Four Clover Life- By Namrata Shailendra Singh

  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

                    “Punarapi jananam punarapi maranam, Punarapi janani jatare sayanam, Iha samsaare khalu dusthare, Krupayaa pare pahi murare.” These words transmogrified my life. But why did it take so long? From the detritus of life, can one resurrect a castle?  The words spoken twenty years before hung like spider webs, the orb weaver’s, shiny and decorative from outside; however, can one forget it was a trap…after all.   The oxygen cylinder shows 20 minutes of supply left. It is futile hustling for another breath; I don't want one. Twenty minutes is enough time to write one apology to her in the hope that she forgives and my soul can depart sans the virus that afflicted me years back.  For as long as I remember, I have been dissatisfied with wherever I was, whatever I was doing, and whomever I was with, and that is pretty much the obituary of my life. Too bad? It is what it is. I changed lipsticks and accessories, armchairs and recliners, careers, and houses with ease and elan

Some months are polka dots; other months, it is spotlessly clean. Regardless, I wear a sanitary pad, just in case...one more time. Men love beautiful women. Men love fully rounded breasts, smooth, soft, and squishy, similar to a stress ball, and a voluptuous rear. I have them all. Or at least I used to. Lately, I have a lot running on my mind: The President’s inauguration, Los Angeles weather, my teenage daughter’s SAT exams, my husband, a podiatrist, and new fixation with The Gita classes at Laguna Isckon temple. Most importantly, my soaked blouses and my spotless months have induced a feeling I can with some surety call-RAGE-sweat commingled with a sense of rage that I have recently acquired at 48. As an OB-GYN, my hands are always full. Twenty years of experience both in England and the United States does not go in vain. What I enjoy the most is the administration of Botox, cosmetic fillers, and laser procedures for photorejuvenation, acne treatment, scar removal, and varicose ve

"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

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

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

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