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Here's a heartfelt ode to the Mother, and a lesson that we need to remember.
Here’s a heartfelt ode to the Mother, and a lesson that we need to remember.
Mother.
Womb of life.
Nine months, we devour your roots.
Screaming, we suck your trunk.
Waking, we demand your attention.
Laughing, we beg you to play.
Crying, we expect you to care.
Helpless, we rely on you.
A timeless tree of compassion.
Sunny warmth in the autumns of loss.
Bearer of our sorrows and joys.
From the moment we wake
’til the moment we sleep
You protect and nourish us.
When men become weak in your presence.
Their weapons are fists, dicks, and guns.
Yet still you forgive their raging blows
And still you care for their sons.
Without you we are nothing.
Without you we cannot survive.
Help the mother.
Respect the mother.
Forgive the mother.
Love the mother.
Her happiness is yours.
Pic credit: Image of hands making a heart sign via Shutterstock
Adele is a writer and activist on feminism, gender, culture, religion and human rights. She has spent the last few years commuting between London and India to study Buddhist Philosophy and the Tibetan language. Her read more...
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Being a writer, Nivedita Louis recognises the struggles of a first-time woman writer and helps many articulate their voice with development, content edits as a publisher.
“I usually write during night”, says author Nivedita Louis during our conversation. Chuckling she continues,” It’s easier then to focus solely on writing. Nivedita Louis is a writer, with varied interests and one of the founders of Her Stories, a feminist publishing house, based in Chennai.
In a candid conversation she shared her journey from small-town Tamil Nadu to becoming a history buff, an award-winning author and now a publisher.
Nivedita was born and raised in a small town in Tamil Nadu. It was for schooling that she first arrived in Chennai. Then known as Madras, she recalls being awed by the city. Her love-story with the city, its people and thus began which continues till date. She credits her perseverance and passion to make a difference to her days as a vocational student among the elite sections of Madras.
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