Saturday, 30 November 2013

The child is the father of the man.


                Write Over the Weekend theme for this week

This time your entry must contain the three words idiotperfume and CD.

"Mama, I love to visit shops."

"We are going to the  mall , you idiot , not a shop". retorted Ananya.

"Silly , malls have shops, isn't it?

Ananya scowls at her little sibling.

"What's on your shopping agenda?" questioned I.

"Mama , Akanksha's birthday is on 25th. I want to buy for her , her favourite perfume".

"Mama , I want a FIFA 14  CD."

"Both of you be quiet and allow me to concentrate on the road."

Ananya and  Akash  made faces at each other.


When the vehicles halted at the sight of the red light at the traffic signal , a small grimy hand appeared on the window-pane and a tapping sound was heard , imploring us to roll down the windows. The little boy  on the other side of the glass barrier had long nails with dirt accumulated underneath them. His hair was unkempt and his body and clothes had not been scrubbed by water and soap for a few days. Malnourishment  seems to have taken a toll on him and the over-sized clothes seem to droop down on his frail shoulders. 

I ignored the pest and wished the red indicator would immediately change to green. The wait at the signal felt longer than the usual time and I dreaded it.

The  red light flickered to die out the and the green colour sprang to life and my foot immediately pressed the accelerator to zoom ahead. I heaved a sigh of relief.

The crowd was more than usual being a Sunday , people had flocked to the mall. But I noticed that the kids were not in their usual buoyant mood.

We entered a Book store. I asked them to pick up some books.

"Mama. we could have bought some books from the boy at the traffic signal?"

I looked at my seven year old. He was right. 

The little boy at the signal seeing my little children in the car hurriedly came in our direction expecting of a good sale. I shut him off as he was crude and shabby. But I was ready to splurge at the malls where it is cool and fashionable to be seen among the rich crowd , the salespersons are well-dressed and speak the Queen's language. The colourful picture books which the boy at the signal was selling could have been useful in their project work or I could have passed it on to my maid's children . Those picture books would have cost me one fourth the price of the books in the malls. Moreover my purchase would have helped the little boy a chance to have a decent meal. The affluent can afford to sent their kids to reputed schools and pamper at the weekends in the fancy malls or to a movie. But what about thousands of children who hawk wares at the traffic signals to earn a living and be an additional source of income to their parents? Poverty was the root cause of this inequality and divided the humans into have's and have-not's. 

I was guilty of myself , of shutting my conscience in the cool and comfortable confines of an air-conditioned car while my little children saw the harsh reality  with their little innocent eyes. My kids taught me the simple human values which the expensive books on parenting would not have provided me with. I had made donations to various social organisations and temples and earned the title of being charitable among my corporate friends . I was ashamed of myself but at the same time full of pride as a mother of my kids. Today they have taught me a valuable lesson. As grown-ups , with our experience of worldly matters , we assume that we are an encyclopaedia of know-it-all but let us take a peep into the mind and world of our young ones to learn and unlearn many facts and truths of life.



   Indeed ,William Wordsworth has rightly said ."the child is the father of the man".

Readers , do you agree with me?

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Thursday, 28 November 2013

conditions apply

My home is a living temple of my mind and heart. Treat me like a human. Wipe your filthy feet onto the door-mat. No desecrating the sanctum sanctorum. Beware of the watch-dog, its bite is fatal. Bring in fragrance and sunshine. You will be reciprocated with love.

These Conditions apply. Enter at your own risk. 


                               55 on Friday #WriteTribe

                                                                      FOR : WRITE TRIBE 

Wednesday, 27 November 2013

the boy

Write Tribe Wednesday Prompt - 27 November 2013
This week use the photograph below as your prompt. Write your thoughts, a story, a poem on your blog.


credit: Morgue File (

He had come to say good-bye to me. He looked smart in his casuals and a satchel on his back.

He walked into my house of bricks and stone with his footwear leaving imprints of wet mud. He called out my name and I came running from the kitchen. Removing the satchel from his shoulders , he cupped his palms and said ."take , these are for you."
My eyes glistened at the sight of the big red , green and yellow marbles. I cupped my tiny palms and he poured them into mine with some marbles bouncing on the rough floor to roll away towards the corners of the room.

I saw him go but only for a moment and my sight and joy was concentrated in the cupped palms. Now I had so many marbles to play with.

But it was no fun playing all alone between 'my' house and the big yellow mansion where he lived. I longed for his company but in his company I had never won any game.

Amma told me that he had gone to a boarding school to study and become a 'big saheb' just like his father. I was happy for him. I wished he could take me along. Wish, I too ,  could study and play marbles in the evening with him. But amma sternly said that study is the prerogative of the rich and I should accompany her to help her to wash the dishes , in the big yellow mansion.

After a hard day's work , I had very less time to admire the marbles.

The marbles lay  in a pearl-pet jar just like my joys.

Later amma kept the marble jar in the cupboard away from my gaze.

Now I manage all the domestic work in the big yellow mansion. I light a small 'diya' in front of amma's photo and feel the marbles with my palms.  The red, green and yellow marbles are no longer big to my adult eyes and have lost the sheen. Yet in them I try to search for my lost girl-hood days that disappeared with the mud-stained feet.

There was a knock on my door. Who could it be at this time of the night? I adjusted my sari 'pallu' and opened the door. A man stood at the door, smiling. And when I lowered my gaze , I saw his cupped palms , full of glistening red, green and yellow marbles. He walked in with his footwear on. With the mud-stained imprint on the floor and the marbles in his palms, I have regained my childhood , my joys. 

                                               FOR : WRITE TRIBE

Monday, 25 November 2013


And now for this week's prompt.

 PLUCK: (transitive verb) 1: to pull or pick off or out

 2 a : to remove something (as hairs) from by or as if by plucking    b : rob, fleece

 3: to move, remove, or separate forcibly or abruptly

 4 a : to pick, pull, or grasp at    b : to play by sounding the strings with the fingers or a pick 

Remember: • Your response must be between 33 and 333 words. • You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post. • The word itself needs to be included in your response. • You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
Google Image.
                                                        The Principal  asked him to come inside his room. Little Sonu 's cheeks were moist and his eyes red and swollen.This explained that he was crying incessantly.But the reason was difficult to fathom. He made no attempts to befriend any of his classmates and preferred to remain alone not participating in any of the school activities.

He was asked to sit on the chair opposite the Principal. He noticed a vase of red roses and big teddy bear clutching a small pink teddy. His gaze was now concentrated on the decorative piece and he looked forlorn. The Principal seizing this opportunity thought that this would break the ice. The Principal asked Sonu to pick the stuffed toy.

"Why did you pluck the red roses from the plant? It 's so painful to be separated from its parents. Couldn't they all be together?" , said Sonu.

The Principal was flummoxed .

Later the Principal learnt that Sonu's parents were separated. Little Sonu missed his father and wished the whole family stayed together under one roof. The acrimonious divorce had left a bad imprint on his tender mind and he was pluck-ed like the rose flower from his familiar surroundings to be displaced to a new unknown territory. The adults move away from each other and later move on but the child could not adapt to the new environment.


My post contains 225 words.


The circular prominent dot                 
adorning my forehead
is my identity.

The black beads

adorning my neck
is my identity.

The toe rings and bangles

adorning my body
are my identity.

who said so? You did .

I agree not.

The inanimate objects

are not my identity.

I am a human first

a lady next
with a heart beating
inside a body.

my thoughts are my ornaments

feel the rhythm of my heart beats
do not play with my feelings.

I  am not your conquest

that  you can me patent
I am bound to you
not by bondage
but by bonds of togetherness.

my soul belongs to me

try to win it over with love.
try to win me with love
and see Heaven on earth

See Heaven on earth

deep in my eyes
and you can see yourself.

Do not shackle me
walk along my side
you have a friend for life.

set me free , chain me not
I will be your helping hand

together we shall create 
a new world
our world.

P.S. : 25th Nov is celebrated as international day for elimination of violence against women.
Violence of any kind has no place in human civilization.Let us all join hands to eliminate violence , each day and every day.

lady on the boat.

An old lady stayed in a boat
which just stayed afloat.
She just slept all day long
without a sound or a song.
dressed in overcoat black
inside a pale brown sack.
she watched the world  around 
but peace not yet found. 
she waits for her end
and this is her story, my friend.

For : Magpietales

Sunday, 24 November 2013


before bedtime
child thanks God
for everything.


please , welcome, thanks
three golden words
key to every heart.


farmer reaps harvest
world hunger satiated
bow to you Mother Earth.

thanks readers , for stopping by.


Had I looked back.

                                              100 Words on Saturday - Write Tribe

 The prompt is courtesy Nischala Murthy who blogs at Verve:

Had I looked back

The concrete four walls of my house succeeded in sheltering me from the big bad world to hold my soul as a hostage. Scared and mentally raped was I, in the shackles of matrimony which I perceived as a safe passage from the orphanage to freedom.
I broke opened the cage and escaped. Escaped into the bondage of flesh-trade where money exchanged hands and I became a commodity.

I stood tall. My next step forward would free me. My spirit came tearing down. Had I looked back, today, I wouldn't be at the Gates of Heaven to rest in peace. 




Saturday, 23 November 2013


Carpe Diem's Tan Renga Challenge Month #XXIV, Sun's ''gathering seashells''


gathering seashells
while ocean tide rise and falls
two sisters bicker

My take 

gathering seashells
while ocean tide rise and falls
two sisters bicker

that they should not part
the shore and the waves.

( the shore and the waves are the two sisters. The waves lash the shore intermittently and during low tide recede . so the sister want to stay together )


Friday, 22 November 2013


What is a lie?

Wikipedia dictionary says that ,' A lie is a false statement to a person or group made by another person or group who knows it is not the whole truth, intentionally.

A lie is a fabricated statement submitted as truth, without knowing for certain whether or not it actually is true.

A lie may be be a half-truth statement intended to deceive or cheat the other person.

A half truth statement or a wholly false statement intended to deceive , cheat or misrepresent truth , facts and figures constitutes a lie. A slight exaggeration too counts for a lie.

Everybody has told a lie(s) at a certain point of time  and /or phase.

Humans by birth are not prone to lie. A child is innocent as he speaks unblemished truth but as the child undergoes changes , observes the social and home environment begins with small lies. When he is successfully able to convince the other person , camouflaging the truth he gains confidence and cultivates the fine art of lying graduating to adulthood.

Why do people lie?

                                     To seek attention / be the centre of attention :

 A child to avoid going to school or day care centre complains about  an upset tummy .

A pregnant wife raves and rants of morning sickness exaggerating the symptoms to be the cynosure of the family.

                                    To hide unpleasant truth / harsh reality

A husband on getting a pink slip does not disclose the information to this wife.

A college-going youth lying about his/her whereabouts to his parents and enjoying the company of his beloved.

                                       A matter of habit 

A child may have been scolded or punished for a certain reason in childhood and he resorts to lying to escape the punishment. Continuous lying and lying to hide another lie makes the child a habitual liar.

                                        To distort facts

To save relationships : A cheating spouse knows the relevance and importance of the sanctity of marriage and lies to preserve it but cannot prevent oneself from straying.

                                         To avoid confrontations 

An employee on the pretext of going out to field work or meet prospectives clients may hoodwink his boss just to avoid an unpleasant confrontation . The employee in-spite of having to attend genuine personal work may refrain from telling the truth. To hide a lie , a series of lies starts accumulating.   

                                          To project a good / clean image 

A student sleeps with the lights on in his room projecting an image of a studious child.

A husband lies about the compulsion  of entertaining corporate clients while in reality he would love to guzzle beer by gallons.

Effects of lying.

when a spouse stumbles upon the truth of the other half 's fling / affair , how  does she/he feel/react?
Cheated, betrayed. keep mum, shout and scream, cry, confide in close friends, walk out of the marriage.

Can the cheating spouse be  trusted?  Probably no or never ever.

Can the wronged spouse re-build the faith ?

Will the wronged partner be able to command respect in the marriage? 

Will the relationship be the same as before?

A single lie has the vicious power to create a serious crack in the mirror of relationship. Can it be held together by the glue of forgiveness? The cracked mirror will show a distorted reflection. Can the wronged partner see one-self in the cracked mirror?

                  “I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't                                                                                          believe you.” 
                                                                ― Friedrich Nietzsche

A child steals money from the house for partying, booze or drugs or for a visit to the mall.

The child lies but is caught red-handed , can he/she be trusted even when he/she tells the truth?  The parents will always be suspicious , spy on the child or will cross-question the child.

The person who fabricates  and distorts facts will develop personality disorders as he is leading a double life. 

                            “If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.” 
                                                           ― Mark Twain


From childhood , at home and school alike we are repeatedly taught to believe that 'Truth alone triumphs'.

                       A truth is bare and naked , while a lie has to be gift-wrapped. 

Readers , I would like to know your views?

raised bar


Write Over the Weekend theme for this week

This time your entry must contain, ‘This time, she raised the bar…’


She looked at Ayesha and tried to search for any  trace of emotion of surprise. And there was none on the calm focussed face. She stood straight , her legs joined together , arms by her side , with the fingers pointing downwards. Her athletic body , of years of training had learned to take the rigorous regime of the sport. Never did Ayesha complain nor was she the cause of any complaint to her coach.

She moulded easily and perfectly as wet clay under the tutelage of her coach Anita.

Coach Anita , without her gaze shifting from her loyal pupil ,'This time, she raised the bar a notch higher than had been anticipated . But as usual , Ayesha's facial expressions remained unflinched and with a spring Ayesha broke into a sprint and  cleared the raised bar with a slight effort but landed smoothly.

Coach Anita puffed her chest with pride and inhaled a powerful draught of air.

She showed the thumbs -up sign to her pupil and Ayesha smiled. They packed up for the day. It was almost night. But Ayesha knew that the next day she would have to practise her high jumps more effortlessly. The Athletics Meet was exactly a month away.

The energy of the packed stadium was infectious but the competitive spirit was not lost among the participants. Äyesha Khanna" as the name was called, Coach Anita signalled her pupil to take her place.

Ayesha , this time, she raised the bar of expectations in her mental frame of mind....................

The stadium roared as the cheers reached a crescendo.

The chief guest picked the gold medal from the tray and Ayesha bent down from her pedestal to lower her head to accept what she richly deserved.

The thunderous applause of the crowd added to the rich haul of the medal. But Ayesha had'nt heard a single sound , for  her eyes only rested on her mother and coach ,  Anita Khanna whose moist checks glistened with pride and passion.

Anita communicated to her daughter ,  through sign language ,  her fingers dancing in the air. Anita looked up at the Heaven and said , 'Jai Mata Di'.

P.S. :- Anita Khanna , an ex-athlete , had given birth to a dumb and deaf girl. Anita was asked to abandon the girl child due to the unfavourable sex and disability of the new-born. But Anita refused and walked out of her marriage to bring her daughter up , single-handedly.

Anita , this time , had met her expectations and had no regrets. Ayesha could not talk nor hear but her sport and talent spoke volumes and made people hear and take notice of her.

This is the work of fiction and any resemblances to persons or instances , is purely co-incidental.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.




choose a word and use it three times in your 33 words. However, it must be either a verb, noun or adjective and the form of the word cannot change, it must appear exactly the same three times. Please highlight your chosen word in your piece before linking up below.

“Left”, and the cab turned.

I referred the letter for directions.

“Left”. I peeped out.


Today is my first day at the People’s Bank.

One day, I will be the Vice-President. Amen.