How To Cook A Perfect Mother

Today, let’s dive straight into how to cook a perfect mother; it’s a simple recipe.

Ingredients:

  • A 19-year-old girl
  • A slightly misogynist man
  • A masculine society

Note: Before we start, ensure that the girl is pure to avoid contamination to the family blood.

Step 1: Take the girl in front of the mirror and make her as desirable as possible.

Step 2: Now, slowly fry her brains about how to make her man happy by cooking delicious meals. Allow her to learn enough to be a good housewife, but not too much so that she starts dreaming about being independent and following her passion.

Step 3: (Important step) Just when she starts to enjoy her life, quickly put a baby in her belly. Don’t forget to pressurize her for nine months to bear a boy.

Step 4: Let her be busy for the next 2–3 years in taking care of her child.

Step 5: Keep the woman underfed with n number of fasting rituals for her husband’s and children’s long and healthy lives.

Step 6: Garnish her with beautiful sarees and exquisite jewelry so that the picture for the Mother’s Day looks adorable.

And thus, your perfect mother is ready to serve for masculine society.

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I Blame Distance

I blame the distance
that killed us,
not the long fights
that led to weeks of silence,
that told my brain this isn’t working anymore,
that convinced my heart this won’t work ever.

We still talk because we miss each other,
and somehow I miss you even more.
Behind this mobile screen, there sits you,
who no longer is mine,
who is now unrecognizable.

I know the fault was ours,
we should’ve chosen love over pride,
affection over vanity.

So, I blame the distance instead
that killed us
just because it is easier
than blaming you or me
or us.

Is Social Media Still A Place To Share Your Feelings?

When I was in 10th standard, I opened my Facebook account and thought this is a good platform to share thoughts and quotes of well-known writers. Now, I somehow think, I have been thinking wrongly.

My parents taught me to share. Share your happiness, it will multiply. Share your sadness, it will diminish. Willingness to share my daily life was what made me write my first journal. I used to write essays and poems that my mother always loved, my best friend liked, and my other friends simply ignored. When I was in 10th standard, I opened my Facebook account and thought this is a good platform to share thoughts and quotes of well-known writers. Now, I somehow think, I have been thinking wrongly.

In the time and age, when we are so close to developing true artificial intelligence, I would like to spend time with some real people and like to know how their day was, what were their challenges? But, while I love to see people being successful in their lives, I realized people never share their sorrows as quickly as they share their other “trophy moments”.

Somehow people have become more artificial than robots. My Facebook page has a pattern. As soon as I open my Facebook page, I come across one of my friends who got married, then someone going abroad for higher studies, then someone traveling to Bali with 4 others, someone sharing some political, unthoughtful opinion, and loads and loads on memes based on recent Netflix series.

I felt like am I the only one who has problems in life and others have sorted things out? Nonetheless, I blogged about my sorrows and struggles. However, the response was completely heartbreaking. The comments were not at all supportive. The top comments included “why are you always sad?”, “go out, travel the world, there is more to life than your sad story”, or “are you depressed?”.

Now when I have taken time to think about this, I have realized a brutal truth. Social media is no longer a place where you can share your feelings.

I find it sad that many of my friends love to go to their jobs that they hate, just because they are clueless about what they could do if they stay home. Social media provides a quick gateway from feeling lonely and helper in procrastination. It is a kind of addiction. The urge of opening Facebook page and monitoring Instagram likes is unruly. Social media addition would sound preposterous for some people as it brings them on the same level of alcohol and drug addicts.

The irony is I’m writing this on social media platform and would post this on my Facebook page and post link on Instagram bio, but frankly, I’m not looking for increased number of retweets, reblogs, likes, comments, shares, and followers. There were things in my mind, clouding my other thoughts, and this one is holding me back from thinking straight. My next post will be a sad story or a hilarious one. Who knows? But I intend to keep it real. I don’t want to lose myself in the Fakebook and Instafraud just to make myself more likable in others’ eyes.

It’s a Glittery World

It’s a glittery world.
Look at the bride,
the gold, silver, diamonds,
look at all that she’s wearing,
but a smile.

It was a costly affair,
her marriage,
for which her father paid
with a house,
with a car,
with a life.

Embrace Your Fear

I put on the makeup because I need an armor to protect my scared self.

Concealer hides my dark circles, dark secrets and lipstick my ripped lips, ripped soul.

But, there hangs my mirror that sees everything.

One day, it said, throw it all in the dustbin, let yourself see you truly.

You have spent enough days hiding from people, don’t hide from you now.

With trembling hands, I let go of my protective gears, And faced the mirror once again.

I cried for a moment or minutes or hours, I don’t remember.

“I have nothing,” I said to the reflection.

You have fear, feel it, embrace it.

You have at least fear for me to mimic.

Old Closet

Long back when I moved to an old town, in an old house with old windows,

I saw an old closet in an old room.

I opened its door and went past the old shirts and coats.

I entered into another world that was just like ours.

I found my family and they were beyond belief.

In this world, my parents were together and my sister had a dog.

My friends were in touch and my grandma was still alive.

I told them I was from another world and they all laughed till their bellies hurt.

I dragged them to the closet and showed them how to get past the old coats.

They said If I loved my world so much why did I ever search for another?

It has been thirty years,

I’m now married to my schoolmate and live next to my parents.

I have twins, Lily and Daisy.

I tell them stories of my old life, my old world, my old parents

that I left beyond the old closet.

You’re not welcome

I wanted much more and you never cared.
I searched for shelter at the eye of a hurricane.
I let myself live life which was the figment of your imagination.
And I lost myself in you so much that in the end,
I couldn’t find you or me.

She came like a thud in the quiet afternoon.
She shook my shoulders till I realize I still exist.
She pushed me over the edge till I think of nothing but myself.
When I came back, I brought back my shadow & found my nerve along the way.

Now I don’t think of her or him or them; I think of myself.
You can call me self-centered all you want.
But this is the gift that I gave myself,
This is the sandcastle that I built for me,
Where no one is welcomed, least of all you.

Thank You For Nothing — Frank Solanki

Thank you for teaching me How to break a heart How to kill the feelings inside How to let go Thank you for teaching me That love could be temporary That love could be impure That love could be fake Thank you for showing me How to make false promises How to lie to a […]

via Thank You For Nothing — Frank Solanki

There plays a tape in my head

There plays a tape in my head
of the rainy night
when you bit my neck without leaving a mark
to show the world that I’m yours.

There plays a tape in my head
of the thunderstorm & fire that you ignited
when you lifted me against the wall & checked
if our hearts beat together.

There plays a tape in my mind
of my silent yes for which
you waited breathlessly before
breaching the boundaries between us.

There plays a tape in my mind
of the storm that couldn’t shun my voice
when you let me moan, scream, shiver
without covering my mouth.

There plays a tape in my mind
when you let me explore myself
like a nomad traveling his hometown.

There plays a tape in my mind
when you helped me put on my dress
as easily as you removed it,
when you planted a kiss on my forehead
and left without saying a word.

There plays a tape in my mind
of the rainy night
when I accepted the fact that
that one night fling meant more than
my year-long, taken for granted relationship.

Mother, you’ve done enough

Woman, trust me, I can be of help.
I know, I haven’t seen enough monsoons like you,
For once, will you trust me?

You have been wronged.
This sacrifice isn’t a part of a marriage.
You don’t have to live with the mistake you made ages ago.
You don’t need to deal with the devil every day so that your daughter can live happily.
You have raised a lioness; unbounded by society’s eyes.

This isn’t about him anymore.
You need to sit in the driver’s seat now.
Tell me where you want to go, I’ll be your map.
Take my hand, we’ll watch new dawns together; we have seen enough sunsets.

Mother, you have done enough, it’s time, let me be your guardian now.
Woman, trust me this once, I can be of help.
Give your daughter a chance to be your mother.