Skip to main content

On International Women's Day

There's nothing international about the woman who taught a three year old alphabets at the doorsteps of a kitchen, handed rolled paratha on way to school. 

There's northing international about the woman who held a young man's hand in a smouldering summer day and sat in a lonely prayer outside an ICU fourteen years back. There's nothing international about the woman who took a part of her being and handed me over the most amazing of her creation six years back. There's nothing international about the woman who struggles to keep her space in a hostile and competitive world and still try to teach alphabets to her child, at the kitchen door and hand her over the rolled paratha as she leaves for school.

 There's nothing international about the woman who ties a thread to my arm every year, and looks at me as if I were a guardian and protector of her soul. 

There's nothing international about the woman who reads what I write and sometimes, even loves it. There's nothing international about the woman who makes me wonder how she writes so well as if there were a Virginia Woolfe's proverbial room with a window in her soul.

There's is nothing international about the woman who tolerate my mediocre talent, and makes me believe in my unknown possibilities. There's nothing international about the woman from whose guarded stories rises like butterflies and color the skies. 

There's nothing international about the woman who looks at unyielding life in the eyes and whispers through a determined mouth, " Was it life? Give me once more." 

They don't carry higher causes. They are not in the newspaper. They everyday fight with their own demons, and come back home with weary souls and winning smiles. They diligently work in their small ways, and make grand changes to the world. They offer a soft, silent strength to me which whispers in magical voice in my loneliest and weakest hours. They believe me, even in the moments when I have lost all the belief. 
They are the women in my life, they are the Constant Spring. I wish you all A Happy Women's Day. All the days of the year belong to you, but this day is to be grateful for all those other days blessed by you.
Labels:

Comments

Purba said…
What a lovely tribute to the women in your life :-)
March 8, 2014 at 1:55 AM
Saket Suryesh said…
Hi Purba, I can't even begin to tell you how blessed I feel to have received this comment on my post. Thanks.
March 8, 2014 at 9:32 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Why Teaching Kids Read Early Makes Sense?

Picture Courtesy- GettyImages I am an only child, though not a child anymore. My childhood went in search of friendships outside the home, and waiting for the evening to come by to immerse into those rare moments of camaraderie. Our days, the Pre-Appu childhood, was largely supervised by our parents. I do not much remember visiting my friend’s place in childhood. Much unlike my daughter and her friends who keep meeting up in their homes. My friends were kids of my father’s colleagues and we met when they met. Friendships were formed and finished in the children park.  The interspersed period of loneliness was filled up by books. It was from Comics to pocket-books to Geeta Press to even, Indian Classics like Ramayana and Mahabharata . They filled up my days of solitude with rare happiness. I was called introvert and adults left me alone. It was an arrangement which we both liked. There was no other arrangement in the view. For some reasons, parents those days did not appr...
2 comments
Read more

पुस्तक समीक्षा - मैं मुन्ना हूँ - लेखक - मनीष श्रीवास्तव

  जिस प्रकार वनस्पति घी डालडा होता है , जैसे प्रतिलिपि ज़ेरॉक्स होती है , मनीष श्रीवास्तव जी श्रीमान जी होते हैं। कम लोगों को पाठकों का इतना स्नेह प्राप्त होता है , जो उनके कृतित्व एवं लेखन से आगे निकल जाता है। इसका कारण उनके लेखन में   सत्य का प्रतिबिम्ब परिलक्षित होना होता है जो पाठक ने उनके व्यक्तित्व में देखा सुना हो। लेखन मेरी दृष्टि में वह माध्यम होता है जिसके द्वारा अपने सत्य को वह कपोल कल्पना का आवरण पहना कर सार्वजनिक कर देता है और आत्मा को एक पिशाच के बोझ से मुक्त कर पाता है। कलम के माध्यम से लेखक वह कहने का साहस जुटा पाता है जिसे अन्यथा वह संभवतः न कह पाए।जब कोई कृति यह कर पाती है तो वह न केवल लेखक की आत्मा के पिशाच हटाती है वरन पाठक की आत्मा के धागों पर लगी गिरहें भी खोल देती है और उसके मानस को मुक्त कर देती है।   इस दृष्टि से मनीष की यह पुस्तक " मैं मुन्ना हूँ " अपने दायित्व का पूर्णता से निर्वाह करती ...
Post a Comment
Read more

On the Eve of Formation of New Government

The long dance-duel of democracy has finally ended. The rulers and wanting-to-be-rulers have now decided to rest after a no-holds-barred battle is over. The unapologetic political parties and apologetic, righteous neutral commentators, jumping in and out of the discourse. In fact, the case for the commentators was the most curious, under the thinly wrapped veneer of neutrality and forward-thinking lurked the opportunity to shoot and scoot.   This was a campaign which made people see through the charade of intellectual bourgeoisie, who pretended to be neutral but treaded the thin line between the public and private. Thankfully, the campaign ended and hopefully we are left with few things still left to believe in.   Narendra Modi has a task cut out for him. Swearing-in happens tomorrow evening. My view he has things to do, new paths to tread.   He has invited the SAARC countries, all of them to attend. That to me is a good be...
Post a Comment
Read more