Chaos.....

For this post, I have written on Write Tribe's #FridayReflections prompt Chaos — how do you feel about it?  I have done a Free Write as suggested by Suzy Que in a previous post.

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Lot of prompts have been doing a round lately, and some of them have been really good. But for one reason or the other, I have not been able to write- have been either exhausted or busy. This time, the Write Tribe prompt on chaos set me to work...What is it that attracts me so much to the word? I don't know. When I think of chaos, I think also of creation. That's how it has been, right? Out of chaos has come our universe. The universe that we are trying to kill by our prejudices, by our recklessness, by our un-satiating desires. Oceans are dying thanks to the chaos caused by our senseless use of plastic. We try to keep everything clean only by shoving away all that is dirty here and there. But we pretend. We pretend to worry. We make and watch videos. We write and read articles. We like and share posts. We crib and complain over the chaos that is ruining us. But we don't accept that we ourselves are the cause of it all. Rational beings chaotically charged!

So are our thoughts. Where is the order inside our brains? Thoughts seem to burst rather than sprout. We act rashly. We give vent to our anger. We become intolerant because we think the entire world is against us, and hell-bent on hurting us. But we end up hurting only our peace and dignity. Waves of wild anger rise high and wreck our lives. What is left is only chaos. How will we stand again? We need to calm down. We need to stop hurling abuse on others. We need to become receptive. We need to open the gates of our hearts.

Gates - refugees are looking for open gates these days. Fleeing from the chaos caused by atrocity and injustice, they are fleeing to safer places. Many make it, many don't. There are kids who die. Alan Kurdi dies. Omran's picture is trending these days. I writhe in pain at the anguish in those little eyes. My heart bleeds at the sight of Alan's listless body. We are all responsible for their fate. How will we ever be forgiven? Who will grant us forgiveness? How will kids like Omran ever recover from the trauma that has devastated their houses, desecrated the innocence of their childhood, ripped apart their families? Who will bring peace to them? 

Little ones are supposed to smile. They are meant to be bundles of happiness. They are dying - the tiny seeds which were meant to bloom in a well-tended garden - a garden which has been uprooted. I wish some gentle breeze carries them to a meadow of love where springs of love flow. I wish they can smile again.

Smile - it is so essential. It is the thing that can counter chaos. A true, well-meaning smile. Not a sly one. Not a fake one. A smile that is as pure as the laughter of a child who is popping bubbles. A smile that is as chaste as the smile of a baby cooing in response to her mother's songs. 

Why have we forgotten that smile?

Why have we become so tumultuous and explosive?

Why are we ready to burst? 

Why do we love to bring chaos in other's lives when we hate to have it in our own?

My mind is in disarray.

Chaos takes over. 

I can write no more.

Linking to Write Tribe's #FridayReflections

No Child's Play

It was just like any other day. The neighborhood that was quiet in the hot summer afternoon started bubbling with the lively chatter and laughter of kids. It was just like any other evening. The bigger kids came out with their bikes, scooters, bats and frisbees. Not-so-careful-about-appearance Mommies made their presence felt on the scene as the little ones trundled behind. Gently blowing breeze managed to bring down the temperatures a bit so it was a comfortable evening to play outside or to just loiter around.

'Hey, that's not how you throw the ball." A boy shouted. Another intervened in his support. Mommies looked and ignored as this was no serious matter. All the kids who were playing were wont to play their every single day. There wasn't a newcomer on the scene.

Arguments ensued, however. In the group of the bigger kids was one non-Indian child. I wish not to disclose the racial identity of that non-Indian child because of two reasons - One, I don't deem it necessary. Two, I do not want others to hold or form any prejudice for anyone whatsoever. So, the non-Indian child approached the Mommies and told him that the other kids were being rude to him and were singling him out. Then he said, " My mom doesn't like my playing with Indian kids. She asks me not to be around Indians."

This shocked me. I was speechless for a moment. My mind was looking for something right to say. I wanted to tell the little child that he was so young to be holding a prejudice of this kind in his heart. I wanted to tell him how utterly mistaken his mom was. But I did not want to belittle a mother in her child's eyes. So I was quiet.

Then I told him that it was not an appropriate statement to make. I explained to him in simple words that they were all children and no-body harbored any ill-feeling whatsoever for each other. It was momentary anger and if they talked the matter out, all would end well. He listened and so did the Indian kids. Apologies were exchanged and the play resumed.

But we Mommies were stunned. It was a shock that would take some time to get over with.

My heart felt sorry for the mom who was not just cultivating bias in her heart. She knowingly or otherwise, was starting to contaminate the pure heart of an innocent child. This world is already ailing, do we need any more diseases? I questioned myself.

I grieved in my heart, for what I had thought was a child's play could one day take an ugly form. I dreaded that.

As parents what is our first duty to our child? Is mere formal education enough? Giving them the opportunity to study in good schools and colleges, providing them good clothes to wear, healthy food to eat, a secure roof to live under - is that enough? Who will forfend the plague of prejudice from afflicting their lives? Who will nurture in them the qualities of fairness and equality? We try to save them from the 'bad' elements around us. We try to keep them away from violence in the media. Who will save them from our own faults? Who will shield them from our own turbulent mentalities?

Will it not be a colossal parenting failure if a strong foundation of an unbiased conscience is not laid?
What will we weep for when our kids flounder? Will we weep for our faults or their loss?

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Linking it to Day 7 of Write Tribe Festival of Words # 5

(Today is the last day of the seven-day Write Tribe Festival of Words # 5. It was my first time I tried posting every day in my blogging experience. I was able to post for seven consecutive days, and I tried to read and interact with most of the bloggers who had participated in this festival. In case I have missed you, I am sorry. All in all, the past week was very busy as I had my two kids who decided to fall sick on the very first day of the festival. But somehow, everything was managed and taken care of. With a sore back, and tired eyes, I also have a sense of satisfaction and utter joy. I wish to thank Corinne Rodrigues and all Write Tribers for encouraging me and making this a fruitful experience.)

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The Pain of Sweet Memories......

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I recently came across this poem by D.H.Lawrence. The novelist is famous for his exploration of repressed emotions and Oedipal conflict in some of his major works. This poem was a pleasant discovery. While I tried to locate Lawrence in the poem, my mind took me away to a time in future when I would be old and my son would remember the times when he was little and together we had played at the piano. It was nostalgia of a different kind.

Then my mind hovered back to my nest of childhood. I saw my mother singing ghazals. I saw my grandfather reading his newspaper while my grandmother opened her trunks to show me her crochet shawls she had done when she was young. I heard the hearty laughter of my father from the basement where his office was. The door to the basement stairs was ajar and I was spying to hear his joke and tell my mom. All I could hear was his laugh - energetic and unrestrained. I then saw my brother taking me back home from school. He was teasing me since once again I had failed to notice that our car was parked right in front and I had passed it and climbed the school-bus. He had honked but I was lost in my own world. I didn't hear and I didn't see. And he made a good joke out of it. Okay, I seemed angry at first but I joined him soon. He was so lively, how could his spirit not touch my soul. 

Just then, I felt my cheeks were wet. Ah, tears....they were so slippery, I could not contain them longer. Taking a deep breath, I wiped them and looked around. What was it about memories? They made us smile, they made us cry, and still we clung to them as if they were the oars that would help us sail in the ocean of life. We held on to them as if they were the wings that would help us fly when the stormy wind tried to lead us to unknown paths.

How far had I come, I thought. Physically, I could never touch my grandparents, my father and my brother any more. They were on unknown shores on unseen lands. I saw them sometimes in my dreams, but just like dreams, they vanished when I opened my eyes. I wanted to touch my mom but we sat miles away from one another. But her presence was a solace. Like a light-house she shines, guiding me from afar, frustrating my fears, encouraging me to sail on.

Was I happy at that moment? I cannot say. I was happy to relive the past. But it was gone now, and that gave me pain. I missed my brother the most for I could not say my good-bye to him when he departed. Since I could not talk to him, I wrote this for him. May be his soul can read it.

The Tales I Will Tell

I wasn't born just a daughter 

But a sister too - 

A sister to you....

To me you were

Part of my childhood,

My other essence

Like two buds of the same plant

We grew together

Fighting for sunshine and space

Blooming despite the stormy winds

Striding many paths

Crossing many hurdles

And then one day, I decided to uproot myself -

Landing on alien soil

I persisted

While you floundered 

On familiar grounds

I knew not you would wither away

Leaving me alone

Stranded 

Abandoned

You always called yourself 'big'

Boasted you would forever be elder to me

As you were born before me

But as I venture forward with my beating heart,

And age 

I search for you

Futilely

Vainly

Wanting to tell you

I have put more miles to my strides than you

Wanting to brag about my age

To show you I have more candles on the cake than yours

But also to tell you

I never wanted to be 'bigger' to you

That even when you are gone

You still remain and will forever be my 'Big' brother….

Our childhood has vanished

Just like you

But our memories will be carried forward

In the tales I will tell

About you and me

Tales of a little sister and her 'big' brother.....

Linking to IndiSpire Edition 126

Linking to Day 6 of Write Tribe Festival of Words # 5

#ThatDay .....

I attempted one-liners for this prompt. The second on is personal, while the other two are based on some harsh realities many people face. Do leave your feedback. Thanks!



That day, it rained so hard, not a drop of water was left to drink.

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That day, I bid final goodbye not just to my father, but to my childhood as well.

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That day, I couldn't stop crying as I saw the child-bride say goodbye to her toys.

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Written for IndiSpire #110