If you want to understand how to become better allies to people with disabilities, then join us at Embracing All Abilities: Including People with Disabilities at Work.
I love how my mother cooks something special for their anniversary and my father brings home chocolates, and yet the two keep it all hushed up like a newly married duo.
Oblivious to the world’s happenings, after an entire day of staring at the screen, I was spending my night-time tapping through my cousin’s WhatsApp status. I learned that Ranbir Kapoor and Alia Bhatt tied the knot securing their ‘happily-forever after’.
While how I put it in words could make you think of me as an incredibly silly romantic, I nonetheless suppose that I have enough arguments to vouch for why I believe marriage is the most ideal form of a romantic relationship.
But that’s for another post. Tonight I do not wish to debate. Tonight, I wish to solely romanticize.
Flowers, garlands, laughter, fragrance, silk and frills, gemstones, music, and all the warmth. I’m not particularly a fangirl of the couple. However, in general, I simply adore the idea of people coming together.
As a child, the idea of girls leaving their houses, their parents, family, friends, and everything that they could call theirs for unfamiliar people and foreign places, terrified me. It sounded to me like diving into an ocean of uncertainty.
But with every passing day, as I grow little by little, I am starting to realize that my parents aren’t superheroes like I thought.
I observe how the two of them make tiny human adjustments for ‘us’. How my father takes over the kitchen whenever he can lend a hand, how my mother loves doing anything and everything in her capacity like stapling papers and organizing my father’s workspace, all just to support him whenever possible. I love how my mother cooks something special for their anniversary and my father brings home chocolates, and yet the two keep it all hushed up like a newly married duo. I like how they look at each other amid social gatherings and even without moving their lips, an exit strategy is ready in their minds.
I do not fall for the big fat royal weddings of Bollywood. Well, it’d be wrong to say that I am completely repulsed by those. However, what appeals more to me is how couples develop wrinkles together, observe each other grow old, and yet dye each others’ grey hair with as much love as they had in their hearts when they married.
As much as I like words, I like the idea of people bonding without words. Chats and calls are frivolous at times. Comfortable silence is what I seek. I like promises which are made and kept. Because everything else seems like a waste.
Maybe years from now, I’ll believe more of it. Maybe then, I’ll be able to enrich this essay even further, or maybe I’ll delete it forever.
“I need a man who’s patient and kind Gets out of the car and holds the door I wanna slow dance in the living room like We’re eighteen at senior prom and grow Old with someone who makes me feel young I need a man who loves me like My father loves my mom”
Sukanya Basu Mallik's works have been featured on Reader’s Digest, Times of India, Sahitya Akademi, Writer's life UK, AIPF Int. Anthology ( Diverse city youth contest- Austin, US) etc. Bestowed with Best Manuscript read more...
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.
Stay updated with our Weekly Newsletter or Daily Summary - or both!
'Sania denied fairy-tale ending: suffers loss in AUS open final' says a news headline. Is this the best we can do? Is it a fitting tribute to one of the finest athletes we have in our country?
Sania Mirza bid an emotional and tearful farewell to her Grand Slam journey as a runner up in the mixed doubles final. Headlines read –
“Sania Mirza breaks down in tears while recalling glorious career after defeat in Grand Slam’
“Sania denied fairy-tale ending: suffers loss in AUS open final”
As parents, we put a piece of our hearts out into this world and into the custody of the teachers at school and tuition and can only hope and pray that they treat them well.
Trigger Warning: This speaks of physical and emotional violence by teachers, caste based abuse, and contains some graphic details, and may be triggering for survivors.
When I was in Grade 10, I flunked my first preliminary examination in Mathematics. My mother was in a panic. An aunt recommended the Maths classes conducted by the Maths sir she knew personally. It was a much sought-after class, one of those classes that you signed up for when you were in the ninth grade itself back then, all those decades ago. My aunt kindly requested him to take me on in the middle of the term, despite my marks in the subject, and he did so as a favour.
Math had always been a nightmare. In retrospect, I wonder why I was always so terrified of math. I’ve concluded it is because I am a head in the cloud person and the rigor of the step by step process in math made me lose track of what needed to be done before I was halfway through. In today’s world, I would have most probably been diagnosed as attention deficit. Back then we had no such definitions, no such categorisations. Back then we were just bright sparks or dim.
Please enter your email address