I wish to parent a daughter !

As we grow old, we change our bucket list with age, with time and life experiences. I stand to become a mother of a daughter someday. I am no feminist, neither I support women empowerment in every aspect of life. I want to raise a girl child, because I want to see how it feels to parent another woman. I have seen my mother raising me in a surrounding of a mid occur mentality. Where an Indian girl has to abide by several regulations.

 She has to learn and have a good command of English language, she has to secure the top in education, yet she needs to grow her hair long. She needs to maintain her glowing skin and care of her complexion and fight every day to lighten it. She cannot meet any person who belongs to male gender and even if she did, she cannot fall in love. Love is a crime, and only those who has shattered future falls in love. If her friend who happens to be from male species , texts or calls her, she is asked a plethora of questions, just to understand the fact if she is in a relationship with that person. Yes,  relationship takes a subjective viewpoint. What is actually a relationship? Well it means she has not only attached herself with the person emotionally but physically too. And if her hormone was not in control in her puberty, then she might be thrown away of the society that strictly forbids conjugal relationship before a ritual celebration called - marriage. She has to marry a person that belongs to her caste, yet financially strong enough to support her needs. If she has loved a man, she needs to get married to that person irrespective of what he turns out to be in future, If she gets pregnant before marriage, then she is no less than a sex worker in the society and that she can burn her face or drown herself but not live in the society that is so pure !She needs to fear rape, death, man, and the patriarchy. She cannot step out without covering herself to safeguard her body from being exploited !

I want to give birth to baby girl someday and raise her as a human and not a woman. I want to push her out of my house right from her young age, to understand what it means to be in the world and not just family. I would expect her to make friends with all communities and caste and make her understand that this is a hierarchy that we have designed and can destroy as well. That if her friend's father earns his living by selling groceries, he deserves the similar respect from us. She needs to swim, run, hop, walk and drench in rain, get tanned in sun and go through a painful path of life that 70% of Indians do everyday. I would want my daughter to have bad relationships. So that she breaks her heart , cries, understand what it means to be with a person that cannot support the meaning of love. She would grow again like a phoenix and would go out there and make better choices. I would want her to take bad decisions in life, so that she understands what it means to spoil time and lose value. I would want her to study the subjects she wants to and not force her to take up something that the world puts a value of ! She needs to travel, travel alone  so that she knows what it means to be diversified. She needs to know how to protect herself and not just cover her breasts from the eyes of a man. I would encourage her to stay up till night and still go to work next morning to live in the reality. She should go out and booze and let know what it means to take a toll on her health !I would not want her to get embarrassed about the fact that she menstruates and hides sanitary napkins inside her pocket. She needs to earn hard for survival yet let her know she is pampered by her parents:that she can fall back to her parents in the hour of need. She needs to know what it means to fight a life, the world full of struggle. And most importantly she needs not to put up a banner and screech for women's rights, she needs to follow her mind and not the one that framed by her society.

I want to parent a girl child, so that she understands the real meaning of living a life of a human and not a woman or a man. I want to tell her, she is a woman and she needs to do things that a man cannot do and not what man can do. 

My old Summer

Summer has always been my love. Summer comes with colors and beauty. There is a beauty in dried brown leaves and greenish pond that sits still by a scorching summer afternoon. Summer in the town glistened on the asbestos of the grocer's house.The pumpkin creeper lied on the bamboo fence, tired and disturbed by the heat. I looked at the courtyard, to the flapping wings of those lazy pigeons. They splashed within the bowl of earthen pot. I envied their peaceful life and couldn't accept the fact that they do not get homework to complete. Grandpa played cards with his mates, his wrinkles relaxed once he won a match.

The lane that passed by our old house, left isolated. It awaited for a man to pass by, a woman to escort her child back home, but alas! summer has censored the clamor of the busy lane to seclusion.The wheels of the rickshaw stopped by a huge mansion, the puller took a quick nap under the shade of a banyan tree. Children ran towards the sugarcane cart, to sip over a glass of cane juice. The juice tasted  yummy with a tinge of lemon and ginger. 

Men talked about their hardships through out the day over a puff of cigar, while women took bath before evening comes down. We would spend the afternoon at our attic, and watch the birds return to their nests at the day close. My sister would play with crayons while I would do pot painting.The sky would turn rusted as the sun would sleep by, the cooler evenings would invoke laughter and giggles. Evenings would lit the town up to good spirits.Girls would pleat up their hair and wait by the window to take a glimpse of her love pass by, women would light oven to prepare supper. My mother would call us to help her with chopping onions and ridge gourd. Girls engaged themselves to help their mothers, and whispered to each other about their crush who lives next door. We sat on the floor to have supper and laughed our hearts out as we spoke about the maid who fought with her ferocious lady and denied service for her, or we would speak about the man who bargained his wallet out for a half kg brinjal in the market.

Nights would not call slumber. The dampened humidity would keep us awake, when we would sit on the terrace to gossip about life. Father would discuss about what happened in the world where as mother would talk about her world that she weaves day n night. The express train would pass by whistling away, and we would suggest an idea of vacation. Mom would water her plants and get excited about a trip, which probably never happened. Giggles and laughter would embrace the terrace till we fell asleep. The jasmine grove would smell like seventh heaven and the breeze would call us to bed. Our beds were just beside where the jasmine creeper grew and the master window whispered the stories of red and blue fairies to our ears, and dreams ? dreams would just fall in place !!

The Lost Night

It drizzled over the hills, the stones were bathed over. The wind whistled through the hedges, through the wild yellow flowers. The sky was dark, the pine trees were drenched in rain. The expanded green meadow lied under the shroud of darkness. The hills kissed the clouds with its vigor, and the brooks sang through the creeks,  like a beautiful white maiden. The town whispered the tale of love, which embraced the winter night, which washed its sorrow in cold droplets of rain, which hugged the chilled breeze of temptation. 

She was awake all these hours, waiting for the return of her love, the trickling wooden roof waited with her. The fire place warmed her, as she grew impatient for the insane love to arrive soon. The hay stake lay silent, so did the spider cob around the corner. The beans stew on the oven got dried, with the growing anxiety of her. She dreamed of a garden, and some violets around, the honey bees and the flocking birds, the return of her luck, the return of her life, the return of her world, where she grew the samplings of affection and desires ----- desire to be loved, to be hugged, to be delved into the milk of ecstasy. For every winter night promised her to bring the warmth of sunshine back. Her torn red fabric of her dress couldn't rest itself to slumber. The promise to be returned, the hidden tears to be wiped off, the heavy heart to be lightened... she waited... with heaps of eagerness!

The tea estate stood still, as it waited for the maiden to sing, the teak wood stood patient for the maiden to come running through the aisle. they waited to listen to her giggle, to listen to her little heart bloom with joy, to see her hop on the dew drops, to feel her love. they waited for the return of her own self. Her dreams remained old and they scared her of the loss of love. she weaved her dreams under the walnut trees, she believed that her love would return, it unwind the smile that her heart is waiting for. she wanted to capture the cold night to her thin blanket forever, she feared of sunlight, as it would erase her dreams off. the cold night beside the flames of fire, weaves her dreams to return of her love, her paradise of the self she longs for.

The blanket murmured the song of return, the return of the depth where she would like to dive, the depth of paramour, the kisses of promises , the promises of life, the life of peace, the peace of making love, the love of souls, the souls of innocence, the innocence of night - the lost night.

The road less traveled ...

For the mornings were so amazing over a mug of Darjeeling tea and the tale of Goddess winning over evil power. The craziness to wake up early morning and listen to this broadcast was an achieving activity. The old balcony rises to life to the tune of the old man reciting the amazing poem of the women power coming to rescue the mankind. The dewdrops over grasslands reminded the tale of autumn would start soon. There was an excitement, whose reasons are unknown. These five days bring handsome memories to bongs, Calcutta- the city of joy, weary and tired of her days rise to life, the stony paths and the pulling rickshaws and those gigantic mansions that silently witness life's hustle, dress up to a new attire. The dhol men arrive at the city, the lotuses begin blooming, the honey bees begin fly to its glory, and the courtyard anxiously awaits for the Goddess to arrive. The new clothes neatly folded in the wardrobe, smell ecstatic.

The color red steals the beauty away, the precious vermilion teamed with blue sky and the white flakes of clouds blow the music of love, affection, intimacy, remembrances, The amazing smell of ghee and milk that turn into sweets, the drops of Rasgollas, the baked Saandesh call for the joy and frolic of true Bong madness. The evenings search for that soulmate, who is long awaited for. His kurta looks so good among the crowd and her hair do steals the show away. These five days celebrate the closeness of love, invokes the beauty of paramour, embraces the joy of knowing the unknown.

Those blue bells smile to the relationships that do not last long, but drives two souls insane for a moment. The food gets a different image on these days. Those delicious rice and cereals, fried vegetables, and the fight for fish recipes bring the message that the tale of autumn has begun.

That little balloon, the sound of laughter, the platter of biryani, that red bindi, the conch shells,and the lights coalesce to frame a story of the city of madness. The incense sticks burn to spread the news of love, to create a pamphlet of ecstasy, to make believe the essence of joy that rises and gets buried like the waves of earthen tremor.

Time moves away, so do the emotions, and tomorrow these little fragments of memories become an ingredient to laugh at and cherish. Life moves on !!

#Exodus

The citylights

The city bathes in rain her neatly dressed semi formals too. The traffic had been always hectic when it rains, people get stuck for hours together. The sky growls and pours to its glory. She had a minor migraine problem,but she just cannot head back to her lonely cozy apartment. She read in her history chapters, men are the bread winners, but she has never witnessed that. She saw her mother going to work, and her sister cooked ridge gourd soup, while she prepared for her exams. She always saw her step father being arrested at home, imprisoned himself behind tobacco, nicotine and alcohol. Gone are those days when she dreamed of her wedding and a man in her life. Slowly she consumed the bad breathe of the reality. She believed riches can make one happy, she never looked down, as all she would see is darkness, neither did she look up, as the dark sky shrouds her face. She lived a life to make others smile, a life to deliver happiness to others. Her soared feet whispered to the cracked ankles,.. whispered the tales of the long untrimmed hair that cries for a touch of caress. They mock on her eyes, whose brown dazzle looks for liberty, looks for pleasure, looks for an end. Home had been a dungeon of dirty hopes, dusky shrieks of men who cried for love, women who cried for love , cried for a life! Her bed chokes her to the destiny of youthfulness, and the agony of living everyday.

She wakes up to a smoky morrow, who promises to her that the day would be hers, the saffron orchids hung from the lamp-posts would be hers, and the silk scarf that tries to unwind, would be hers. The little hopes, the little desires, the littleness of her vast life that would never leave her away. The raindrops would still bathe the city, while the public buses would still rush towards the terminus, and her unfolded crate of pain, would be hers, forever... She needs to live, she needs to walk, walk and survive the journey of life .

#Exodus.