If you are passionate about teaching, then Hackberry offers you franchise opportunities to turn this passion into your profession. Fill out the form now!
'Boys don't cry' goes the saying. This poem explores what goes behind moulding boys who don't cry and at what cost.
‘Boys don’t cry’ goes the saying. This poem explores what goes behind moulding boys who don’t cry and at what cost.
In the quarter finals of the cricket match,
The ball hit him hard.
Boys don’t cry.
In the semi-finals,
It hurt again.
He felt ashamed.
He fought his tears hard.
In the finals,
It hurt more.
He did not cry.
He bowled more and more fiercely,
Denying all he felt.
The crowd cheered.
The boys patted.
The girls smiled brighter.
He was hailed as ‘the hero.’
That was his first day of perfect ‘self-deception.’
Indian boy image via Shutterstock
First published here.
Proud Indian. Senior Writer at Women's Web. Columnist. Book Reviewer. Street Theatre - Aatish. Dreamer. Workaholic. read more...
Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views, indivisual posts do not necessarily represent the platofrom's views and opinions at all times.
Stay updated with our Weekly Newsletter or Daily Summary - or both!
My house-help asked excitedly, “I am going for wedding. Can you let me wear your red & black saree? To be honest I was stumped for a moment; I didn’t know what to say but I still said yes.
I lent a gorgeous saree to my house-help for a wedding in her family. Soon I stated getting questions if I would wear that saree again or if I was okay to be seen wearing the same saree my house-help was wearing?
We are all so conditioned to give our used clothes to our house-helps but are we okay to wear the clothes they were wearing?
A few days ago she came excitedly to me, “I am going for a family wedding. I want to wear your red & black saree, Ill wash and give it to you after the function. Please can you let me wear it?”
Beauty is a very clever, very evil capitalist tool. It traps those who have it into hanging on to it for dear life and those who don't into mutilating, torturing themselves to achieve the unachievable.
I recently wrote a piece about MP Shashi Tharoor’s tweet in which he had shared a pic with six women parliamentarians tagging them and saying “Who says the Lok Sabha isn’t an attractive place to work?”
There was a rash of comments on the post shared on Instagram, which ranged from “chill, it’s just a compliment” and “stop overthinking compliments”, to (worried) men lamenting about “these feminazi”.
Here’s my answer to all those comments.
We might mean well when we try to comfort a crying child saying boys don't cry. But do we stop and think what far reaching damage we do unintentionally?
We might mean well when we try to comfort a crying child saying real boys don’t cry. But do we stop and think what far reaching damage we do unintentionally?
“Hey, don’t cry. You are a boy. Boys don’t cry; they never cry.”
These were the words of wisdom Robin, my neighbour, had for my son who was crying his heart out after falling off his scooter. The four-year-old was trying a trick but lost his balance. As I was checking him for injuries and trying to comfort him, I heard these words, words that hit me like pellets.
I should not cry, I am a boy you see. My grandmother always says that boys don't cry. "Kya ladkiyon ki tarah ro raha hai?"
I should not cry, I am a boy you see. My grandmother always says that boys don’t cry. “Kya ladkiyon ki tarah ro raha hai?”
Rashmi came to her balcony on hearing some mayhem. Their otherwise silent neighborhood was suddenly filled with the sounds of transport vehicles and human commotion.
The Mishra family was getting their goods unloaded from the truck. Mr. Mishra was standing near the truck and instructing the packers and movers to unload properly, while Mrs. Mishra was directing their men on where to keep the stuff. Meanwhile the kids were exploring the place. Soon all the odds and ends were settled. The truck departed, and so did the Mishras to their new home.