Four Clover Life- By Namrata Shailendra Singh

Dear Students, Being your coach( I think I deserve a National Bravery Award here for surviving three turbulent and tumultuous years with you and coming out alive in one piece ), it is expected to produce exemplary sample writing which can impress my disciples and make me worthy of the hard-earned dollars your parents' deposit through an easy transaction in my bank account every month. So I wonder what sort of satire writing will work for enlightened minds like you? Several topics crossed my mind- political, social, and some even didactic. Later, I decided upon talking about something that defines me more than anything else- failures, failures that come in a variety of forms, and each of them has one thing in common- Hurt, not the kind that hurts but the kind that the world at large chooses not to acknowledge. JK Rowling spoke about it at Harvard, Steve Jobs at Stanford, and so did the former president Barack Obama at Wakefield High School; it almost seems like a rite of passage fo

" I slip inside my house, shivering. Hmmm, so they were boyfriend and girlfriend, in love. At 17, life presents itself hormonally. Later, it starts demanding money, and love is the first thing to go out of the window; I try not to conclude with the last gulp of my now cold tea. Later that night, a mortified mom’s frantic call keeps me awake- she found her daughter, a 6th grader,  watching pornography . Browsing history leaves her feeling devastated and broken." Click on the link to read the article - Parent's Locker Room Image Courtesy

Carrying them in the blue dustpan, I try to pronounce the word ‘Floccinaucinihilipilification,’ wondering where to fit it. The word might be difficult to pronounce, but that is exactly what everyone has been trying to do with me… Bloody rascals .  To read the full story click on  Bloody Rascals Image Courtesy-Pixabay

"During 9th-grade final exams, I memorized the questions which you had divulged to losers like us to ensure we got a passing mark.  Why memorized? Don’t know. Just did.  I could manage only the first sheet of the question paper, the last two sheets reserved exclusively for Gargi Vishwanathans of the world who had by now created a deep chasm between the intellectuals and the dunce. The former mingled with their pride and the losers hung together like a herd. It was a hard law of the world I learned: knowing only winners and losers." To read the full story, click on  Charred Image Courtesy-Pixabay

Who does that? Why should anyone do that? Huh! We finally have a face to the GOD we all believe in, whom we never got to see in real life otherwise. A thank you looks just so short and brief, almost disappearing before it appears; nonetheless, the feeling of indebtedness continues. Did we get it wrong all along?  To read the article click on   I know what GOD looks like! Image courtesy-Pixabay

No, I did not(  yes, I did and much more...some  stunning in its sheer stupidity   ); however, each of us has a narrative, some paragraphs of which we prize dearly, and some details we are not proud of . And then there are other dangling  between melancholy and maudlin.    To read the article, please click on  Mom, Can I Date? Image courtesy-Pixabay

Who knew balls could cause so much trouble?  Click on  Men, Their Balls, and my Life  to get an insight into the troublemaker, the scandalmonger, the rabble rouser-The Balls.  Image courtesy-Pixabay

" Chamomile tea had a way of easing her fibromyalgia-ridden body and Naina tried to relax. The letter from ABC Post lay on the chestnut center table of the living room. She had not asked for it. It came unannounced. Some of her writings had navigated the echelons of a famous literary journal in the United States and reached the editor of this famous American news website-The internet newspaper. The promises were incontrovertible; somebody sloshed in ten tequila shots would let go of an opportunity millions of starved writers yearned for. Name, Fame, and Money, as the cliché goes, is a heady cocktail, tempting and irresistible. With her husband and her son out for the weekend camping trip, Naina was all by herself to meditate, reflect and refuse. The year 2008 swirled in the leftover tea at the bottom of the LaOpala teacup; every part crystal clear, as if it was happening now. It took exactly a millionth of a second to go back." To read the full story click on li

“I  didn’t think I would ever fall in love again. I know that everyone says that after a heartbreak, but the difference is that I’m not heartbroken. I’m not cynical, or pessimistic, or sad. I’m just someone who once felt something bigger than anything else I’d ever felt, and when I lost it, I honestly believed I would never have that again. But... I was 22 then and life is long. And I’m feeling things right now that I haven’t in a long, long time. Raunak is the name. Girish was the name and I need to LET GO. " To read the full story click on  The Lemon Tea Image courtesy-Pixabay

Her dreams were about disinfectants, Quaternary Ammonium Compounds, Chlorine Compounds, Iodine, Silver, etc. Her dreams were about high-level sterilants like Formaldehyde, Glutaraldehyde, Ortho-phthalaldehyde, Hydrogen peroxide, Peracetic acid, etc. Her dreams were about the bottles they came packed in, orange, lemon yellow, and blue and green, some as wipes, others as sprays, some with better grip and some with a curved nozzle for the inaccessible part of commode cleaning, and she dreamed of mixing them all and drinking it or adding them in the food she packed for her husband every morning in the Pyrex tiffin box. To read the full story, click on  The Genesis Image courtesy-Pixabay

It is difficult to decide who is a bigger cheater – my mother or my wife,’ I thought to myself, as I glowered at the brown-tinted okay spirit through the rocks and glass. My thoughts swirled like a hurricane as the roar of music drowned the collective talk of drunk men and women on a Friday night under the neon lights at Saints and Sinners, Connaught Place. The ‘happy hours’ were over and I was glad to have arrived way past the ‘happy.’ To read the full story click on the featured story on Women's Web  MUDITA . Image courtesy-Pixabay

"I am not poor; the digestive juices in my stomach are currently churning a warm bowl of oats with milk, bananas, and blueberries. The afternoon lunch is usually simple, a veggie wrap with ginger tea or an Indian lentil pancake. I have a $1550 two-bedroom luxury apartment with a newly installed Whirlpool dishwasher, a daughter who rides to school in her Disney Princess, a fuchsia pink bike with shiny streamers hanging from the handles, my husband prefers sex Friday nights post our dose of Malbec or Sauvignon Blanc strictly ranging between $13-$19 and chicken teriyaki from Panda Express." To read the full article, click on  Being Successful Is Hard   Image courtesy-Pixabay

“Now, what wrong did your bra do to you? Your nipples are popping out,” Pratima Siddhesh Prajapati, the 63-year-old widow of Lt. Siddhesh Prajapati, Ex-Vice President, UFLEX International, raised her eyebrows by inches when she saw her 33-year-old daughter Naina get ready for her school alumni meetup: ripped jeans and carrot pink scoop neck bling top falling off from one side of the shoulder, revealing the fair, young skin and something else too.  To read the full story, click on  Feminist? Image courtesy-Pixabay

“Oh! So, your son was in an extramarital affair?” Naina's voice quivered at the very mention of the word. “Ouch! That word sounds so painful but yes! And my daughter-in-law discovered and attempted suicide too.” To enjoy the story, please click on  MISSTEP . Image courtesy-Pixabay

I regret choosing love over my father’s dreams. Then what? During the first year of college, I met this amazing man and tossed my dreams like a paper ball out of the hostel room window, losing myself between the sheets. To read the winning blog  for #NoRegrets Blogathon presented by Harper Collins and Women's Web, click  I am Sorry But... Disclaimer- This story has a semb lance to people living or dead, but why should that matter. I met her on a train journey a few years back. I met her on Cathay Pacific airlines during a trip to Hong Kong. I met her during a cruise vacation to the Royal Caribbean. I met her on the road, in the parking lot, on the pathway. I met her yesterday; I met her 13 years back. She is here, and she is there, and she is nowhere, yet she is everywhere. Image Courtesy-Pixabay

Have you ever thought of escaping to Hawaii or the Bahamas in search of some peace, freedom, and fresh air and realize later, while lying on the golden sandy beach, that you have carried your miserable self along or the present is not delighting you the way you expected? I am not the exotic type; I have no big plans of traveling around the world, soaking on a beach in the Caribbean, hiking the world's most famous canyon, exploring ancient ruins, eating delicious cuisine, or learning more about a significant historical site. If I bump into them, I will pause, wonder, smile, and move on. If I don't, I am FINE. My biggest vacation is freedom from my mind and the voices it creates, a kind of freedom that turns my patio with five green plants into Hawaii. Do you believe that true freedom is freedom from oneself? I have realized that of many things that upset me, of many things that push and prick me, it is my own self that is the most bothersome. It is easy to deal with others,

My FIL knows I like wine, and had his health and family allowed him, I am sure he and I would be all ‘CHEERS.’ My husband’s family is a teetotaler except for my FIL.  He enjoys omelet treats with me on the terrace( that’s the only place we can cook the forbidden) and even secretly supplies me ‘ tangdi kebab ’ knowing very well that my ‘ tangdi ’ and his would be in trouble if ‘The House’ got to know about it. But he has me covered in his own unique way. Thank god for small mercies. Click on  My FIL's Kurta  to read the story.

“Oh! Such a tiring night. These Indian parties are backbreaking. Naina felt so exhausted holding me around. Phew! It is 11:00pm,” remarked the saree, disturbing the silent slumber of the closet. She carried an air of immutable superiority, stemming from her roots and did not miss an opportunity to assert it over to the ones she called ‘outsiders’. “And we have so much competition, I felt backseat with such long sleeves. They were going gaga over you though Sia.” The blouse let out a big groan that woke up most of the other dresses in the wide horizontal closet. Click on  The Riot  to read the full story. Image courtesy-Pixabay

"Could you open the gate for me?" Naina looked at the Yellow Cab taxi driver, his eyes complaining of poor sleep. The February chill accompanied by a moonless sky made her shiver as she stood with a Kohl’s poly-bag, trying to balance the ‘things’ inside with one hand and her little baby boy sleeping on her shoulder with another. “Of course.” The driver spoke in a fake fruity voice, bending backward and opening the rear seat door for her. “Hi, I can place this bag on the seat, or do you want me to place it in the trunk?” Click on  Homeless to Homeless  to read the story. Image courtesy-Pixabay

"When I was growing up, YOU had a problem with my gender, then my complexion, then the small size of my breast, then my height, later my puberty, then college choice, career choice, choice of friends, hair on my armpits, choice of what I wear, choice of what I don’t wear, choice of hair and habits, choice of the short skirt and stilettos, body-hugging tee, amount of words I spoke, hand gestures, loud voice, mannerisms, boldness, places I visited, the time I visited, why I visited and with whom, my red lipstick to my nose stud, my beer, and my sex on the beach, my religion, rituals I follow, fasting’s that I do not do, one leg anklet that I am in love with, the cuss words that I speak or do not speak…basically, my very existence." To read the full story, click on  the weight on my breasts!   This article was featured on Mompresso and widely read and appreciated.  Image courtesy-Pixabay