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Showing posts with the label #Identity

i

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I keep my "i" small— allowing it to sit on the rustic fence of life, inhaling the dalliance of the zephyr, the daisies, and the daffodils, knowing well, any time it can teeter and fall by words and worry, anger and anxiety. That our hearts—with their entangled crimson arteries— have an even more entangled life— mysterious and mischievous. We can never be too sure, too certain of its beats. One time black metal, and the other time lullabies. I keep my "i" small— the path on which I walk wasn't carved out only for me. The medallion sun did not single me out for bees' bounties. Millions have walked on the stony ballast, winning and losing their valuable something along. Millions will continue to traverse long after I have ended my song. The small "i" in me makes room for mistakes. I know I am capable of, and I am sure I did commit— indisputably so— that while I can present, I can also paralyze; while I can dream, I can also destroy; while I can conc

The Betrayal

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  "I have a lot of dead people in my family now. They inhabited the stories my father regaled us( my sister and I) with as we went about not minding our own business. Stories of uncles and aunts far and near, stories of childhood squabbles and village life, stories of growing up, marriage, and becoming distant, stories of give and take, property disputes, and stories of gold jewelry and silk sarees during nieces’ weddings. Then many of them died, and I let them die in my thoughts too. But, you won’t find him here. Imagine a 12-inch pizza, a Neapolitan crust with your favorite toppings ( you could choose jalapenos, basil, olives, or bell pepper)  divided into eight slices, four sides loaded with fresh mozzarella, hot, and lip-smacking. For me, he represented the four slices: the richest, the creamiest, and umami.  The day he died, I made love to my husband, the newlywed groom. Frightened by his death, though I knew it was coming any time, I found solace on a beige-colored darbha

Dear Victoria- We have an uphill battle

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Do men still gift condoms to the groom before his wedding? Do you still hold your arms down just because you missed your underarms session? Do would-be brides still get a full body wax before their wedding? Do friends and co-sisters still engage in raillery and repartee about the golden night? Does Victoria's secret remain a bride's( also the groom's) treasure safely tucked in her suitcase when flying for honeymoon?  Unbeknownst, well, two days ago, 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 s

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

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 you need to understand 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, and 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 outs

Bold and Beautiful

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Our society places beauty that high. When you fall, it fractures you from within. But I choose not to fear anymore. I want to be proud of myself. I am willing to let go of what I should be to who I am. Until I die, I want to continue to be list further possibilities and not a defined label. And that is being FEARLESS. Labels with their ingredient and the calorie count are good with a hamburger, not with human beings.  To read the full story click on Bold and Beautiful Image courtesy-Pixabay

I am more than 'A Body'

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Are you insane? Do you see the future of the country in me? How did you forget my boundaries passed on to me as a decree I am no pilot in the armed forces, no judge of the supreme court No officer in the Indian army, holding no responsible fort I am not your Durga or your Kaali, neither am I your Parvati I am not your Ganga or your Tulsi, nor I am your Saraswati To read the poem, click on A pair of boobs and a vagina.  This poem was penned just after Priyanka Reddy's bone-chilling brutal rape and murder. You can click on the link to read more about the story- Priyanka Reddy . The words erupted from within and spread on paper like lava. Our girls don't deserve this. We don't deserve this. 88 rape cases in a day- that's how grim the statistics are- India Today . Image courtesy-Pixabay

The weight on my breast

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"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