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I am an individual - with highs, lows, and a thousand paradoxes- not just a daughter, mother, sister or wife. So what if I am a woman? Let me be me, says this poem.
I am an individual – with highs, lows, and a thousand paradoxes – not just a daughter, mother, sister or wife. So what if I am a woman? Let me be me, says this poem.
Let me spread my wings and fly,
High, high up in the blue sky.
Let me laugh till tears roll down,
Let me cry till my eyes go dry.
Let me dive deep in the sea,
Sometimes I want to be with me.
Let me inhale some fresh, crisp air,
Dance, sing, and live my share.
Let me splash some water from puddles,
For this age is not a hurdle.
Let me explore the woods and valleys,
To test my boldness and my bravery.
Let me toss and turn like the surf on a wave,
Please don’t judge me, as I can be naive.
Let me chase the powerful wind,
I just want to leave my fear behind.
Let me paint myself with a rainbow,
Violet, Indigo, Blue, Red, Green, Orange and Yellow.
Please try to remember that
‘Pink’ is not my only colour.
I may go wrong or right,
Nobody in this world is perfect.
Don’t tag me weak and pale,
I have every right to rise and fail.
I loathe being judged,
I want to be unscathed.
Let me live my only life,
I know I am a daughter, mother, sister and a wife!
Only thing I want, is sometimes
Let me be me.
Pic credit: Paingouin (Used under a CC license)
I have always loved writing and strongly believe that writing can create social awareness . I love writing blogs and want to write a novel someday. I also feel strongly about woman and her social emancipation read more...
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She would serve everyone fresh food and serve herself the stale rice and curries from the previous meal. Some days after finishing the leftovers she was so full she would not even be able to even taste the fresh food.
When I married the first time, my MIL told me that during the Navratri the lady of the house should not eat stale food. ‘Gharatlya bai ni shila khau naye’ — in refined upper caste Marathi.
I was just 26, eager to please, not versed in patriarchy or feminism, and it seemed like a positive thing — respect for the goddess in woman.
But soon I realised she spent the remaining 356 days of her year finishing leftovers. And that I was expected to do the same.
Story - Beauty: Shreya wondered, ‘Are they talking about me?’ ‘But what is the use of inner beauty if the exterior is unattractive?’ Ravi asked. Her heart skipped a beat, and now she listened with the utmost alacrity.
‘Beauty is skin deep, Ravi. In the long run, it’s the inner beauty that matters. I know Shreya is smart and I find her attractive.’ It was Chetan’s voice.
Shreya had paused for a moment on the open door of Ravi’s flat when she overheard him. It was the morning of 27th March, and she had come to give Ravi his surprise birthday present. She didn’t want to eavesdrop, but the conversation had caught her curiosity.
She wondered, ‘Are they talking about me?’