Soulmate

"Soulmate" – the word itself is so sweet, that the reactions are bound to be sweet.

Let me first thank my fellow bloggers who voted for the topic and made it a topic for 50th edition of Indispire, thus giving me an opportunity to have a panorama of views on the word, its understanding and perception. As the topic was started by me, I am having a close watch on the responses too. And I find -- it has inspired . Inspired us to write, inspired to research - inspired to debate and inpired to pour our hearts out.

Before I pour my heart out on the topic (A poem), I would take the opportunity to sum up the different responses till now as below:

Amita – in her take as “Soulmate – My Definition” – talks of different definition as referred in different sources, and then puts her own. http://mydatewithbooks.blogspot.in/2015/01/Soulmate.html

Shruti Gopinath – questions “Do you believe in soulmates” – Talks about Greek mythology, refers to Paulo Coelho in Brida and then a sweet picture story depicting Soulmates.

https://iamyourtwilightstar.wordpress.com/2015/02/02/do-you-believe-in-soulmates/

Purba – through her “Soulmates and Twinflames” interestingly talks about the two topics and sums up with a poetry.

http://reverieofpurba.blogspot.in/2015/02/soulmates-and-twinflames.html

Quadeer – in his crisp blog “Where will You meet your soulmate” says he believes soulmates exist

https://hyderabadsite.wordpress.com/2015/02/01/where-will-you-meet-your-soulmate/

Pebbles in still water – expreses through a haiku http://pebbleinthestillwaters.in/poetry/haiku-soulmate/

Thinkball – talks of the theme of soulmate being used in TV Drama, Hollywood and Bollywood movies and his understanding of the word http://thinkball.tumblr.com/post/109510097986/the-fuss-over-soul-mate

Guria reasons her views through her article http://www.themisfitgirl.com/2015/02/soul-mates-choice.html

Sandy puts her reasoning in http://betweencupsofcoffee.blogspot.in/2015/02/i-am-someones-soulmate.html

Garima also reasoning – it can be anyone in “Soul mate – sell soul” http://www.sweetsharing.com/soul-mate-sell-soul/

Ram-Knight 4ever advising through his short story to rather grow in love than live in myth of soulmate

https://mypradoxicalparadise.wordpress.com/2012/09/20/the-soul-mate-myth-how-about-growing-in-love/

Bindu getting so excited by the topic that she created a special tab for miscellaneous discussions in her devoted movie review blog and writes

http://moviereviewsbybinduc.blogspot.in/2015/02/soulmate-may-not-be-life-mate-but.html

Ayesha expresses through her three submissions :

http://aayeshashewholives.blogspot.in/2013/10/within-marriage-romance-can-truly-abound.html

http://aayeshashewholives.blogspot.in/2013/11/not-as-perfect-as-they-show-in-movies.html

http://aayeshashewholives.blogspot.in/2014/06/a-ritual-called-marriage.html

Pramod sharing his experience http://pramod1962.blogspot.in/2015/01/soul-mate-who.html?showComment=1422989376849#c2768268678048007916

Twinkle also reasons it can be anyone and explains in http://aayeshashewholives.blogspot.in/2014/06/a-ritual-called-marriage.html

Pratikshya also saying – it can be anyone - http://pratikshya-magicmoments.blogspot.in/2015/02/soul-mates.html

Shashank adding the fiction - https://embarkwithmythoughts.wordpress.com/2015/02/03/will-you-be-my-valentine/

Parvati  presents her thought as

https://plinkyprompt.wordpress.com/2015/02/04/solely-about-souls/

Mukulika putting forth some quotes to establish the essence of soulmate

http://mukulikamusings.blogspot.in/2015/02/quote-on-soul-mate.html

Nandini very effectively argues if there is anything like soulmate

http://nandinispeaks.blogspot.in/2015/02/so-you-think-you-have-soulmate.html#axzz3QnToCEqo

Arpita presents her thoughts uniquely through some slides

http://shinningappy.blogspot.in/2015/02/soul-mates.html

There are quite a few short stories as by

Ranjith with happy ending as proof of soul mates

http://www.alightheartedtalk.com/2015/01/soul-mates.html

Black beauty through her characters Anu & Raj as in

http://duskyisbeautiful.blogspot.in/2015/01/soulmate-story.html

It is just not possible to miss poems on this topic. So many have gone to pour out their heart for their different forms of Soul-mates as

MeenalSonal expresses in her sweet poem – Soul mates – special Connection

http://auraofthoughts.blogspot.in/2015/01/soul-mates-special-connection.html

Divsi in For my soulmate http://divsispace.blogspot.in/2010/05/for-my-soulmate.html

Saima expresses through fro “Haven to Heaven” http://wastisaima.blogspot.in/2015/02/from-haven-to-heaven.html

And my take as poem http://facetsofadienglish.blogspot.in/2015/02/soulmate.html

So all the blogs had its own different view and it was a quite enriching read till now.

I too believe Soul-mate, may not necessarily be your life-mate. He or she can be anyone – Anyone whose mere presence or thought, gives you a sense of fulfilment. You are your true-self and with whom you express yourself even before thinking. Even the silence talks and heart speaks. So, its divine, linked to a sharing soul half seeded into the other half. The relationship is more beautiful and romantic if it is between opposite sexes in which it is most often referred and found. 

  

 My take on Soulmate : - Soulmate

Aditya Sinha

Written in response to the 50th edition of #Indispire topic "Soulmate not necessarily is life mate. What do you feel? Express your take...

Her step to parallel responsibility

This post is a part of #UseYourAnd activity at BlogAdda in association with Gillette Venus“.

Her step to parallel responsibility

"Bhaiya" - Padhai bhi ek vasna hai na ?

All of us laughed and she stood like a fool.

Nimmi, my 12yr cousin entered the room voicing the wrong vocab, where all of us cousins were doing a group study preparing for board exam. 

"Vasna" nahin buddhu - "Upasna" !

I corrected and she returned realizing the blunder she had made.

The instance always echoes and reminds me how she would always try to stand out differently.

She was at second number among the three sisters. We all were around 10 cousins living together in the joint family. They had lost their mother when she was just about 4. Uncle had gone for second marriage a couple of years later. The life had not been very easy for her since then. Moments of togetherness amongst the cousins were different life, however. She would always try to prove her presence and do as per her will despite least support from her step-mother. Be it playing with us in the ground out of the house or learning guitar. She did all.

Uncle tried to do his duty of marrying the three daughters on time lest they may have better time at their new house.

She too was married just after her graduation with an advocate.

Early practice of an advocate is always a tough period. Realizing the fact and being a fighter from inside, she joined law. She became a mother within a year but still continued with her studies. A homemaker & a student in few years completed became a mother & a law professional.

 Not stopping there she joined the court and started practicing and now parallels the responsibility of the family with her husband’s due support.

Now a homemaker & a mother & a law professional she stands out differently.  

Today almost all women in our family is a working professional but she needs a special mention as I know the past that she has come through. With the strong will she now parallels the responsibility  which normally any girl would have happily enjoyed as a happy mother’s life.

  

  

Aditya Sinha

01.02.2015

Gift from Piggy Bank

Gift from Piggy Bank

 

Mother’s Day – all these were not known in our days. But today media makes it known to all. The awareness is high. The essence of the day pervades through the atmosphere well in advance.

 

My nine year son, Apoorva sat besides me when I was writing the poem “Mother – an epitome to sacrifice”. He stayed glued to my laptop till late in the night. On all such days, he would normally start preparation of his hand made gifts. But this time he had kept it all secret. He had neither asked me for any money nor his mother.

 

On Saturday, when I returned from the office, he came to me.

“Papa- you’ll have to come to the market along with me.” He told with his hands locked at the back.

“Anything important” I asked, turning towards his mother to see if she knew anything.” But she bore a blank face too.

“Abhi chalo” He became a little more persuading.

“We’ll go tomorrow, as it is already late but tell me the reason. Why and where to go?”

He brought his hand to the front, there was a small poly bag holding coins of one, two and five.

“I have Rs.387.00. I want to buy present for mummy for tomorrow on Mother’s Day”.

And he had a list ready with him – Lip Stick, Hair Bands etc. etc. …… in the other hand.

I looked towards Richa in dismay – if she knew about it.

She shook her head slowly in negative.

He had broken his earthen piggy bank. I had a smile on my face but didn’t want to make it evident.

“You could have taken the money from me. Why did you break it?”

“No! I want this from my money only. You just convert it into rupees as the shopkeeper would not take change.”

I could not scold him, just said – “don’t do it again without informing one of us.”

Richa too stood with smile on her face.

We took him in arms and moved towards the market. He bought things as per his list and got it wrapped to ensure that the first thing he does in the morning is - give his present.

 

Such sensitive are our children now.

 

Just wanted to share with you all.

 

Aditya Sinha

Originally posted on Mother's day on Sulekha : http://creative.sulekha.com/gift-from-piggy-bank_413459_blog

Clandestine Chikan – An Unsung Fashion

Clandestine Chikan – An Unsung Fashion

 

The moment we say “Fashion” – latest designed clothes, flashy jewelry, some laces here, a torn there, out of mind innovation in looks etc. comes before the eyes. Fashion today perhaps means a trend not to be adorned by the common mass. You need to have an exceptional grit to accept the trends. And perhaps by the time you become used to and may think of adopting, the fashion would become outdated.   

 

“The styles and customs prevalent at a given time” is the Fashion. It changes regularly and rapidly. More so – affecting the culture as a whole as the time passes.  Many such innovations have made waves in their time but withered with the progress. Bell bottom pants, Dog Collars, Tights, Ethnic Jewelry, Boots, and many such names are there in this category. All that has stayed is simple and sober. One such class of its own is the Chikan embroidery adorned clothes. This has never made waves in the market but when worn elegantly would make anyone turn and have a look.

 

Having its birth in the Land of Nawabs, Chikankari has become synonymous to Lucknow. Essentially a handicraft, this is the bread earner for a good population of Awadh - the old Lucknow. It is a very complex and delicate form of embroidery primarily uses muslin clothes and confined to the city of Lucknow. The term 'Chikankari' originated from the Persian word Chikan meaning muslin wrought with needlework. Thought it borrowed its name from Persian the art is totally indigenous and has nothing to do with Persia. It developed in the courts of Nawabs and Masabdars. It was adorned by Nawabs and was a mark of austerity and elegance. It was then out of reach of the common masses. After the fall of the Nawab system the artisans started searching for newer avenues and this art opened for the masses.

 

The design motifs in Chikan are predominantly influenced by Mughal art, similar to those in Taj Mahal and Agra Fort. Stitch is another distinctive feature. Various stitches are used in Chikankari varying according to the kind of designs and materials used. Satin stitch, stem stitch and chain stitch are some popular stitches.

Originally Chikan had very light, very soft Cotton cloth as base mostly in White. It fits to the extreme climate that this part of North India has.

Today Chikan has spread to all forms of cloths. Be it Sarees, Kurtas, Shirts, Tops, Handkerchief, Bed sheet …….anything. It has also expanded in its colour horizon. From white it first took light colour clothes as base and then spread to even gaudy shades. The most common in use is however the Sarees and the Kurtas.

 

        

Sarees vary from simple works to heave embroidery on cotton or even chiffon. It is further made even flashy by additional sequence, jari and seep works. It thus elegantly fits both casual and party time.

 

Chikan Kurtas – White is its soul. The best wear for men and women both in summers. As most of the time it has cotton as the base cloth it remains a cool wear.

 

Such exquisitely it stands aloof, elegantly and eloquently but has never gained the fame of being in fashion. It had been there always, and stands there adorned ever, too.

- A pleasure to wear, a mark of its own to leave, and a way different to live.

- Clandestine & Pure, Serene and calm.

- An impact solid and perpetual.

- Just like itself – never to wither.

So as we say “Beauty lies in the eyes of the Beholder.” – here is the beauty in Fashion.

 

Aditya Sinha

Originally posted on Sulekha :http://creative.sulekha.com/clandestine-chikan-an-unsung-fashion_415005_blog

Standing Punished in Girls School Campus

Standing punished in Girls School Campus.

 

Deveika’s call on embarrassing moments has become such an interesting and happening affair that all of us started peeping in our past and came out with those rare moments which we would have preferred to forget. Such enthusiastic participation not only as an entry but also as live comments have enthralled and pulled us - the bloggers to post events again and again. Reading such khatta – mitha blogs has reminded me of one more such very interesting (I mean embarrassing) incident. The story of Red Rose posted earlier was a story of misunderstanding let’s see how I make a fool of myself here in my school days.

 

I was in Class XI in St. Michael’s, Patna. Hardly a km away was the girl’s school, Notre Dame. The two schools were always termed - as made for each other. So though we were not in a co-ed school, we seldom used to have some get- together, common plays, extra-curricular activities etc. Or otherwise a regular and most coveted guest for each other. The Father’s of our school were apple eye to the Mother’s of NDA. Only last year we had our (I mean class X Mikes and the class X Dames a common – pass out get-together – Socials.) So, in a way most of us knew our counterparts over there and were expected to be good to them.

 

One such event was being organized in NDA. It was a cultural night. You can just imagine how excited we the seniors of Mikes would have been. We were sent the invitations and all of us were just waiting for the night to arrive. And it did come. But I had some emergency on that fateful day and I had to miss the rare moments of watching them closely for one more time, dancing, giggling, eyeing and vying. Alas, I waited at my house for the event to get over and the news of the extravaganza to pour in live through my friends. In those days mobile was not available so instant communication was not possible. For the running commentary I had to wait. Those hours looked long but finally did end. And Sunny (the same guy whose red rose had caused all the problem in my last blog) came to my house. There were more who followed.

 

With a glee in my eyes I took him straight to my room.

How was it?

Who all were there?

What all happened? All question shot in one go.

And there were all spicy narrations. But with that also came some unhappy moments.

Two of them were denied entry. And obviously it was not bearable for any of us.

In fact the invitation passes had been forged. And so it became overcrowded. And the school authorities had to stop some of them from entering. Some parents too had to face this and were dejected too.

-My friend’s insult and parent’s insult.

We got charged. I was known for my acquaintance with newspaper. As I was a regular contributor to “Letter’s to Editor” “careless whisper” etc., I was expected to bring this to light.

All were looking towards me with expectant eyes. How could I deny?

Next what – A detailed letter got drafted and it was handed over to TOI. We all departed winner all the way.

The letter got published – and our names Aditya Sinha and Sunil Rai, class XI, SMHS, imprinted below it. The proud duo, with our heads high reached the school.

-Greetings all the way round and we on cloud nine.

The assembly got over and hardly had we entered our class room the PA system spoke : AS and SR – report to the Principal room.

So another congratulation was in waiting – we with our heads high reached the room.

Father Karthanam was pacing up and down in his room. His pink face hot and blue.

How’s and why’s?

Don’t you know the relationship that the two school has?

I knew it was a blunder done.

I had brought curse to this relationship.

Good sense prevailed and I asked pardon.

“I am no body to give you excuse”, he said after a lot of persuasion. (more because I was among the best student there and Sunny one of the best sports person).

“You go and meet Sister at NDA. She will excuse you”

You can feel how we fell from attic to dungeon within seconds. To add to it we were to report to the girls school.

We came out of the room, with our heads down. The anti- groups enjoying our pitiful condition.

We pulled our bicycle and moved to meet the “Sister”.

 

The Principal there was not willing to meet at first and she made us wait outside the office. And we stood like stupid for the principal to let us tell her the full story, the plight of the parents – which we had planned can only be our saviour.

 

The girls passing by gauzing through the corner of their eyes and then whispering – these are the guys who have written all this. Some sighs, some brows. And we stood there saving our face, waiting ……..

 

She finally had pity but only after the whole day has passed. Just before the school was to close she called us in. We tried to explain but to deaf ears. Finally – she said – Get an apology published tomorrow, then only I can excuse you.

 

It was a tough task but at least a ray of hope. Apni sari Ijjat to dhul chuki thi, ab school main bane to rahen.

 

I knew TOI won’t do it. We managed an apology and I took my father’s help to get it published as a news in HT the other day. Bachi hui ijjat to bacha liya.

You can understand our position--- embarrassed --- we felt like crying.

 

 

 

  Aditya Sinha

Originally posted in response to EYC 64 on Sulekha :http://creative.sulekha.com/standing-punished-in-girls-school-campus-for-deveika-s-eyc-64_76906_blog

“The Iron Lady” - A tribute to my Grand Mother

“The Iron Lady” - A tribute to my Grand Mother

Today when we are talking of our mothers and penning praises about the relationship and her acts, I am reminded of my Grandmother - whom I revered as the “Iron Lady”. Let me just have the opportunity to pay a humble tribute to her by briefing some of the odds that she fought to give life to her progeny.

They had come to Patna in 1942. My Grandfather used to narrate proudly whenever I asked him about circumstances leading to settle here.

“We had come to Patna. I had left Janaki in a dharma shala near the station to finish some work. On return I found her waiting on the footpath with the luggage, taking lunch from the tiffin-box along with my sons and a gutter flowing just behind. It felt me so bad that I finalized this piece of land the same day.” He would say recounting his memories. He was an inspector during the British rule and was transferred to Patna in 1942. The freedom bug had taken its control. His attitude towards fellow Indians had aroused the wrath of the Britishers and left him with no choice but to take compulsory retirement. Janaki Devi, my Grand ma from there took the charge and brought up her eight – sons (seven own and one step) and one daughter.  Herself a daughter of land lord and an Inspector in the British Soldier, she had never known hardship. Leave aside working; she had traveled only in Palki’s from her village escorted by barahils.  But situation made her strong and she turned into an Iron Lady.

From here the role got reversed. My grand father took charge of the kids and she managed a social worker assignment in the railways. She would toil her 8 hrs on the platform in the ticketing room to have the liquid money for the kid’s studies. With my grandfather’s pension that would serve the basic purpose.

She had enough of Agriculture land from her father. She actively took control of it. She would travel to her village which had no other way but to cover 6 kms on foot. She would do this at least once a week to ensure the work on the fields and take control of produce. I remember - when the paddy used to be ready she used to stay there and bring load full of 2 to 3 bullock carts at one time. She used to cover those dreaded naxalite belt village in night - all alone with a lantern hung in front to show the way. No one dared to say a word. In fact when our parents or we visited the village she would arrange for escort or advise to leave the village before dark. Those villages are still so dreaded that even today if we visit – we do that in the day light only. (The six inch small formula was from those villages). She knew that agriculture was backbone for her family and increased it slowly. When she left it for her sons in 1985 it was enough to give food grains for the families of her eight sons (23 grand children and today more than 100 great grand children). We still have our rice and wheat from that land (though now it has been divided among our parents).

She tried and reared all for her family. She expanded the house big enough to give all her son’s at least one room. But I still remember she would sleep only in the verandah – all through the four seasons. We would press her to her room in the winters which she would accept very reluctantly.

It was pity – as it happens with all families – as her sons got married the family feuds started cropping. I remember my uncles fighting on trivial matters and she would just sit in her verandah not talking to any of them for weeks but never got angry with her grand children. We remained listening stories with her. I was a darling grand son to her. I used to sleep with her.

When the marriage of her eldest grand son got fixed, her ecstasy had no bounds. But there was some facts hidden during the settlement. She came to know and went angry. She left the house but allowed the marriage to take place from her own house. She tried to turn stone. But I know – she saw the whole marriage and her grand son in Groom’s suit… hiding from behind the trees. She wanted every one to enjoy and be happy, but she didn’t want to compromise on her ideals. She never liked lies. Forgiveness was her ornament. Within a week, the moment the new bride paid regards, she lost her anger.  

She was modern in her approach. She had liked my mother – a cousin of my eldest aunt and had asked for her hand for my father when she was just 15 and in school. But she didn’t crush her in family rituals instead became a true mother. She allowed her complete the studies up to PG level and go for job, at the same time took care of us.  

She knew to fight for her rights as well. In early eighties when her social work job was being abolished from railways, she had the courage to go to Delhi and meet the then PM Mrs. Indra Gandhi and follow her case. We would not even think of it now.

Her obsession in her last years was TV. A staunch fan of Dada Muni – she would not miss the chitrahaars, the Sunday movies, Ramayan & Humlog on DD.  Even if our exams would be around, she would manage to persuade and we would be required to move to the other floors.

Thus was she – “An Iron Lady” – with strong will power, soft at heart – predicting the reverse. - A love for her progeny, ready to sacrifice. Verbose but compassionate. A self made lady – never ready to take help. 

Even when she died in 85, the attack was so strong that we didn’t even get time to think. I saw her vexing sons crying clinging to each other. I always say: even when she died – she united her son’s. She was always there to give something.

Aditya Sinha 

Originally poisted on Sulekha as a tribute to womenhood :The Iron Lady - A tribute to my Grand Mother 

Confession Of A Generation

Confession of a Generation

 

 

 

The beast opened its eyes. It had been a hundred years since he was stoned. Today was the appointed day. It fluttered its wings and took a round. The city appeared a lot different. The vegetation vasts had given way to concrete clusters. He had to judge his own experience of the whole day, he remembered. He can’t go down and move in the city like this.

He transformed himself. A tall strongly built hunk. He removed his wings and the chimneyed horns.

 

Contended with his looks, assured, he can now challenge any handsome as one of the most sought for bachelor, he jumped on the road to start his journey, a quest for eternity. For if he is convinced with the development over the years, he’ll get a life to share with all – out from the stone. He moved expectantly, jubilant.

 

The road seemed familiar. There is the big olive garden and the grape vine only a little far away, he thought. He wanted to start the day with a feast on fresh grapes.

He hurried his steps. A left turn and then a right and then left again. But green was never to appear - neither on the road-side en-route nor as an orchard aloof.

“Instead what’s this?”

- Clustered dwellings, towering overhead, piercing horizon and shielding the warmth that candidly came from Lord. He was better seated on the roof top over there under the serene abode of the divinity. At least he enjoyed his blessings uninterrupted, he thought.

He moved in search of the row of houses, with the huge groved front gardens and the vined green backyards. He might get something fresh over there. His quest to quench continued till he sensed some sweet aroma round the corner. He increased his pace. There was no green in the view. Instead, it came from a colourful edifice at the end. He entered the huge hall. It was crammed and decked, youthful and rejoicing. He followed the aroma towards the back. None seem to be bothered. There in the corner sat some future-in-making, lost in themselves.

“What are you up to”?

“We are feasting?

“I want something fresh”.

“Try this”. One of the youth passed to him a lighted cigarette.

It appeared something familiar to him of his ages. He tried a fag. “Fascinating”! He said. “But you are too young for these”.

“Oh man! We have better”. You would feel at the seventh heaven. He passed some powder to be put in the cigarette and a syringe to him.

“I am not ill. I don’t want this syringe”.

“It would give you pleasure”. And the guy helped him inject the pleasure liquid.

He felt his head go tossing, his mind swirled uncontrolled. He lay there feeling in the seventh heaven. (drugs having the control)

Suddenly, there was a jostle. All the future-in-making tried running helter and shelter. He tried too. But none had the strength to stand on his own feet. He too fell down. He was bundled in the van waiting outside.

“Stay here till your parents come for the rescue”. He was pushed in the cell along with the others.   

One by one Parents came to rescue their children. The future was waiting for the past to come and help their present, he thought. He’ll have to help himself. He pleaded the cops to leave him as he had no one of his own. 

The cops felt pity. They gave him some good scold and left him. He came out.

The Sun was down. He had lost the day. In the far he could see a large campus with only oldies. Hoping to get some good experience he hurried towards them. His head still tossed and the belly churned.

There were hordes of them. All in their grey years, tranquilly clad. Sitting alone or sharing silence with others. The eyes fixed on the gate – dry and hollow. Perhaps with an everlasting wait. The heart - longing. In the center, under a large Banyan tree lay a small stool, decked. A white cake as truce as the faces of these past kept on it. Atop of it – written in blood red was “Happy 100th B’day”. And there stood that b’day baby – all alone. None of the “present” whom he developed into lusturous “future” were in the reckoning. Only surrounded by written off pasts like himself.  

He resembles me, he thought and moved forward towards the old man. He helped him pick the knife and cut the cake. The others surrounding wished him happiness. None wanted any long-life. All shared the cake and diffused.

The old man still stood there. His eyes were dry. -The ears yet yearning to hear the chores from his children. - His arms waiting to hold the strong hands. - His heart longing for a love. - Some pride some belongingness. The wishes appeared gory.   

 

It was dark. He knew it was time to return to its being. The Gargoyle was waiting for him.

 

The world is no more a better place to live, He thought. The past has lost respect. The present has no control. And the future is endangered. How can this world continue? He couldn’t choose to be alive for ever. He would be required to return to the stone and wait for another hundred years. True to his inner self, he transformed to his self. The horns on the head, the wings awaiting flutter.

 

Aditya Sinha

(Originally posted on Sulekha in response to EYC 61 :confession of a generation )