Four Clover Life- By Namrata Shailendra Singh

The afternoon today arrested me in a dilemma...to wet or not to wet. Downpours are a rare phenomenon here or perhaps not. In my two years, I have seen the rain play more of chess( whenever it comes during the year) rather than soccer. Today afternoon, soccer it was, at the most opportune time- the pick-up time of my son. Being a bike rider, I did not risk holding the umbrella with one hand and riding with another. The chances are dismal, almost NIL that I will meet Shahrukh Khan on my way. No point. Chuck, it. The big jumbo umbrella, I must say, whoever invented that size must have had a big family, came for my rescue, and I started with a bang. Leggings pulled up a little above the knees, house keys shoved inside the pocket, and Adidas shoes for extra grip and protection (considering age ;)) Few steps away, and what stood in front of me were streams of tiny rivers all over. I love America. It was officially dismissal time, so the walking trail was congested with pe

I got invited to a birthday party. The time read 7:00pm, 10 th  November 2017. Notorious for being on time, I thought to caution them well in advance…. you see, just in case they are in the shower when I arrive. ;) Dear Host, “Thank you for the invitation. Dhruv is turning five, and we would love to be part of the celebrations. I thought it would be good to let you know that I will come at 7:00 pm as stated on the invitation card. Maybe five minutes before. Kindly put that Tandoori chicken (which would be marinating) in the oven. Move your butt and dress your child. It is not great to see the birthday boy running around naked, swinging his underwear. Try to set up the place and yourself, because I am going to be on time. Do not for a moment think that I am anywhere close to Indiangiri or the Indian standard time. You see, if you want me to come at 7:30 pm, please write it so. I cannot assume by some magical power that you wrote 7:00 pm and meant 8. See you guys soon. I love tandoori ch

A mom of an elementary school student asks me over a discussion- 'So, just how do you teach poetry?' Me- ' Ummm, teach? ' Mom- 'Yes, you write poetry, but how do you teach poetry to elementary school students?' Me-  'Ummmm...I don't think poetry can be taught; poetry is lived.' You see, they say poetry is  born to an overactive right hemisphere, To me, poetry is born in moments... fragile and fugacious. Moments when the pain and despair, magically give rise to hope and strength, when shattered pieces of trust and promise, bleed and brave together, That very moment, poetry is born. Moments when your eyes swallow two tiny rivers, And fake a smile which says it none, A silent scream which pierces the ears, A deafening silence which nails the soul, Poetry belongs to these very voices. To engage with the glitterati, with your  fake branded attire, The lipstick you picked up from somebody's bag,

If only my father let me sing rather than ‘your job is to study.' I love music. I hum songs. My soul dances along with the melody. I sing from my heart, my happiness, and my sadness. I couldn’t have become Elvis Presley or Lata Mangeshkar, but given an opportunity, I  would have become the best of what I was capable of. Only, if my father… Academics have always been at the center of our family life. Even more so of a middle-class family like mine. We know we better study or we become beggars. So, what do we do? We do what our parents say- We study. We do what our school curriculum lays out for us. We study. And some who don’t, I wonder how they are surviving as beggars. (pun intended). Later, I stepped out of home at 17 to study more so that I don’t become a beggar. The journey which started then, continues. But every time I get to witness a sunset, I sing. School and academics do not teach LIFE. They prepare you to get a degree to get some bread home. That is the l

HELPING HIM LEARN THE ART OF PERSISTENCE Every failure can be turned around with hard work and persistence. This is my favorite. For being a writer, I know how important it is to learn perseverance. What does it mean to persevere? In layman’s term, it ‘NOT GIVING UP DESPITE ODDS”. It’s easy to give up and difficult to hang on. How do we do that? Wait before you praise and reward the child- We have a tendency to shoot a GOOD JOB the moment the baby took his first step, the toddler scribbled for the first time, the preschooler did a jig, or the kindergartner built a Lego structure. Don’t you think the child can become immune to it? He will expect it for every little thing he does and then looks up and wonder- where is my  'good job?' There is no harm in saying a good job, but what is the point in blurting it out at every twist and turn?   Click to read- Go beyond just 'GOOD JOB.' Do not praise your child for being smart. Try to look for what went in

...for there isn't any MUST in life, And if there are...they MUST NOT be. I MUST do well every time, each time, and win the approval of everyone, each one, H owever hard I try, I do not get it right. But why do I try so hard? THEY MUST treat me kind and fair, They need to be flogged and whipped for not liking 'ME.' I try in desperation, just how do I manage? T o hold people by leash and command them to like me. To MUST get my want, to not get what I don't want, I scurry  like a rat between the two ends, happy in one and sad in other, lively in one and dying in other, See- Saw I play, See-Saw I play. T o believe that life MUST go MY WAY or MY WAY, T o conclude that there isn't any other way, To suspect every different path that shows up, Such restlessness and discontentment paralyze me. These MUST's have crippled me, For years, I contort my existence,  T o fit into the design others have made, except that I forget my own frame e