eyes my eyes to the luminescence 

of the 'arti' conducted. The invoking of Mother Ganga spread through my senses as a

capillary network and the resultant effect was calming. Involuntarily my hands folded in 

obeisance and reverence to the holy River . A mendicant smeared his forehead with ash 

sermon-ed ," release  your hate, anger , jealousy into the womb of the Mother. She 

accepts all oblations and purifies the body and soul". My body shivered. 


The years of dominance had lashed mental scars. The volley of vituperate outbursts had 

reduced my soul to nought. I lost faith in goodness and thus took refuge in being an 

atheist. Timely intervention extricated me from jaws of suicide. "Count your blessings ", 

implored Amma. I had obstinately refused.


The accumulation of the emotions had turned me hard like the sediment. The water of 

happiness had no space to flow. Why was I punishing myself? Should I jettison to make 

way for peace and joy?. My bare feet descended down the steps of the Ghat. With each 

step down, my spirit rose and soared. The weightlessness was filling with joy. My bare 

feet touched the coolness. The  liquidity of the Ganges had managed to penetrate the 

solid sediment.


The holy water was sipped by my Amma in her dying moments from the bronze urn.. 

She quenched her thirst and peacefully reached the abode of her Creator. Her face 

exuded peace and calm.


Though jostling for space I had enough room. I lit a diya and gingerly floated it into the 

current of the swirling waters. My little lamp joined the umpteen floating flames and 

merged . I had forgiven him. The grudges , anger and anguish lay reposed on the 

riverbed. My heart was kindled with the warmth of the diyas.


                          Image result for maha aarti varanasi
              

I would die a satisfied soul and will live a life of fulfillment.

I turned my back and faced the the ocean of faith. Each face told her own silent story of 

emancipation. I ascended the steps. The ocean made way for me. I looked up. Dadi was 

showering her blessings on me.



'I'm Writing Bravely for the Write Tribe Festival of Words March- 2019

                            




                                               Featured post on IndiBlogger, the biggest community of Indian Bloggers