Posts

Who Owns My Name? Who Owns My Identity?

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Usually, there would be three people in the office that early- the office boy, the janitor, and an account assistant. Today I saw him too, and he offered to make coffee for me. He looked crisp as a toast that morning in a pearl-white shirt and charcoal trousers, a tie, hair- a mottled mixture of black, grey, and white, and eyes that that had a sparkle of a thousand splendid suns. don’t know why, but my heart skipped a beat at the thought of seeing him again, and the next day, and the day after. Two months later we were furtively writing emails to each other- in the office. Emails about my words, my thoughts, free verses vs rhyming poems, and ME. I HAD NEVER FELT SO VISIBLE. I would stay back after office hours just to be with him and savor his presence; he made affection feel simple and it felt nice to receive it. Though his family wasn’t there, they weren’t entirely absent either. We ate tofu burgers at the food court of DLF square sharing stories of our lives: me talking about my i

Dear Victoria- We have an uphill battle

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'My besties gifted me The Forever Robe in sheer black lace and tulle, with feminine ruffles, airy balloon sleeves, and pretty ribbon details. This works like magic; they chirped. The only difference, at 45, magic is neither desired nor required. With stretch marks covering my entire abdomen and varicose veins on my calf and inner thighs, the robe is no panacea for my body with blemishes. So here I am, coaxed to celebrate my 20th anniversary in a so-called exciting way. What's special about it? Nothing. There is nothing special about either 20 or 25. Trends dictate our life, and many of us find ourselves trapped by the dictum's that don't suit us, yet we succumb to it under fancy hashtags of -milestones, celebrating togetherness, YOLO, etc. Keeping the secret gift back in the cupboard, I pack my usual white and beige set for the trip. I have nothing against my husband and his preference; I have something going on with myself. I want to be comfortable in the choices I am

The Indian American Mom

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  As an Indian American mom, I struggle to teach my daughter the right values, and my parenting has sometimes been questioned. But motherhood in America changed it all…so much so that I am surprised at the cosmic shift that can happen in life when a baby pops out of the womb. As if all the alcohol inside the body dried up, the hormones vaporized in thin air, and all the morality, values, and traditions of India have one door to knock on – MINE. Thanks to the population of the Indian community here, I have fodder for my eyes and ears, to reinforce how we must preserve the Indian-ness in us, in our children; otherwise ‘times are bad’ and ‘anything can happen, you see’. Phew! To read the article, click on The Indian American Mom Image courtesy-Pixabay

Feminism, Freedom, and We

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We all seek absolute freedom, free from the boundaries of society. We desire to exist without rules. But freedom is essentially built on intelligent self-restraint and discipline. For example, you can freely move on the road when you and others obey the traffic rules; only then can you enjoy a long drive to San Juan Capistrano. If this discipline is not followed, there will be no control over people and vehicles' movement, which will lead to confusion and chaos. Freedom, thus, loses its meaning and degenerates in the absence of adequate regulations and directions. We need rules to guide our behavior and not turn into impulsive pleasure-seeking maniacs working without control. That is a license, freedom unleashed, reckless freedom which does not do anyone any good. To read the story please click on Feminism, Freedom, and We. Image courtesy-Pixabay

Hoodwinked- When the mirror shatters

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The episode of heat strikes again, and I feel my blouse soak. Lately, heat has accompanied me  most of the places: examination room, restroom, CVS, Namaste Plaza, Panda Express, and even  in the shower. Yet, I can differentiate between the warm water and the lava erupting  from the pores of my skin. Just how complicated can life become when the only two things you  feel are heat and rage. The former has an outlet; the latter simmers within searing the present." To read the full story, please click on  Hoodwinked .  Hoodwinked has had the privilege of being featured on the  Women's Web  and accorded the Hall of Fame honor in the International Symposium for Women and Literature, Kolkata Spring Festival. Happy Reading!

Pepper Spray

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“Maana, would you please listen to me? I am not insane to keep hunting for things to keep you safe. Do you think I am doing this for myself? Have you forgotten…?”   “No, Maa. I haven’t forgotten her, but what you need to understand is that I cannot, and I refuse to live in this huge fear.”   “Fear? We are talking reality Maana,” Naina followed her daughter to the kitchen with a pepper spray bottle in her hand.   “Reality? Really?” Maana rushed to her room to get her satchel. Pouring the contents on the glass dining table, Maana roared with anger, “This is my reality, Maa? This? More than books, I have weapons in my bag.”  A 30-inch foldable iron rod fell from the table on the floor with a clank. A steel baton, a small knife, a big knife, a razor, a stun gun lay on the table while the pages of H.C.Verma’s Concepts of Physics fluttered.   “And this, the brass knuckle which I wear like an ornament whenever I am outside. Now you got this pepper spray?” “It is not a weapon

The Cow

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We had 200 miles of straight road ahead. With rain falling straight on our car like drums overhead and cymbals on the windshield mirror with the wipers gyrating tirelessly, the traffic moving straight in three rows, and the heart going roller coaster, I dismissed the question saying their owners will come and take care of them. It is difficult to handle two disquieted hearts. To read the award-winning story, click on The Cow . Image courtesy-Pixabay