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Going back to one's hometown can often bring up a great deal of memories and quiet reminiscing as we appreciate the home of our past selves.
Going back to one’s hometown can often bring up a great deal of memories and quiet reminiscing as we appreciate the home of our past selves.
I was hearing the song of cuckoo and carcus of the crow, Sleeping under the tree desperately wanted to grow, Wanting to be eligible for loads of cake makeup on my face as little babies were supposed to become prey, The neighbor aunty is peeling peas in heaps and segregating pods and peels, Where we never used to count the penny in hand rather the count was how many marbles I had, Also when dad wasn’t around I tried to walk on the ramp with high heels, Leaving hometown even the heels and cake became a big deal, As an attraction which steals all possible glimpse from the men of all ages, Thud, thud, thud the sound became more audible and panting became distinct. It’s nothing but a reflection at the porch of my hometown’s house Through the window I found a child like mine watching shaktiman and power puff girls on a 24 inches TV, Or the books I read had stories of Malgudi days Which made my childhood better in many ways She started screaming at mom to bring her a glass of milk, Screaming increased as mom was five minutes late, But she never gets angry as she is a cube of ice always, I woke up in a blink and a book had fallen which I was reading I guess, Found me in a train with a child of mine, Holding the hand of hers might she be now thinking the same Asking now from myself, How being lass is missing the hometown land, The wheels screeched and all turned black and white as if I was in 1991 watching myself playing on the streets, In another second my parents came running towards me, It ain’t to scold me for playing hide and seek till late They took no pain to ask about me rather held the daughter of mine Then I understood what they say was right Interest is always a step closer than the principal Which made my expressions terrible for a while Soon I realized this is how you evolve and change walking from the hometown between to the hometown.
Image Credits: Pexels
A passionate scribbler and wishful bread earner. A working professional in an embassy and a freelancer French language trainer. A voracious reader and loves to connect readers and writers. Author of Ibiza by Geetika Kaura ( read more...
This post has published with none or minimal editorial intervention. Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views, individual posts do not necessarily represent the platform's views and opinions at all times.
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Dear Women’s Web Community Member,
You may have wondered at our being on the quieter side during the last couple of months. Thank you for your patience, and we wanted to come back to you with a detailed note on what’s been happening at our end of things.
When we first began Women’s Web, as a blog from one woman’s desk along with a few like-minded souls, little could we have imagined the heights that it would soar to. Over the years, Women’s Web has published over 20000 stories (almost all by women), empowered countless women with the ideas, community and resources to chase their dreams, employed hundreds of women in core and project-based roles, and in the process, emerged as the OG women’s community in India. It has also inspired many others to build communities of a similar nature, all enabling women (and other-underrepresented groups) in their own ways.
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