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Children and Freedom: How much is too much?

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There’s nothing is this world parallel to a mother’s heart; the seemingly natural role at times transcends and surpasses a form beyond natural. The unique mother-child bond which we share with our own one is as exclusive yet an universal feeling. Being a mother has made me accept things out of my way, realising the bigger picture and above all charmed me to embrace love in its supreme element – Selflessness. 

While at the beginning of my blogging journey I have penned down a write-up on ‘Children and Freedom’ from my personal encounters and exposure to motherhood, which with your grace was much appreciated. With great pleasure I mention that the article is being published in the acclaimed Huffington Post India.
For my readers and fellow blogger friends, I submit the link below. I would much appreciate your time and views. Stay loved and at peace.

http://www.huffingtonpost.in/chaitali-bhattacharjee/lets-talk-about-freedompa_b_8280458.html

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5 Truths That Show Why True Beauty Lies Within.

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Based on San Francisco, California, SOULSpot is a conscious media network serving content to Youtube, Facebook, and Conscious Cloud. With ever expanding likers and 1, 21, 270 followers worldwide, the platform stands for the vision of love and expansion of humanity’s well being.
My gladness for being published on their esteemed channel of expression for blogs. While a lot has been said and written about beauty and it’s subjectivity, I intend to keep this article simple for the purpose of giving a positive reinforcement for what we possess and valuing life in itself. My beatitude in sharing the one: http://soulspottv.com/blog/5-truths-that-show-why-true-beauty-lies-within/

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A Review: Let the Reason be Love.

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Book: Let the Reason be Love

Author: Tuhin A Sinha

Publisher: Rupa Publications

Genre: Love and Relationships

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This remains a conundrum – One that neither technological breakthroughs, nor the most passionate of lovers has managed to unravel. What some may attribute attraction to shared sensibilities or even a karmic connection, the fact remains that love comes without simple answers; it’s damn complicated.”

The blurb on the back cover of soon to be released latest fiction ‘Let the Reason be Love’ by best-selling Author Tuhin A Sinha seizes immediate attention and spawns requisite interest in me.

‘Let the Reason be Love’ is a topical tale of unrequited love and it’s forlornness; a stark version of modern day relationship and the not-so-easy interplay of emotional determinants in different layer and stages of it.
Somewhere the story even pitches to engage into a deeper introspection or dilemma of ‘what actually or truly love is?’ Throughout the saga, the strong emotional undercurrent which effortlessly flows and interweaves an entangled web of carnal passion to soul connection, contentment to heartache, trust to mistrust and even self-realisation to an extent, between the three main characters, weaves an enticing plot to dive into.

The Story:
The protagonist Rishaan and his love interests Kiara and Diya at different point of time and situation make relatable characters with their separate identities and inherent quirks and expectations. But they indeed share a commonality; an ever searching toil of filling the void in each one’s heart.
Rishaan is this dreamy, idealist, middle-classy boy-next-door. He is spontaneous, talented and great fun to be with but could also be extremely disorganised like most other husbands-in-making young men. Kiara as described by author himself is a spunky, liberated, free spirited Bengali bombshell. Someone who lived life with her own terms and brutally honest. Yet amidst the temperamental differences, the two begin their journey of relationship with intense infatuation.
Diya, to the contrary, seemed to be a strong, calm woman who is firmly in control of her life despite the chaos around. There is something very attractive about her femininity too.
Rishaan is drawn to her inwardly. Rather than carnal desires, shared empathy, companionship and long conversations is the basis of their bond. Since Kiara and Diya are bosom friends, how the interpersonal dynamics between the three creates stirring situation and the innermost feelings and universality of human reactions to love, betrayal and hurt is resplendently exhibited through the tale.
The end line of the story quips as :
Rishaan knew that life and Bollywood were indeed capable of throwing up some crazy surprises.”
I would like to disrupt my share of earful on the story here without further divulging any more details, trying not to spoil the reader’s appetite and allowing them to savour the original narration or compelling expression by the writer himself by reading the book itself.

Narrative, Style and My views:
This book was not a conventional pick for me as from past few years I have not indulged myself with fictions much. Yet it provided me an interesting read and sort of treaded me to nostalgia lane.
The simple plot, lucid free-flowing words and the identifiable characters with swift, zesty narrative style makes a light, engaging and easy read for us.
Characters strike a chord with the modern urban metropolitan readers especially Mumbaikars with everyday minute nuances(be it the quirky auto drivers or a smooth-talking boss in loveless marriage) and relationship dynamics being skilfully portrayed.
The beginning of the book will not disappoint the aficionados of ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ likes, with expressions of some earthy, impassioned rendezvous between the lead characters.
Though it picks up a better tempo after first few pages but the twist after makes it engrossing quite instantaneously.
The author has added some vernacular lingo and famed movie songs to add his personal style. The book is an absolute page turner but somehow I wanted it to end differently. So there I was, a bit gloomy. But what the heck that’s not my novel or my story and the creative freedom belongs to Tuhin.
Finally, what strike me or made an impression on me is the way the story tried to explore the fragility and vulnerability of human relationship. That we are flawed being and with that comes perfectly imperfect relationships, which we agree or not but somewhere have to acknowledge the fact. No relationship is ‘happily ever after’. But then it’s our individual choice to persevere or not.
If all you want is a light, breezy and effortless but wistful read that takes you through that vulnerable, unpredictable, fallible love lane and expose you to the myriads of warm kindled sensibilities, soak into it. You never know after reading this, you might feel lucky enough for what you have or maybe what you don’t have!

About the Author: Tuhin A. Sinha is a best-selling author, columnist and a scriptwriter. Tuhin is widely acknowledged among the most prolific Indian writers with each of his four previous books, The Edge of Desire, That Thing Called Love, The Captain (formerly 22 Yards) and Of Love and Politics breaking new ground in terms of subject and treatment.
He is also a scriptwriter of several popular TV shows. Apart from his fiction novels and scripts, Tuhin is a keen political observer. His columns on Indian politics appear regularly in India’s leading dailies.

[This is not a paid review. The opinions expressed in the review are my own, and remains unbiased and uninfluenced.]

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Ask the One

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You smoke your life away
A hazy sooty release
for that instant rapture.
Ask the one
Consumed by incessant spasm
Devoured by fear
Of morbid uncertainty.
Of odds in living and dying.
Clutched with chemo
bidding to outrun Carcinoma.
Gasping for one lease,
Or a stroke of luck maybe!

You spent thousands
to have that illusion
called perfection.
The bridge of your nares(nose)
aligned symmetrical.
Another forsaken attempt
to fill the hollowness
of deep recess
gone astray.
Ask the one
Who lost her face,
The divine impression
of her uniqueness,
days until nineteen.
Perpetrated by cruelty
Unaware and unknown,
An attack acrid –
Harsh pungent reality
she exists and lives in.
Searching for her lost self
With leftover or no face maybe!

You have a portioned bite,
Not much to your fancy
neither upholds your fine taste.
A nibble here and dribble there,
Wide potpourri of savouries
until half picked other wasted.
Food catering to dainty senses.
Ask the one
The one with those
Ever urging growling stomach.
And the one with those
Ever famished wretched eyes.
scanning through the trash cans
every day and most of nights.
Hunting for source of sustenance
shreds, scraps or mouthful
anything will suffice.
Irony of misery in need;
Sharp biting pangs of hunger
even camouflages
filth, muck and sleaze.
And those ever beseeching prayers
amidst the rotting debris,
aching for nothing less than
a morsel of miracle.
Or something edible maybe!

You are as busy as bee.
Hundreds to manage
another fifty to oversee.
Little one came rushing –
overzealous, demanding and gushing.
You term those cry over nagging
and choose to disregard.
And at times uneasy and unwilling
you snort and lash it out.
Those ever seeking
attention and whims
takes a toll on you.
But at what price!
Ask the one
Emotionally barren
And physically depleted.
Feeling duped by nature
arid, abject and dispirited.
Latching to any
tiny ray of glimmer,
Like a drowning man
will clutch at a straw.
Little feet, kisses and snuggle,
A soul as chaste, gentle and raw.
All it Yearns for
A kindred bond and that soulful kinship,
A salvation from days of hardship.
A cackle which may fill
the unspeakable emptiness.
A silly tantrum which will spread
hue to blankness.
Or a chance to be called ‘mum’ maybe!

Life at times become undue and unfair,
Reasons may be many to whine and despair.
Behold and Bethink
The things which you take for granted,
Could be someone’s countless plea and earnest prayer.
Embrace your blessings
Indeed reckon them,
For the ripple it creates
will nourish your wounded soul.
And usher you to the world
of endless possibility out of nowhere.
Or else, there’s always at the least in your life
That One thing to be happy about maybe!

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What’s the point?

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These days are largely subjective; biting perceptions with a hint of melodrama here and there. These days we live with a clause(and claws too). Mostly these are the days when we rely more on tags and labels and bracketing, when squibbing and display is the real deal than the real substance itself.
I am not even talking about the fine luxury Movado flashed in the profile picture of my distantly common to common friend in FB list, exhibited slyly . That’s superficial, right! I am rooting for something deeper than this.

SCENARIO – I
Let me then start with my own first hand actuality. I have mentioned it before in some of my journals that I am a quintessential woman and love every part of being a woman. So do you label me a feminist then?

My life experiences, occurrences, exposure and sensibility has led me to feel certain way about issues sensitive pertaining to gender bias not in general but being endured and witnessed in day to day phase and almost every sphere of life. In other words what I saw, heard or felt as a fellow human being from my real life happenings and cues being picked, made me believe in certain way.
Now let me clear the air before. I don’t endorse any kind of extremism be it in any form. My intention is even beyond that – very clear, very basic. A life is a life; doesn’t matter boy or a girl. It will flourish, let it flourish rather allow it to flourish into it’s absolute possible potential.

More so I believe in humanism which I am sure a term like that exists; the spirit that dwells into humanity. To make it sound coherent, anything that values life on this earth without putting a clause based on caste, creed or race and in this case gender, I respectfully defend that. So I can be a non misandrist and as well care for equality and social justice.

We human beings are dubbed as the supreme creation. Just because I am not exposed to certain debilitating circumstances should not make me raise a brow or turn blind eyes towards a cause or call.
How justified is that? Where is the empathy then?

Does that make me hate a man, of course not. It’s like ‘do you like night or day!’ I see the day because I felt the night. Perhaps nature sets the best example of coexistence and conjunction.

SCENARIO – II
The other day one of the current top best-selling author and television personality posted an intensely thoughtful quote in his social media page and those lines impressed me. What I could interpret with whatsoever knowledge I have, it talked about the intense need for sense of balance in today’s life. But then a series of slander and derogatory words were thrown at his character, forbearing, career choices, and even writing skill on the comment section.
I wonder were they actually foreseeing the calibre of T S Eliot, William Burroughs or may be James Joyce. Believe me being a language and literature student and connoisseur of words, it’s not that easy comprehending a piece of seasoned literary work . Ulysses demands as much attention and intellect as any scientific concept but catering to different faculties of mind. I wonder further were they be able to appreciate rather comprehend the syllables if it was one of the absolute classics being provided to them.

I have heard this innumerable times that to gain some you have to loose some. The author fits the bill in this case. He writes to cater to the mass; simple story about life with easy to understand English and of course some discourse on life lessons. So why not label him pseudo-intellectual!
Looks like we want sugar even if we are diabetic. I guess even that’s not the purpose. Either it’s the shameless publicity stunts or a defence mechanism to balm one’s own inner complexes or may be that few minutes of glitz and media visibility or hooligan bonhomie, they hurl those abuses even without thinking once. They come as if they have become natural recourse of life.
Whatever the reasons were, it totally diluted the deeper or richer message the quote reflected amidst personal attacks and acrimoniousness.

SCENARIO – III
Few days back there was much uproar on using a trending trick for campaigning a delicate and pressing issue of female foeticide.
Is the cliché ‘Something is better than nothing’ redundant now? Well I understand we need more than something to curb this heinous and diabolical anti-social element.
While researching for an assignment on this issue one year back I came across some horrific figures related. Foetal sex determination and sex selective abortion by unethical medical professionals has today grown into a Rs. 1,000 crore industry approx. There are concerns that PCPNDT Act has been poorly enforced by authorities and had extreme low conviction rate.
I still get teary eyed when one of the readers, a sixteen year old collegiate wrote to me after reading my piece on this issue:

June 18, 2014 at 1:13 am
“A very powerful piece of writing. I can relate to it mostly because I was an unwanted girl child. If not for my mother I wouldn’t have been alive or might be given up for adoption. But she was a strong women, and she saved me by going against her own family. I never got the guts to write about this topic, moreover because my father loves me now, and has changed his views for better. Its a touchy subject for me but you portrayed it perfectly. Thank you.. :)”

I quote exactly the words she wrote. The sad reality we live in.

Yes, of course we can’t expect overhaul in few days as the monster was neglected and grown too enormous. Awareness and Education along with compassion guarded with stringent law and order enforcement is the need. Infact this demands a movement in every level.

One thing my simple heart failed to understand how can a positive step towards mass awareness or cognizance of a compelling issue, how much ever minuscule it is, can garner such ire!

Isn’t it convenient now to label me as proponent of some colour brigade. But I don’t belong to any colour brigade or scheme with exception of the tricolour. Politics and me play hide and seek. Though I know I can avoid it to an extent but can’t ignore it being a part of the system. Like any other ordinary educated Indian, I love my country whole heartedly and aspire India to be prosperous, progressive and protective from injustice and inequality.

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As from parliamentary brawls to primetime news hour and social media mud-slinging, do we always have to shout or abuse to make a point or to be heard? Or is it sometimes that the agenda is something else; just to get noticed and grab other’s attention in easiest possible manner.
When did skepticism and exhibitionism creeped into our disposition and infested the whole system devouring even the ounce of tolerance and sensibility left within us. ‘Just talking for the sake of talking’ – does this make sense!

Without clarity of thought and sense of balance, to see things the way they are and doing things the way it ought to be is that difficult today.
Irony is amidst this hullabaloo to be in the race, we missed the finishing line way back.
And that gives me the liberty to raise a question,

Is common sense that uncommon today?’


Indian Bloggers

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For the love of Writing…

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Never ruin an apology with an excuse.”
– Unknown

It’s been a while. Excuses can be many but intentions have to be pure and plausible. So my heartfelt apologies for not been able to minister time to the blog. Believe it or not, it was always there in my mind, conscious and subconscious playing a remorse card amidst all the pressing engagements, being intensely tied up and living. In simple words, I missed being here. I write because I love writing; from my heart and of course to be read too.

Hope springs eternal. I do hope that I would be keeping a hold oftentimes from now on. Few days back I was delighted to be published in the much acclaimed Huffingtonpost India. The feeling of wonder, delight is of no essence if I don’t acknowledge and value my readers, for whom I stand contended today.
To pore over, check the link below:
http://www.huffingtonpost.in/chaitali-bhattacharjee/why-i-dont-want-praise-fo_b_7760284.html?utm_hp_ref=india

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A reflection on what mirror reflects …

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Mirror mirror on the wall

Who is the slimmest of the all?

Mirror mirror on the wall

Who is the wrinkle free of the all?

My bundle of joy, my little boy is six now. Never in fourteen hours of his wakefulness, he stands in front of mirror or catches a glimpse of himself unless in some blue moon he feels like making a fancy face or poke a joke on his own image. He just doesn’t feel the need for it. I know he will not stay the same, but that story rests for some other day when I face the gun. Is he not aware of his existence?

What is that makes a child not to be that self-conscious about his or her body?

Our body image is our reflection on the appearance that we carry or to say the personality we offer, which indeed is a part of our existence. But what is that makes us grown-up feel so conscious about our physicality and right here I am hinting on the attributes that we manifest aesthetically. The morning mirror throws a reality check as we brush our teeth or tidy up, to face the world. Our face and body stands there sometimes as welcoming as it could be and many times as a challenge to overcome. We agree or not but amidst all the engagements or hustle, we all do find a few seconds to steal a glimpse of our own self in mirror and adjust our demeneaour depending upon the reflection it throws at us. If not so, then why on earth would your profile pictures in social media sees you in the chosen best of the light?

While it’s not wrong to be conscious about your presentability but if believing or obsessing on ‘what you look like’ determines your value as a person, then somehow it carries unfavourable implication on your own self worth. Being fixated to physical appearance and trying to fit into this new found definition of beauty which changes every now and then with trending and sponsored media galleries, causes a superficial approach to find and feel the real you. The media hungry obsession of picture perfect body images of celebrities has done no good to us or to our coming generation, where mostly many pictures are photo shopped to the point of achieving a totally impeccable body shape or bearing. As it is there’s nothing left to fancy for or charm about with the abundance of incongruity and shamelessness exhibited in the name of glam or sham.

This reminds me of a day few years down the lane, while I used to work for a media house and was a part of a management team, who coordinated the supposedly most prestigious beauty contest of India. When I met the contestants backstage almost all of them between 18 to 24 years maidens sans make up or designer ensemble, I felt a sense of hollowness as if the air surrounding smelled of something so over-pretentious or affected. There was something not natural about it as almost all the girls looked alike or similar as if measured, dissected and pruned accordingly as to fit into a cast which defies their originality, for a reason which does not resonate with the very essence of beauty.

When all are almost same, how do we measure? But then why should we measure?

Doesn’t the beauty lies in the uniqueness of each one of us?

To add to the glory there were few who were mugging the jarred lines on women empowerment and social obligations to score a point or two. After delivering my duties which was little tiresome being into the core of the event, once I was out of the backstage and then making my way through the crowd and then out of the venue and stepped towards my vehicle, which was parked in that vast airy space outside the auditorium meant for parking, I felt a sense of relief, away from that stifling air inside which was nothing less than the mockery on the entirety of beauty. I was almost of the same age group of the beauty pageants but totally from different side of the world. I was neither as tall nor size zero like them, but there upsurged this strange sense of confidence within me which made me feel more beautiful inside as every day I lived I have seen the sense of appreciation and look of admiration of people around me who know me and may be even physically find me endurable enough and thankfully I was not a part of that pointless inane beauty parade.

Back home I switched on the TV and the same contest was going on live and this was something I have watched consistently in my teenage days. For the first time, I rejected it. Somewhere I felt a woman cocooned out of a girl. I was 23 then. It lost that charm or attention of mine after being exposed with the real manoeuvres of how it really works and what damage it actually does to the young ones projecting skewed versions of beauty. And ever since I have just stopped watching it. It doesn’t amuse or thrill me at all, no more. Infact it dissuades or makes me feel rather dismayed. Should we then blame the media alone. A family is a powerful system too. I have seen girls of as early as ten or twelve following dieting or exhibiting eating disorders just to be part of the insane race or to feel validated by peer group and the surroundings.

Quite recently I attended a puberty ceremony(sort of sweet sixteen) of my neighbour’s daughter. She was dressed in traditional attire with golden brocade silks and rich ornate jewelleries. She wore makeup, may be for the first time. She is not that typical beauty which certain set standards proclaim but at plumper side. But there flickered a sweet smile on her face and a sense of delight lingered in her poise. At that moment I was so sure of what I wanted to tell her being a woman who has passed that impressionable and sensitive phase of girlhood. I just looked at her eyes as there were people around and noise and told her assuredly that ‘you look beautiful today as you are a gorgeous, gorgeous girl.’ I could feel the twinkle in hers eyes sparkled a bit more with sort of a sense of achievement. And I am sure that with years to pass by, when certain days will be harsher to her, words of appreciation and assurance like this treasured in her innermost self will give her the spunk to fight back and have belief in her own being.

Our body is this amazing gift; appreciating and respecting all the things it can do will help us to feel more positive about it and notions like this if instilled at right age into our sweet little ones will create a more self-reliant and secure generation.

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And now comes the formidable question once again to be grappled with:

What is that makes a child not to be that conscious about his/her body image?

Perhaps if we think deeper, we will realise that childhood to certain stage lacks that state of self- consciousness as somewhere their physical state of being is in tandem or harmony with their mind, emotion and intellect. A child accepts his body the way it is, without making any fuss about what he is not or what he should be in terms of appearance. And there lies a subtle message for us in this as the day we accept our physicality the way it is like a child, instead of grouching on that extra inch gain or freaking on one fine line appearing in forehead, may be we will understand the true beauty God has bestowed on each of us; the beauty of being you.

The beauty which defines you and only you and no one else. It’s being accepting who you are rather than trying to chase a never ending unrealistic race of being who you are not. It’s having learned to appreciate how each part of your body connects, and how wonderful it is to be able to use it fully in harmony with your senses alive. It’s being comfortable in your own skin. It’s been feeling beautiful by being alive in itself.

It’s not about what mirror reflects,

but rather about how we reflect

on what we see is the key.

Just give your body some love and that’s what all it needs to feel the real beauty in you. Until then I wonder, How the world would have been with no mirrors around? Does it even matter as long as you feel you are beautiful inside and out!

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My Divine

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In the stones
On scriptures
In places
Through rituals
In object
And on subject
I seek
I hope
I dig
I pray
But in vain.
That light
That power
The divinity
That flower
Which blossoms
Inside my concrete,
That flame
Which burns
With each heartbeat,
That faith
with which
even death can’t compete,
That’s my GOD.
My life source
My energy resource
My only love
My sole companion
Who will never retreat(me)
In my prosperity or even defeat.

 
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But I will yell this…

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Even if it sounds cliche,
I will tell this.
I know,
You heard it ten times
But I will yell this.

She didn’t ask for it.
Did she?
She was thirteen
Fun, frolic and promises.
With hope abound
Filled with effervescence.
Very First time –
Those crude intrusive
Unwelcoming eyes
Pricked every essence of her.
The deeds of brazenness
didn’t stop there.
Only thrusted through acts
More lewd and outrageous.
Cat Calls and hoots,
Groping, stalking and abuse.
The years passed
Only names and faces changed.
Every step outside
Never felt normal,
But then with time
Even the wretchedness became natural.

How can her own body
Be the cause of offence!
The very frame
Which carries the soul
Under her skin,
And offers a living chance.
The soul which lays
Tattered and smothered
With years of untold hurts
And tainted reality that hovered.

The stained trust
In deep recess of her heart
will never be speckless.
For the want of
Dignity and Respect,
the battle continues regardless.
While the mind amends
For survival,
But the soul cries in disguise.
The Woman in her
now questions each and every eye.

Even if it sounds cliche
I will tell this.
I know,
You heard it ten times
But I will yell this.

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To my MoonLight

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This one is going to be little personal; that corner of my heart, which has a softer, kinder and warmer touch in my life. Though I am always little jittery about writing things personal, being an introvert. But this kindred bond in my life with that faint, frosty beautiful bluish radiance of calmness and love like a moonlight holds my attention today, to let it out and share. Share what I always wanted to and be glad for what I have or am blessed with.

“Blessed be the ties that bind generations.”

She is the moonlight of my life and will always be, as I mentioned she is that antique little girl, with whom I share a doting bond and an affectionate link. She is my Grandmother, my Dad’s Mother.

Now she stays far away from me around thousand kilometres away. It’s not that I talk to her everyday but once in a full moon. But then when life becomes too demanding, even talking over a phone once a month surely seems suitable some of the time. But she is always there in my prayers. In my that self-made inner circle which consists of few of the precious ones in my life, she stays intact in there, always.

Why it is that I share such an exclusive tie with her? One of my very first early childhood memories, when she was not that old but a middle aged lady in her late forties may be, I remember distinctively how she used to make homemade kajal(modern day kohl) for me and my sister with great attention and care; kind of a traditional secret recipe mixed with pure charm. I grew up applying those on my eyes. That burnt castor oil traces still lingers in my sub conscious and I miss them dearly while applying my neatly packaged smudge free Maybelline colossal today.
As a saying goes in my homeland that applying kajal makes one’s eye appear beautiful. So I thank her today for filling my eyes with beauty; of beauty that encompasses pureness and richness of unconditional love. That beauty which surpasses physicality and reaches eyes of the soul and never smudges.

I always felt myself to be beautiful, though aware I am an average looking person. Somewhere this confidence in me was instilled by the loved ones all through out my growing up. Especially my Grandmother played a major role in this. She has always made me feel that beautiful. She made me believe that I am worth more than what life can offer, through her kind words. Today as a Mom, when I think deeper about it, I know What boost it did offer me being a child, having a belief on myself. So my earnest thankfulness to her to make me face those not so perfect days with the gift of tenacity through this faith that I can do it no matter what. I am always that twinkle in her eyes which shines brightly.

A Grandmother is a Mother with extra frosting.
And those days when I used to return back from my college classes, she will pull me to kitchen and put a succulent syrupy piece of sweetmeat; a mouthful of joy dripping all down my face, quite stealthily avoiding the prying eyes. As it was a big joint family and she didn’t wanted me to be devoid of these delectable relish before it’s been consumed by others. A sign of love which saw no boundary and is all pervasive and all powerful.
Thank you Grandma for imbibing in me the values of what love means which I can pass on as an inheritance; a lesson that you do whatever it takes to ensure that your kids are being loved and nourished.

And her innumerable tales with that warmth in her voice, which lavished my innocent tender years of growing up sprinkled with stardust. So how can I thank you for that priceless archives of imagination and a life beyond worldly that you planted on the seed of my mind in that impressionable years of mine!
Sleeping on your lap under the summer night stars or inside the winter blankets and listening to those inane yet virtuous fables will be treasured in safe haven of my heart ever, forever. And there were times when you fell short of a new story, even repeating the same ones still felt meaningful as if some zest added afresh or newness I found which I might have missed unintentionally.

And my gratitude for the innumberable times you stood for me, for against anyone even your own blood if they tried to hurt me in some way or other. Unconditional positive regard is rarely given by anyone except a very few and that’s what you offered me by trusting me effortlessly.

A grandmother’s love knows no distance.
And that special day of my life I was getting married to the man of my dream and you crossed 400 miles to be with me even if warned not to, for your deteriorated health conditions. I still remember what you said,
” How can I be not with my princess in this blissful day?, if I miss this then I will not forgive myself ever.”
And as I am penning these lines down, my eye are moist with tears but they don’t fall for the sheer strength of perseverance that you fostered in me through out the years with instances of grit like this.

And there are one and many more instances like these where you made an imprint on my heart with your loving, compassionate and affable selfless spirit. And I know I am your precious little thing that you will not bargain for anything or with anybody. And if in one line I can presume of what you assimilated on me, then that would be:
‘Never give up on Love’.
And I truly live with this surmise each and every day of my existence.

You are almost 85 now. As you have reached the autumn of your life and years of survival has wearied you down. These days when I call you and you still soak me with your warm loving words and then weep like a child grumbling and protesting why you should not be alive as being so primitive! That your eyes, knees, breathings and whole other systems are giving up day by day and that each day of existence is effortful and filled with pain at this stage of life. I hear but I pray and I still pray that you stay. That you don’t give up now. I know I am self-centerd in this but I don’t want to loose you ever as your love and affection is irreplaceable for me. We should all have at least that one person in our life who knows how to bless us no matter what and that’s what you are to me.

“They say genes skip generations.
Without my final acknowledgement, this piece of writing will remain unfinished and incomplete. I do remember when during one of your story sessions you revealed that how your Mother was a lady endowed with power of imagination and expression. You told me that she was a woman ahead of her generation. In those days of pre independent India, she was a connoisseur of words and literature and a gifted poet. Little did I knew at that point of time, what the word ‘Poet’ meant until I reached my School days.
But then sometimes when I write a verse or a note, and people ardently appreciate my effort or may be my skill, I wonder did my genetic code played a role in this. Surely, I don’t know the reason or have a clue for what makes me the way I am or aids me in expressing the things the way it is that might touch someone’s sensibility. But my heart do feel intensely grateful for what you passed on to me as a legacy knowingly or unknowingly.
“God Bless you My Moonlight, My Grandmother and Wish you Happy 85th Birthday.”

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