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#Poetry. Pain can leave you scarred forever, and you build an armour around your heart, scared of being judged. But maybe you'll meet the one who will love you as you are.
#Poetry. Pain can leave you scarred forever, and you build an armour around your heart, scared of being judged. But maybe you’ll meet the one who will love you as you are.
The battle shield, the thick shell, the brick walls- we’ve heard it all;
The armour we wear to glue us tight when into pieces we might just fall.
You’ve seen that face when you steal a glance at your closest friend,
When a random man carelessly tugs at a string she is yet to mend.
You’ve watched her face calm, her fingers at ease.
The sight they see, a picture of perfect peace.
You’ve watched her draw curtains, the raging storm beneath to hide.
You’ve watched her smile, while she pushed what she felt aside.
You’ve done that yourself- when you said ‘I’m fine’ on that day of your tragic loss.
As if your words were enough to veil that your life had just gone for a mighty toss.
You shove them aside into that dirty corner yearning for light.
For completion, you throw over it a thick blanket to cover that hideous sight.
They do haunt you every night, you become aware then of your own breath,
Yet you hold on like a flower that never blooms, but carries it’s scent hidden, till it’s very death.
When somebody comes along, you wonder in silence, “Is this the one that you seek?”
Will they flinch- will they run- god forbid will they leave if you let them have a peek?
You wait with bated breath, peel yourself down, layer by layer;
Praying, that inspite of the scars that disgust you, to stay in your life, this time they will dare.
Published here earlier.
Image source: unsplash
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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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