PRIDE, OUR PREJUDICE.

Millions of years into evolution, aren’t we still the same? Territorial. Another million years, we will still be the same. With territory come the possessiveness and a sense of ownership. That explains the war.
For more of this read here.

GOING GREEN.

 

He had the most soulful eyes

Seemed a bit lost

I melted faster than ice

Wanted to take him...in my arms

Give his the warmth and

The love he deserved

He walked past me

To her

His love for her unconditional

He, her puppy

And me? Just green with envy.

For - dVerse Poets Pub   

I WAS BORN.

Shackled to chains, some imaginary, some real, some imposed and some conditioned...I lived in my own little world.

Dreaming and never really trying. Content and not really very happy yet, believing so. Acknowledging the discontent within, observing the chains tightening to the point of suffocation. 

Seeing the birds flying in the wide and open sky....wanting to be one...holding myself back, unexplained fear of what lay beyond.

Every thing happens when the time is just right.
And the Universe conspired - a gust of wind...strong enough to blow away all that confined me. And, I was born.

THE OLD-WELL-WORN-INVISIBLE-FELT-HAT.

 

I do feel a bit left out when I say I don't have or I don't wear many hats as many of my women friends do. 

And, then when I think of it, I do have one...well, two to be precise.

The first one is an old, worn,(well worn in fact) felt hat that has been passed on to me by the generations of women before me in my family. Amazingly, it fit every one just fine. And, most of the time it is kept hidden or made invisible. Every woman is proud to be wearing it.

Role-playing and multitasking may not be the prerogative of women...but, we are more efficient, more adept than our male counterpart.

The way we women blend into the various roles, I would like to say we are more like 'Chameleons'...blending with the environment and never giving ourselves away.

Okay, let me get back to the well-worn-invisible-felt-hat. Whenever, I feel I have achieved something, big or small...even teeny weeny small, I add a feather to my hat! And, I feel jolly good about it. This is how I saw my mom, my granny and my great granny. They never made any hue or cry about it...just a look at their beaming face and the feather on the hat....the whole world (household, because it was their world) would know! Hey, let me tell you this...the passing on of this old-well-worn-felt-hats is a tradition followed in every family, passed on from mothers to daughters. Such are her pleasures.

Now, for the second hat I possess. A magician's hat...yes, the very black one.

 

I put my hand into it and pull out some alphabets. They hover above and around me. I catch them one by one, string them into words, weave them to phrases and sentences, magically transforming them to a poetry or a prose! Voila!

Then, some times, I take out 'a mood' from the hat. I am a fussy cook. This 'mood' magically turns me into the 'cooking mode' and I feed a very happy family.

And, then there are times when I take out my memories - good, bad, happy, sad, some painful and some totally hilarious...the whole concoction of them. Helps me to be grounded.

It takes some balls ( pun intended) everyday, from the magical hat to juggle my chores.   

I can go on and on with the things I can do with my magical hat....the best one - I take out my dreams and lay them all before me. I stuff back the ones I have achieved, the others I linger on....reminding myself that I have more feathers to add to my old-well-worn-invisible-felt-hat.  

Written for The Writers' Post... .Theme Thursday. 

     

TWIST.

                                                                Stairs
                                        Steep, high,
                        Ascending, winding, descending
                          Steps, escalate, climb, down,
                           Running, treading, leading, 
                                     Circular, spiral,
                                         Stairwell.  

For- Poetry Prompt 5 - Playing with Words
        Poetry form - Diamante.  
 

PAUSE, SEE, SAVOUR.

From my window, I see
Colorful splash
Across the sky
The hues, red and pink
Merging
Reminds the blush
Of a girl...shy
A fine evening
So mesmerizing
When the heart 
Wants to sing.
 *********
I smell them
Before I feel
I listen to their
Rhythmic fall on
The leaves of the trees tall
I dance drenched
In the damp wet winds
That the monsoon brings
They nip and I tuck...
 Nature is never boring.      

For - dVerse Poets Pub - InterActions 
         The words I got were - windows, trees, to sing, dance, to listen, mesmerizing, tall, colorful, fine and monsoon.
 

CLOSED DOOR/S

 

"Curiosity killed the cat." Well, I am not a Cat. Unless I am not curious enough, how will I know what lies beyond?

 

Should I 'push' myself harder? Should I 'pull' myself back? Should I wait a bit more till I am sure?

There is a whole new world out there to be explored and experienced.

“When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.”― Helen Keller

The Universe always opens doors, only if you open your heart.

 

BRAVEHEART

          This post was lying in my draft folder for more than a year now.  May be today is the right time to post this. When the whole world is talking about International Woman's Day, Woman's rights and empowerment I choose to write about a man who respected woman, a man who lived by his principles.             

The year was 1944. World War II was going on and there were foreign troops in India-the allies of the British.

It was a lazy Sunday evening in Madras. Shankari was standing by the compound of her house. There were about 6-7 houses inside that compound. Three young Australian soldiers were passing by when they saw her standing alone. Shankari was a young housewife and quiet beautiful. The soldiers approached her, thinking she was 'available.' As they neared her, she sensed their intention by the smirk on their faces. One of them almost grabbed her hand. She screamed and ran inside and got inside the first house in the 
compound.

Mr.Kulkarni stayed in that house with his two kids.  Seeing her in a state of fear and panic, he rushed out to see what the problem was all about. Towering before him were three Aussie soldiers. In all cockiness they told him to send Shankari with them.  Mr.Kulkarni  told them calmly yet firmly that she was a respectable lady from a respectable family and they should leave her alone. They could have easily overpowered him. But, something in his stance told them to back off. To cut the long story short, he saved Shankari from the soldiers.

There are people in the society who in situations like these, walk away from the scene thinking- unless it is not happening to them,they should not bother!

Then, there are also people in the society who do not hesitate to do the right thing at the right time. THEY ARE OUR EVERYDAY UNSUNG HEROES, like Mr.Kulkarni.

My father told me this story after my grand dad passed away. Yes, Mr. Kulkarni was none other than my grand father.
My grandpa became a widower at the age of 33, He had two kids...dad and my aunt. He vowed never to remarry for the sake of his kids, though there was immense pressure from his family.

I never did get to know my grandpa very well as he spent most of his time in a ashram in Pondicherry. He was detached that way. 
Today, when I see my dad bonding with my children, I do regret for not knowing my grandpa well enough. But, I do hope that we will carry on his braveheart legacy.

CHECK MATE.

 

All she did was believe,

And he.... Betrayed.

This is a Rhopalic Verse is a tool where each word of a line adds a syllable to the word before.  1-2-3-4-5 is the climbing sequence for each of these lines. Combined together, these two lines create a very short poem. Courtesy- 

Poetical Psyche.

For - dVerse Poets - Short Verses 

Mag 158 

LASTING MEMORIES.

   

Participating in the "100 words on Sautday" hosted by Corinne at - Everyday Gyaan.
She has prompted us to write about our "Lasting Memory/ies."
  
Moments make memories and memories make us.

First impressions create lasting impression either good or bad.

The sights, the smells, the tastes, the songs, the music or the colors, remind us of people, places and incidents.

My first day of high school, the day I learnt to balance the bicycle, the day I was elected to the student council, my first love, my first date, my wedding, the day I learnt I was pregnant …the the moment I held my baby in my arms marveling at our creation. Every milestone my kids reached…the journey and the way I have evolved.