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You’re right Women have all the Choice

pexels-photo-210585You were right when you said Women has all the liberty today. She is given every opportunity as good as a man, given as importance as much as a man would get for the similar task. You were right when you said that Women can now decide for herself, her life. She is given Choices now.

I was looking at the options in her choices. There were a lot of options, choices given to her. “I agree; You’re right; My Husband shall take my decision; My Family knows my Answer; I can’t answer; I am not able to answer;” were some of the commonest options for every choice in her life.

Career, Clothes, Spouse, Kids; She’s asked not to worry when the matter is about taking decisions. She can do all the chores capably but at the matters of mind she’s still weak as per the norms. Somehow, even today, it’s the man who thinks he’s the capable gender.

When would the day come when each woman can decide without weighing her responsibilities at one hand, consequences of her decisions at the other. When she is not eyed when she makes a quirky choice for herself. When it’s very natural and common that she takes her own decision and not judged upon the details. Men, I think are going to play a vital role in this. It’s just a matter of a changed perspective. What if we do not see men as perpetrators but barristers of today’s women?

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My life is just like my diary…

GoSolo (2)My life is just like my diary. Few pages are filled completely, the others blank. All the pages have their own rhymes to recite, own tempo, own highs and lows.
Some pages have a horror story written on them, I regret to have those because I was both, the writer and the protagonist.
While some pages have a story- What if Story? These are the pages I couldn’t fill up well but I wish I could.

Then some pages are the doodles- the ones I made in leisure, whose meanings I don’t know or the relevance of those to the person I was that moment of my life.

“My life is just like my diary”. Some pages filled, some blank but it’s a beautiful diary and it’s my diary.

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Aren’t we all lil eggs full of hope!

Mike Archer

We are all a little egg. An egg full of hope, life, confidence, courage, the one that witnesses the abysmal power inside that thin white shell. An egg that is bound to give life in one form or the other. An egg that holds the soul of its originator, God’s.

An egg’s destiny is a result of one of the two actions. Somebody either takes the egg and for their use, they break the shell, hitting it with a spoon or smashing it on the surface, the thin shell, in its infancy that holds a spirited life inside shows only a little resistance. The problem is the external force somehow always exceeds the intrinsic resistance. The egg breaks, the life is gone. But now it feeds the other life, keeping its essence and meaning.

Or the otherwise would be, the egg would be left to it make its own destiny. The life is inside the shell, it derives the energy to develop its body parts from the yolk. Gradually from eyes to the heart to wings, it doesn’t happen in a day, the life takes its time and becomes a chick. The final examination of the chick is to break the egg from the inside. Nobody teaches him to do so in the shell, it is on its own. The chick puts all its power trying to explode, the power that made it into a chick is the power that shall give him a life in the world. With its small teeth, it fractures the shell, trying to make a crack. It finally makes it, cracks the egg and makes space and comes out. Tired but happy to have made it on its own.

Aren’t we all such eggs. We either do something that is imposed on us or do what our inclinations choose. The first option is for the people who either fail to recognise their inner calls, or are in no position to take their life-decisions, whose life is a mortgage and the mortgagees are his blood relatives.

The other ones, who crack the egg gradually. The rebels- people choose to call them lucky. Rebelious or Lucky, it doesn’t matter, they do make it on their own in the end. Nobody cares what it takes to crack the shell- the patience, the diligence, the persistence, the perseverance. People call them lucky blatantly. The Appreciators are rare, the Critics are all. The Chick finally survives the world with the magic of life in it.

Omelette or Life? You be your own Sailor because it’s your ship.

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Her Bangles, a symbol of love or Colorful Handcuffs

qqbanglesBangles, colorful, tinted, with the magical tinkling sounds they produce. Who doesn’t love bangles? I know, almost we all do. How beautifully they adorn hands of a woman. Bangles are more than just an ornament in our culture. It’s a married woman’s pride, worn in her husband’s name. Husbands love the sounds, don’t they?

How romantic is the sight of a husband buying colorful bangles for his wife and adorning her hands by slipping the hues into her hands. Bangles are a sign of the love they share, the bond, the relationship they have nurtured.

But everything is transient, what if the wife loses her husband. She becomes a widow. Only a spouse knows how it feels to lose someone they’ve been living with for years, how it must feel to lose their addiction, their drug, their habit all at once. The Happy-Drug that was there for them every day ever since their matrimony, to listen to them, to help them in chores, to make love to them is forever gone. Every relationship is different but the degree of attachment is the same. They were attached to each other in everything. They couldn’t imagine their lives without the other and now one is alone. Only the Memories last. The loss is irreparable, unacceptable. The sympathetic family is there to try to condole her, shaken, they try their best to help her.

Losing someone physically is one thing, forgetting altogether is another!

The bangles that were the sign of her love, now a memory of her love are suddenly a bug in everybody’s eyes. The woman who’s too lost to even accept the damage is forced by the society to follow the norms made by them, norms that are too far from normalcy, totally inhumane, driven by blind believes, still existing without a single logic in them. The woman who hasn’t yet shed a tear in the grief, who is numb both physically and mentally. Rather than being given condolences and consoling, everybody eyes her colorful saree and the hues in her hands, and without a second thought break her bangles by forcefully grabbing her both hands and hit them together. BAM! *Bangles break*

It’s done to the woman who is still unconscious of what is happening around. Some broken pieces even pierce her hand and it bleeds. But few drops of blood can’t draw her attention when all her mind is focused on the want to have her husband back again.

Why did they do it? Could breaking her bangles make her forget her half-soul? Could it in anyway calm her? No, so why should they do it.

What if the woman doesn’t want to remove her colorful sarees and the bangles? And why should she want the otherwise? The sarees and the bangles are the last symbol of their memories. Yes, these little things have in them the part of their love’s soul, the things that were with them when they’re making memories in their lives, when they’re living together. The adorable Red Sarees that her husband gifted her and absolutely loved, and couldn’t keep her eyes off when she would wear them, the bangles in her hand, the tinkling of which always made him a little more in love with her than the last moment. How can she abandon them when they’ve in them her husband’s soul?

Also, she has been wearing them since their marriage, it has somehow become her identity. She wants to wear them. But after losing her spouse, everybody has their own thing to tell her, to shut her up, to impose something on her. They don’t allow her to wear anything colorful, and all her ornaments are snatched. The idea of love and relationship is not anywhere near to the concept that society is trying to indicate.

So only a married woman has the right to dress up, adorn beautiful sarees, bangles, and ornaments. Why can’t a widow still wear them when she wants to? So are these Bangles, a symbol of love or Colorful Handcuffs?

Yes, these are colorful handcuffs that help the society to classify a woman as sold or unsold property. The bangles that she wore thinking a symbol of her love were just in his name not their love. Because had they been a symbol of love, no one would force her to remove them after losing the spouse.

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My Inspiration to write was….

people-woman-hand-desk-6360My inspiration to write was that women in the Metro Coach, who was pondering too much. And, that guy who smiled at me in the hallway. Also, the boyfriend who kissed not just my lips but my soul. The girl who wanted to find her goals. The girl who was already a wanderer searching through her bits and pieces trying to find her hint of success. The old lady determined to create a company. Also, the Men, the proud misogynists, who pushed me to write for my gender. Especially, The Men who made me an un-Feministic Girl i.e. not just in favour of my gender but strongly against the biased women-haters. The Stereotypes that expected women to keep her eyes at the ground in front of her husband. The stranger who saw through my eyes. The stranger who asked my reason of existence in my commute to work one day.

My inspiration was in the love that defined happiness for me and in the love that wreck me. It was in the solitude when I was alone, locked up with books. It was in that book which inspired me to stand up for right and never settle. It was in the disappointments and the satisfactions. It was in the 10 kilometres trek to that beautiful hill that made me want to believe in god. It was in the clarity of thoughts and in the conundrum alike. It was in my want to love and be loved alike. It was in the birthday gift that I never got. It was in the friend that left me for no reason without caring to tell me. It was in the stubborn lover who could not accept that fact that I was leaving. It was in the crowd which made me wonder we all have a vivacious life.

My list of Inspiration does not end here. It has more subtleties than I can possibly talk of. And these inspirations have forced me to write something so meaningful that has an impact on someone else’s life. Something that fires their courage again to hit the wrong in its face, to take their life’s steering-wheel in their own hands. I want to write something powerful that urges someone to speak for them.

 

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Then the Stranger asked me the Strangest Question

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An odd day it was, with the usual hustle yet a different aura. I was traveling to work when a fellow passenger, The Stranger asked me the strangest question.

He asked me—“What did I want from my Life?” On a quest he seemed, and seemed a little worried as well. His Sub-conscious forced him to ask the question probably. I said-“Let me think.”

The question was as odd as the journey that my brain sailed till it answered the result. Millions of visions, Billions of thoughts, but still I was more than far from words. I traversed my childhood to the very moment. Memories were many, but I was supposed to come up with conclusions and statements.

I stuck on the thought and asked myself recurrently on what exactly did I want. Each recurrence made me delve in and reach a bit towards my final answer. My thoughts were—

I wanted Self-Esteem from life so that I can live proud and see myself as someone worthy enough, to face my own self in the Mirror every day and night.

I wanted Positivity from life so that I can feel connected to my God and loved by him, to handle every day chores.

I wanted Honesty from life so that I can live satisfied and never in a fear that someone else might cheat me or a guilt that never lets me live or sleep any moment.

I wanted Novelty from life, and also passion to search for it myself, to feel high on life, to be on a Hidden quest every day.

I wanted Kindness from life to be a sympathetic and a warm-hearted soul, and as they say-“Kind People are the happiest because they forgive and forget the easiest. They never hold on to the hurtful things, always be humble and pleasant.”

I wanted trueness and loyalty from life to have and keep the Best relationships. To keep my Kith and Kin feel loved, comforted and happy always, distance no matter what.

I wanted Courage from life to face the wrong for the weak, to speak for it, to inspire it to take the driver’s seat of their lives.

After a while—he intervened and prompted me to reply quickly as it was his station and doors of the train were open. Without a second thought, I knew what I wanted and I uttered—“I wanted a Good night Sleep from life”. We exchanged our last and uncanny glance, and then he left with a queer smile on his face.

My Quest

pexels-photo-185933I’m trying to find silence amidst the chaos,
I’m trying to find love in a dark place.
I’m trying to find my soul in the world,
I’m trying to be a better person
I’m trying to find an art that makes us want to think from the eye of the artist
I’m trying to find a Music that forces us to think & feel the Writers, Singers
I’m trying to find a poem that makes us want to imagine,
I’m trying to write an article that makes us want to believe again, in truthfulness and change.
I’m trying to find the strangers that have the most amazing stories, pristine and untold.
I’m trying to find the love that makes us feel good & content.
I’m trying to find the happiness that is inside us all, behind that laugh we suppress
I’m trying to find an idea that has the power to change it all
I’m trying to find the courage that has the ability to speak the right in the face of wrong
I’m trying to find truth that connects us to our God
I’m trying, I might even fail, I might even do good or nothing at all, but I don’t wish to stop my endeavors that get me close to my Success’s Door.