Oh, the gloriousness of childhood. The memories of childhood!
Childhood full of climbing trees and eating fruit off them. Uncomplicated days and talking into the nights… Recollections, memories of another age, a different time!
The trees we climbed ,
recollections etched in the mind.
The smooth bark of the guava tree ,
fruits bitten by the naughty parakeets.
memories of another age, a different time.
Uncomplicated days and talking into the nights,
those passionate sibling fights,
the movies we saw and enjoyed.
The hot afternoons we chilled inside,
feasting on sweet mangoes , you and I.
The sudden downpour , the monsoon rain,
the heavenly smell of wet land,
as we pranced about drenched to the skin.
It’s a shared history our parents have left us behind.
The matchbox doll furniture , you made
was priceless in my eyes,
I kept aside the sofas , the chairs
the carpenter so meticulously had designed.
You came proudly for my races,
only to be embarrassed ,
for despite the many practices,
I struggled to keep up with the rest.
Cherished memories of a bygone time.
I teased you for your reserve,
you wondered at my nerve.
When I light-heartedly called Mom, Mother Hen.
I think you couldn’t believe your ears.
Do you remember that time ? Brother of mine.
We were so different and yet so alike.
A Writer, Poet and a former Teacher who is an avid painter, practices Reiki , is a Tarot card reader and an Angel therapist . She has published a book of poems titled..... "My He-man" which read more...
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When Dylan came home, I was happy I had a little brother. But soon, strange incidents began happening. No one could explain the hideous things he did or why he did them!
“Nobody loves me!” he cried, as he was forced to sit in the car. Dylan was red with rage and tears covered his face.
“That is not true. We love you a lot. You will be away just for a short while and then we’ll get you back home”. Mother didn’t believe her own words. For the first time she wasn’t sad that he was leaving.
“Bahu, you are this family’s Mahalakshmi. If you wake up late, how will it bode auspicious for this house and hearth? Go, take a bath first, and help me in the kitchen."
“Bahu, you are this family’s Mahalakshmi. If you wake up late, how will it bode auspicious for this house and hearth? Go, take a bath first, and help me in the kitchen.”
“Ma, I’m visiting my in-laws for the first time after marriage. I’m looking forward to this!” Aditi exclaimed.
The story of my grandmother, who brought up a family in a harsh patriarchal society, but lives as an woman inspiring others.
I cannot remember passing through a single phase of my life without my granny. Right from the photos in the bedroom that we share, which show her feeding my toothless mouth when I was little, to the fact that she still braids my hair for school every day, reflect the tight bond between us. Though she may look old, fat or short, she is still beautiful.
The number of decades she’s survived through this harsh world has filled her with so many memories that even after spending all my fifteen years with me, she still has new stories to share; several that she cherishes, and some that are indirectly meant to advise me as teaching lessons. Often, these recollections have to do with her beloved husband, a grandfather I’d never known by person, but always known by character and spirit. That was because of the profound portrait of his personality that my grandma drew in my head with her vibrant, meticulous recollections relating to him. (more…)
Rishi Verma is 29. He is a writer by profession, and by choice. To pay his bills, he works in advertising. To bring peace to his life, he writes fiction, strums the guitar tunelessly and reads like a maniac.
Some of us remember Tobu Cycles and Campa Cola from our childhood. Memories of Mario and Contra bring gentle smiles on the faces of some. Others, from a different generation remember cleaner, less crowded roads. Even playing Cricket on the streets during a nationwide bandh. Some are still around who remember getting on a train full of corpses during the partition.