What actions should HR and business leaders take to curb mental harassment at work? Share your thoughts.
Sometimes, the simplest lines carry the most depth. Here is a beautiful poem about the lessons time teaches us.
Then
I bruised my forehead
Rushed to the hospital
For stitches that stung
So terrible, I cried
I was seven.
Now
I shrieked, as it hurt
And didn’t seem to cease
In agony I lay
More than a day
To push a human out
I was thirty one.
I fell ill
Missed an exam
Sobbed at having lost
My chance to a glorious future
That, on my mind I had etched
I was fifteen.
I worked
Behind a desk
Waiting for the two days,
I could forget what I did
Often doubtful,
But still hoped
It will all mean something,
One day
I was twenty five.
When my throat got a knot,
A teddy bear swallowed my tears
He said he’d die for me
I believed
He’s lying to you, said Dad
I left him
And grieved for months
I was eighteen.
We stay up all night
Tacitly taking turns
To hold the little one
When he whimpers
And can’t say
Where it hurts,
And how much
I am thirty three.
Dad was strong
Mom stood upright
Together they fought the world
To shelter me,
Under their wings
I sulked to break free
I was a child.
They are wearied
In empty nest,
Anticipate my visit
Rubbing their eyes,
Under metal rimmed glasses
I long to return home
I am a worrying Mom, myself.
Pain was something else
Like the world was going to end
Like it will never get better
Like it can never get any worse
Pain is different
Like it is here to stay
As a constant companion
Like however big,
It will always be smaller
Than me.
Pic credit: Camera Eye Photography (Used under a CC license)
Originally published at the author’s blog.
Shivangi is the author of the hilarious yet compelling book 'I made a booboo', published by Rupa and available worldwide. She also co-authored a travel anthology on Netherlands, titled 'Dutched up' that featured among read more...
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I wanted to scream with excitement that my daughter chose to write about her ambition and aspirations over everything else first. To me, this was one of those parenting 'win' moments.
My daughter turned eight years old in January, and among the various gifts she received from friends and family was an absolutely beautiful personal journal for self-growth. A few days ago, she was exploring the pages when she found a section for writing a letter to her future self. She found this intriguing and began jotting down her thoughts animatedly.
My curiosity piqued and she could sense it immediately. She assured me that she would show me the letter soon, and lo behold, she kept her word.
I glanced at her words, expecting to see a mention of her parents in the first sentence. But, to my utter delight, the first thing she had written about was her AMBITION. Yes, the caps here are intentional because I want to scream with excitement that my daughter chose to write about her ambition and aspirations over everything else first. To me, this was one of those parenting ‘win’ moments.
Uorfi Javed has been making waves through social media, and is often the target of trolls. So who and what exactly is this intriguing young woman?
Uorfi Javed (no relation to Javed Akhtar) is a name that crops up in my news feeds every now and again. It is usually because she got trolled for being in some or other ‘daring’ outfit and then posting those images on social media. If I were asked, I would not be able to name a single other reason why she is famous. I am told that she is an actor but I would have no frankly no clue about her body of work (pun wholly unintended).
So is Urfi Javed (or Uorfi Javed as she prefers) famous only for being famous? How does she impact the cause of feminism by permitting herself to be objectified, trolled, reviled?
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