From bride to mother

Her kumkum was a radiance
to irrigate the ripples of boundary
Her Kaazal embellishes the
deck of is victory
Her accessories accessorizes the
ambiguity of wads
Her bangles and anklets
waiting for real him tonight
Her golden imprint saree
values her rate this night
Will she melt her in his incense
Or will she crack her bangles for his need
Will his vermillion, cupboard her vanity in red
Or she will prism her dreams from weed
Is she a bride or 15year teenage girl
Let you say on behalf!

By Sunayana ( Yana )

Indonesia


That's our Mom

If there is any divine power,
That is in our mom.

If there is any Angel on the earth,
That is our mom.

If there is any God whom we can see and talk,
That is our mom.

If there is any person whom we can rely,
That is our mom.

If there is any love which is purest and true,
That is our mom.

By Kriti Singh

Main aapka beta hu, Maa...

Woh boli
"Har roz kapde gandhe kar aata hai,
Mera kaam badata hai "

Aur us din jab me haar kar aaya
Wo muskurakar boli , aaj sham khelne na jaega..
Kya aaj sham kapde gandhe kar na aaega ..

Wo janti hai , ke main haar gaya hu,
Aaj phir haar kar aaunga.. !!
Phir ghar kapde gandhe kar aaunga,
Aaj phir unka kaam badaunga,
Woh mujhe, na bhejne se rahi !!

Aaj tho jamkar khela,
Gandhe hone ki soch ne aaj na rokha..
Aaj phir ghar aaya,
Par
Ek muskurahat ke sath aaya..
Maa ne sikhaya tha
Haar toh hoti rahegi,
Chah rakho thodi si koshish karne ki,
Manzil khud pass aaegi chah rakho daud lagane ki ...



Aaj phir Maa ne chilaya...

Maa's Favourite Doll

 

Maa says as a daughter I had always been her doll.
A doll that she owns.
She tells me that I was the doll she always wished for, she makes me travel time while narrates me stories of her childhood.
A few years back when I was on the childish trail of collecting Barbie dolls, maa told me she wanted me to meet someone.
Since childhood I loved meeting new people hence I ran up to my cupboard and took out my favorite baby pink frock and ran back to maa saying get me ready I want to look pretty. She kissed my forehead and told me I looked beautiful always and that the frock gets prettier when I wear it.
She dressed me up and tied me two little ponytails applied kajal on the back of my left ear lobe.
Then I didn't know the reason, for now I know it was her love.
Maa held my hand and took me to the store room and asked me to wait while she took a red suitcase out from the big silver almerah
She opened the suitcase to take out a doll
A doll that was unique
It was a doll made of clay
It was beautiful
It too had two ponytails just like me
It made my little heart sprang up in great joy while maa introduced me to titli
She made me notice the frock worn by the doll titli resembled my baby pink frock.
Maa made me sit on her lap while she said how naani maa stitched the frock for the doll and how maa fell in love with her doll she told me how she talked to titli doll for hours and wished she could reply.
She told me the doll was her best friend and that I was her perfect titli doll.
Since that day maa and me are best friends forever while the clay doll made my collection of dolls look complete in every way.

By Snigdha Banerjee

माँ या मज़दूर



साथी बहुत हैं उसके,
बेज़ुबान हैं, अनजान हैं।
रसोई के सामानों से ही,
मेरी माँ की पहचान है।

बहाकर पसीना सारा दिन,
क्यों होती चकनाचूर है?
बस यही बात खटकती है,
वो माँ है या मज़दूर है।

भरकर मक्खन रोटियों में,
हर रोज़ परोसा करती है।
खुद खाकर सब्ज़ी पुरानी,
अपना गुज़ारा करती है।

सुनकर डाँट शिकायत सबकी,
छुप कर वो रो लेती है।
कभी कभी तो माँ मेरी,
भूखे पेट सो लेती है।

तबियत ख़राब होने पर भी,
काम उसे ही करना है।
खाकर दावा, पानी पीकर,
रसोई में फिर थकना है।

गूंथ रही आटा देखो,
आदत से मजबूर है।
बस यही बात खटकती है,
वो माँ है या मज़दूर है।

साफ़ कराने होते उसको,
पर्दे कितने गंदे हैं।
घर की कई बातों पे जो,
पर्दे ही तो ढकने हैं।

चिल्लाकर बच्चों पे उसका,
गला बैठ सा जाता है।
पूजा पाठ करती फिर भी,
रब से जो इक नाता है।

हर चाय में चीनी कितनी,
माँ को याद सब रहती है।
नमक दाल में कम न हो,
फ़िक्र लगी उसे रहती है।

कई सालों से गायब पड़ा,
उसके चेहरे का नूर है।
बस यही बात खटकती है,
वो माँ है या मज़दूर है।

नाश्ता ख़तम करते ही तो,
तैयारी में जुट जाती है।
दोपहर के खाने की जो,
फरमाइश उसे आ जाती है।

रस्सी पे जो टाँगे कपड़े,
वो भी तो उतारने हैं।
खुद भले भीगे बारिश में,
कपड़े मगर सुखाने हैं।

इकट्ठा करके तेल मसाला,
अचार आम का बनाना है।
त्योहारों में भी छुट्टी नहीं,
घर को जो सजाना है।

हमेशा कमरा तैयार रखती,
मेहमानों का ज़रूर है।
बस यही बात खटकती है,
वो माँ है या मज़दूर है।

बर्तन को घिस-घिस कर,
नाखून टूट गए हैं।
माँ की उँगलियों में अब तो,
गड्ढे भी पड़ गए हैं।

नाखूं जब टूटे हुए,
रंग चढ़ते नहीं हैं।
कच्ची दीवारों पे अक्सर,
रंग चढ़ते नहीं हैं।

उम्र भी बढ़ती जा रही,
पर माँ तो ठहर गयी है।
आज भी काम करती हुई,
वो घर पे सिमट गयी है।

आँखें मेरी छलक पड़ीं,
अरे, कैसा ये दस्तूर है?
बस यही बात खटकती है,
वो माँ है या मज़दूर है।

-अमनदीप सिंह

A Mom without a Baby...

“What is Motherhood ?” , if you ask someone; the possible answers you may get are “Feelings of a lady for her child is known as motherhood”, or in social aspect we can say, “ The responsibility towards small kids for their bring up with love and care though they are biologically yours or not it doesn’t matter.” , etc. But does Motherhood really have something to do with kids only…? What if I say that a 10 year old girl is a mother of 34-year-old man. You my say I am crazy but I have seen such a small mother. 
It’s been two years for this incident. I had gone to my Grandma’s house for holidays. I used to go there in every summer. After dinner we used to go out for a walk. That day also we had a tasty dinner together and started a walk towards Lord Ganesha’s Temple which was around 10-15 min. away from her house. Comforting breeze was flowing around and we both were enjoying our talk and walk. She was in the efforts of enriching my personality by telling her life experiences and I was enjoying to listen to them like a story. We reached to the temple, climbed those 15 steps and finally entered in temple premise. It was late at night; so hardly 6 -7 people were there. I noticed a small girl seated at the corner of the temple and was tying hibiscus flowers with a string. She was wearing a green colored frock which was torn from many sides. Her hair was covered with dust and hence was faded in color. She was so small that she could barely understand this highly practical society but still her little hands were doing their job so neatly. 
I pointed at her and said to grandma, “ Poor girl !!!” Grandma smiled for a moment and said, “Don’t judge her by her looks, she is the strongest girl I have ever met. !” I was about to reply but she continued saying, “She doesn’t have shelter. She lives here only in the temple. She sells flowers to make some money for taking care of her child… “; now I broke her sentence and asked…. “What…!! Child!!!!” Grandma smiled and said,” Let me show you, come with me.” We went in a hut at the back of the temple. When I peeped inside the hut I was shocked. I saw a middle aged man, half paralyzed; lying down on a bed. I asked grandma, “who is he?”. Grandma started saying, “This is Suresh. Its been 3 years back, Suresh was a priest of this temple. He was living happily with his wife Meena and daughter Kusum. One day they were returning from their hometown and suddenly they met with an accident. Unfortunately that day Kusum lost her mother and her father got half paralyzed. At that time Kusum was just 10 years old. She did not even know how to handle the situation. Some NGOs and orphanages came to take her with them but she refused to go. She was worried that if she wont be there, who will take care of her father. Because her father was not even able to move from either side. She stood strong in such deadly situation, she left her school and started selling flowers in the temple. From that day onwards she became mother of suresh. She earns for him. She Cooks food for him. She feeds him, she takes all care of him just like a mother does for her child. “
 I was stunned. ”Oh my god what a brave girl she is. In the age when she herself needs a shelter from mother; she is doing all this for her father. May God give her strength in her difficult times!!”, I prayed. That day I realized that motherhood is just about love and affection. It has nothing to do with the age. That day I saw a mom without a baby, in form of Kusum.    

A Story by Utkarsha Nikam
( A real life Story )

Your absence hurts...

It is the Mother’s Day today; the entire social media walls are flooded with messages flaunting the love people have for their mothers. I do not know about the inception of this day or the history behind an auspicious celebration but what I can say is that this one day has gained ample significance in the recent years. Folks celebrate it in remembrance of the dutiful services of their mothers and to recognize their unconditional love and utterly pure affection.

I was scrolling down my face book newsfeed and the happy faces and those long-short textual posts filled with sweet gratitude grabbed my attention. For a moment, I was lost. Lost somewhere in my past, lost in the dark.

My deep line of thought broke by the interruption caused due to the voice of my roommate who placed a call to her mother in order to wish her. His sugar-coated conversation delighted me always but today it disturbed the peace of my mind. I wanted to escape from this reality. I felt a lump that choked my throat. Soon the atmosphere turned suffocating and I could not breathe properly. I felt dizzy. So, I came out and went around the streets. While I was rambling along the meadows, a thought pierced me. It appeared as if that seed of thought will ruin me. It was not the first time. The fatal thought kept coming to me quite often. A solution to get myself rid of it was elusive. I was terribly chained with my own musings. Those shackles were a blockade in the path I wished to tread to set myself free.

I wanted to sit as my head was getting heavy. I sat on an empty bench and gently closed my eyes. The mind again started to wander. This created a chaos. The swift appearance of my past events hurt me. All of a sudden, I opened my eyes in disbelief. I was all alone and empty within. The solitude is the most faithful friend but at times, even it deceives us. We may conclude that we can vent our pent up emotions by self reflection and free ourselves but then the reality bites us so hard that all we seek is a generous company. I went back to my hostel only to gaze at the cheerful boys enjoying themselves. All of them seem to be happy and here I was surrounded with spites of my despondence.

My roommate noticed that I was not in the present moment. The grief ingrained on my face was clearly visible – to the ones who wanted to peek through the superficial layers and see the hidden things.

Therefore, he took me in a corner, in a secluded area and questioned about what was bothering me so hard. I kept silent and he further prodded.

And suddenly, tears came rolling down my cheeks. The piled up emotions just collapsed. Since childhood I was taught that the boys are not meant to cry. But that day in the heat of the moment I forgot everything. I just wanted to let it go. That was the day I confided in my friend and told him that that my mother left me as soon as I was born. She eloped because she never loved my father. She abandoned me. I was brought up in an orphanage because my father didn’t want to shoulder his responsibilities as well. Since childhood I used to glance at the ecstatic faces of the children revealing in the company of their mothers. How badly I have desired to bask in the love of my mother. I wished that someday she’ll comeback, caress my hairs and sing to me those melodies under the moonlight. She will embrace me and I will be safe under her grip. I used to pray to god to please bestow me with the most valuable and priceless possession – a mother. But my prayers never got answered.

And today when I see others celebrating Mother’s Day; I complain to almighty whether why he kept me aloof from savouring the elixir - a mother’s love.

My friend was stunned hearing this. He wiped my tears and hugged me tightly. Later I talked to her mother and I felt really good. Her gentle words healed me. But yet there is a void that can never me filled.

 

I still wonder where are you Mom and why and how did you left the child who owe his life to you !!!!!

By Khyati Gautam