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Kamla works at home and does not go to school.She is just seven.Her mother feels it is worthless for a girl to study,by all means she will run a house in future.The mother goes out to work everyday.She is a daily wage labourer.Kamla takes care of her younger siblings at home.Her younger brother goes to the nearby municipal school.Kamla weeps bitterly at night.
Manju comes from a middle class family.She works as a school teacher in a private school for a measly salary.She is married to an engineer who lives in another city. Manju is anaemic,she feels shy to ask her mother-in-law some of her favourite items-she basically lives on the leftovers of a large joint family.She needs medical
attention-a right that has been denied to her by her in-laws.
Anusha is the pampered daughter of a bussiness magnate.She survives on fast food.She is insecure,there's nobody at home or friend circle with whom she can share her thoughts,feelings and aspirations.She wants to do journalism but her 'loving' parents think it is not for girls of good families.
At least the above incidents force us to think that,'Yes ,girls are a neglected lot'.
Awaiting your comments,


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Concealed by dark clouds
You keep shining.
Bright streaks of light
Dazzle me.
Enchant me.
And keep me waiting..
Waiting for you.

Amidst Soul-lessness

There is smoke somewhere. 
I cannot seem to figure out where. 
The lights are here, the music is here.
Has it been home here ?
Perhaps. Maybe when it did not rain.
Or maybe when it rained and it did not matter.
Maybe when I walked alone, smiling to myself. 
Or maybe when I realized I was okay.
Had it been always like this ?

Not really. 
Things clicked, took effort and blood. 
Did I do it ? Or the beasts did ? Maybe we both together,
Played this game. 
Amidst soulful solitude, it was love. 
Maybe appreciation.
Another journey, another dry spell. 
Will it ever be home again ? 

P.S. : Penned at Candies, Bandra on 11th January 2017 


I cannot remember my mother,
only sometime in the midst of my play
a tune seems to hover over my playthings,
the tune of some song that she used to
hum while rocking my cradle.

I cannot remember my mother
but when in the early autumn morning
the smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air,
the scent of the morning service in the
temple comes to me as the scent of my mother.

I cannot remember my mother
only when from bedroom window
I send my eyes into the blue of the distant sky,
I feel that the stillness of my mother's gaze on my face
has spread all over the sky.

~Rabindranath Tagore
Note : This was one of  the earliest poems I read,loved and cherished.