If you are passionate about teaching, then Hackberry offers you franchise opportunities to turn this passion into your profession!
The feeling of being loved and to love your loved one!
Thunder, plundered from the depth till my death, wetness felt, Amber smells for you, Coffee beans spilt around for me, At the touch of you, erected the goosebumps from head to toe, Cold rugs went hot, We entwined two as one, I am deaf to any sound apart from yours, I am blind to any vision apart from any skin, I am dumb to any word apart from muttering and whispering my love into your ears, A bit of yours gave me many little deaths in one night.
Trail of clothes, on every surface That we came undone on The entire world appears to be gone I only see the pure ecstasy As you look down onto me My skin is tender to your touch One that I simply can’t get enough Your almond brown eyes send me over the edge No teasing, don’t make me beg Our bodies are intertwined The temperature continues to rise all night I continue to give you everything my body holds As the rugs used to be cold A bit of yours gave me many little deaths in one night.
Image via Pixabay
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...
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We are conditioned to normalise domestic violence out of fear of abandonment. Thinking that 'trauma bonding' is better than no bonding holds us back from speaking up!
(Trigger Warning: This post may be triggering for survivors of domestic violence. This post has been published especially to honour the International Day For The Elimination of Violence Against Women.)
Everyone said my perfect husband was like Lord Ram…. but this is how he took unfair advantage of my tolerance!
My grandmother was very fond of my husband whose name is synonymous with Lord Ram’s name. Every call she made to my husband started with the bhajan “Aaj sab mil mangal gao, Awadh mai, raam aye hain“. (Hail everyone, sing praises, Lord Ram has come in the kingdom of Awadh.) It was a mandatory welcome song whenever she met him or even spoke to him on the phone. Yes, his attributes were like that of Lord Ram. His attitude, chivalry, persona, fair skin, smile, height, physique and charm illustrate the perfect image of Lord Ram.
Alone in the apartment the whole day, Riya used to feel claustrophobic. She could not imagine anyone living in with just one bunk to call one’s own. She thought about the clean air and the verdant hills of Siliguri.
The Muse of the Month is a monthly writing contest organised by Women’s Web, bringing you original fiction inspired by women.
Harshita Nanda is one of the winners for the November 2021 Muse of the Month, and wins a Rs 750 Amazon voucher from Women’s Web. The juror for this month, Anuradha Kumar commented, “This is truly an unusual, and moving mother-daughter story, set dually in Dubai and Siliguri. This story of courage, determination, and love of the mother, and the growing awareness on the daughter’s part is really insightful and very moving. A very contemporary story, featuring characters not much written about before.”
When you travel solo, you are fully responsible for yourself. You are also not needed to look after others' needs so you can focus completely on yourself.
When you travel solo, you are fully responsible for yourself. You are also not needed to look after others’ needs so you can focus completely on yourself.
Discovering myself with a new set of eyes is the motto of solo travelling for me. We live in a judgemental society. Yet, my restless feet and curious mind helped me fight the judgments around me.
Also, having parents who believe in me more than the society helped me go on my first ever solo trip to Sri Lanka. Here’s a listicle of things that I learnt in the journey.
A pad and a bra change the equation of your life and you wonder if growing up is such a big embarrassment, a sinuous trail beyond your capacity to traverse, a virus that gnaws at your childhood.
She hands me a cloth, folded in several layers, from an old bed sheet I remember we used for the family king size bed. That was when we stayed in junior officers service quarters in Durgapur- the steel city of eastern India. It had faded blue peacock patterns in the middle and catalpa leaves around the border. The blue would soon turn red, blood red.
“Put it” she pauses as if she does not recognize me anymore and completes ‘there’. I evade her eyes, my mind clammy just like the red molasses trickling below. Hesitantly I say, ’This?’ and take my first pad.