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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.
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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...
Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views, indivisual posts do not necessarily represent the platofrom's views and opinions at all times.
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Stop glorifying biological parenthood - other methods of growing a family are just as valid, and completely a couple's choice, especially of the woman whose body goes through pregnancy and birth.
Stop glorifying biological parenthood – other methods of growing a family are just as valid, and completely a couple’s choice, especially of the woman whose body goes through pregnancy and birth.
Trigger Warning: Contains derogatory remarks about having a baby through surrogacy or any means other than giving birth through biological means, and may be triggering, especially to adoptive parents.
Recently Priyanka Chopra Jonas announced parenthood by surrogacy. This has once again sparked the debate about ethical surrogacy, which is a discussion for another day.
Arathi Rajagopalan, founder of 'House of Kalart', talks about thinking like a designer & transitioning to thinking like a business owner.
Excerpts from an interview with Arathi Rajagopalan, founder of ‘House of Kalart’ – a fusion jewellery label that merges global aesthetics and traditional craftsmanship.
When did you start ‘House of Kalart’ and what was the intention?
I started House of Kalart in 2017 as a venture where painting, drawing and embroidery are married with metalsmithing to create well-handcrafted fashion jewellery. Along with painting and styling, the venture aims to create a holistic fashion experience for a bold and dramatic woman!” As a child, I had always been fascinated by arts and crafts.
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…)
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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.
And then there are those for whom a passing mention of the word childhood opens the gates to demons from the past; to memories of being punished in a locked bathroom; to blows that tore open their lips; to recollections of an adult’s forced weight on their frail bodies. (more…)