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‘What is it Amma?’ the child asked in wide-eyed innocence. The mother smiled, ‘Just another day,’ And like a hopeful bubble, she flew, and gently floated.
And somewhere in the vastness of the azure skyFloated a flimsy, dainty bubble of her hope,Ascending even as her own tentative aspirationsDescended into the humdrum of mundanity.
Clutching the pallu of her crushed cotton sareeHer daughter looked up, as her mother sighed.‘What is it Amma?’ she asked in wide-eyed innocence.The mother smiled, ‘Just another day,’ she said.
A life that had been steeped in traditionShe had lived to the obeisance to others.But the time was nigh now to emerge fromThe shadows that tied her to the servitude.
Holding onto the fragile thread of her hopeShe looked into the angelic eyes of her child.‘If I do not break free now too, she willBe relegated to obscurity like me,’ she surmised.
‘Can I let that happen? Can I let my daughterRetreat into the shadows just like I was made to?NO!’ She shook her head, a vehement oppositionOf her shackles and tugged at the rope that tethered.
Still wrapped in her six yards of shroud, she broke freeOf traditional orthodox tenets and cultural subjugation.Like the hopeful bubble fluttering in the azure leaShe too, flew, gently floated on the warm free breeze.
Picture credits: Pexels
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Sonal is a multiple award winning blogger and writer and the founder of a women-
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