वो वक्त के साथ बदलता गया
वक्त उसका संभलता गया,
एक भ्रम है उसने जाना फिर
अच्छा वक्त या बुरा वक्त
फिर वह तो वही रहा, खुश
अपने वक्त से —
पर अब वक्त उसके हिसाब से
चलता रहा।

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When it is not said through words
It is pretty and wonderful.
Just a blink and bliss
Without knowing if it will be back
with the heart it is leaving—
Too goodbyes are good
for growth and grip on life—
If you can't settle with my opinion
I welcome you to encounter
the discussion where I will debate
that why you shouldn't leave?
& You would argue that It's not
helplessness and heart—
It is the happenstances that
push you and you are good to say
Goodbye
even if you aren't.

-

Today I am disappointed from me, people, my family, society. I was being criticised in front of people I rarely meet. What had hurt me was those people too, serving hurtful comments without listening offering me explanation in my defence.

That's the life I chose. Bitterness in words were there to make me realise that what I did wrong. I believe that is the life I chose. I don't believe. Ugggghh....

Each day we try to do our best and that is my opinion. Each day we work for others and if it does not fit in their opinion, then it is not right.

Right and wrong are never objective. This needs to be learned.

If I don't fit in your opinion and you don't have any ear for my opinion. Then my opinion is not for you but the door is open for you.

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•Mother•

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First Love and Marriage

-

My eyes are on a glass full of water as if I am that water, stucked in a boat of life. I couldn't jump as I might drown. I don't know how to row to reach the bank too.

My writing table is all dusty except that one glass of water. I have papers A4 size blank. My red pen and memories of children. I am a teacher before a writer.
I try to speak. I find my throat is choked. Voice is hoarse as I shout most of the time. I sit down with guilty in an empty classroom everyday. I try to write, I find in the next moment my hands are settling papers, sheets what my children wrote. If they used 'is' and 'are' in right manner.

So I write about their poor cursive strokes. I write their innocent grammar. Wrong synonym of 'wrong'. That it is 'right' only not 'FINE'. As far as I remember I then trembled after a sound. It was shrilled. It was whistle of cooker.
A reminder that I am a woman. So I write now why can't I sit and meditate? I can't feel my legs often so to feel brain is a complete alien idea to me. Who am I, apart from woman.

Homemaking duties I do, not write. "How was the food?" " Pass on the salt". Their statements made me feel needy not chosen.

-

When we were kids and were asked about aspirations, we always used to answer either Doctor or Engineer.
When today kids say they want to be YouTuber and Artist. I believe we should feel blessed that we have travelled so far that we could peep inside our minds. We have opened ways for ourselves. From conventional mindset to Liberal mindset.
"They have sedentery lifestyle. Over-reliance on technology is making them less dynamic. " Yet we must listen and understand this generation's emotions, feelings and beliefs. They are coming from us only. They are part of us.

Being a human being we witness wonders that we pass and receive. To condemn or praise something does not make us human. To live with each other in harmony despite the indifferences; generational gaps makes us a Human.

-

"muskurao"

-

अब सही है जो भी है
रिश्तों का ये रंग भी जरूरी है
दिखता है प्रेम धुंधला जब,
जिंदगी साफ दिखती है।

अब तुम बोलो कुछ भी
नहीं सुनती है धुन उसकी।
कि कम पड़ती है सुनाई अब
बांसुरी उसकी,

रंग ये इश्क का तो नहीं है
मिजाज़ इस के तो कई है
हो गई है गलती
पहचाचने में इश्क तुझे,
तुझे समझने तेरा दूर होना भी
जरूरी है।

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Woman is misfit for society if she demands
She is praised when she cares in advance.
Food, clothes and shelter three needs of man
She provides love along with without being defaulter.
She asks nothing but love by giving all her life
No matter if she climbs mountains or cut it with knife.
She is a person of all attributes kind And dear
A man can clear her hurdles, all she needs an ear.

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