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#Poetry. The poet speaks about her stutter, for which she is shamed. But unlike many others, "I dare to speak", she says.
#Poetry. The poet speaks about her stutter, for which she is shamed. But unlike many others, “I dare to speak”, she says.
Those words that you casually throw to the winds, Words pronounced with the fluidity of a flying bird at ease; Those words – oh those words- to me, are like diamonds; They need to be polished, worked on, practiced, repeated – Until they tumble out of my mouth with seemingly effortless ease – To bring my racing thoughts to an understandable pace, To slow down, to bring my point across. My sentences don’t end with an elegant parameter, They have no rhyme nor order much like this poem; Because I stutter.
I get stuck on words; Syllables get repeated at an alarming rate, Bespectacled and stuttering – they made me the symbol of a prototype nerd, My “supposed embarrassment” on display to the world. Yes. I stutter.
I jump hurdles over difficult words, I navigate my way through potential blocks, I switch languages, I shuffle words; My brain constantly plays juggle with a million synonyms for words. Yes, I stutter.
I stutter because I dare to speak. I stutter because I have a voice of my own. Yes, I stutter and this is what my voice sounds like.
Published here earlier.
Image source: pixabay
Doctor, ambivert. Her voice stutters; her pen doesn't . read more...
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"I chose to go out into the remote, wild, unknown, and make it home," says entrepreneur Kiranjeet Ahluwalia Chaturvedi, who owns Birdsong & Beyond.
The story of my mountain home Birdsong & Beyond started taking shape in 2009, on the internet, the way many stories do these days.
My childhood fascination for a life in the Himalayas led to an internship with a central Himalayan NGO instead of a much prized corporate assignment. But when they offered me a full-time job, I refused. I was overcome by fear and a lack of confidence.
My other longings pulled me away – the longing to fit in, to earn validation from others. By my mid-30s, with all the trappings of a middle-class urban life in place, the call of the snows couldn’t be ignored anymore. So I got to work on it with clearer intentions and a stronger sense of what I needed for myself, and why.
Many Indian elderly are firm believers in enslaving a daughter-in-law in the name of tradition which is actually a tradition of oppression and not of religious faith.
Albeit, the popular culture has interpreted scriptures as suggesting that Kanyadaan is the supreme form of donation given to someone, the connotation that the word donation alludes to definitely objectifies the girl.
Even when the exegesis justify the act of giving away the daughter, considering it a ritual to mark the initiation of the daughter into her husband’s gotra and her becoming the part of his family tree.
There is no denial of the fact that this initiation is not required on the part of the groom thereby formally denoting the end of the filial ties with the daughter as it was popularly instructed to the bride during the Vidai ceremonies:
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