World

Blueberry.

Unknown Painting by Joseph Zbukvic
Painting by Joseph Zbukvic

 

As I clutch his hand and walk away from school, I ask him, “Can I have ice cream later?”. He nods and strides ahead quickly, while I try catching up with him. I try to walk fast, trying to fix my brown bob and adjust my little bag on my tiny shoulders. My cheeks turned red from the winter breeze. Unable to match with his pace, he picks me up and gently places me on his shoulders.

I could see the world from there. I could view the tops of people’s heads while they passed by. I could see the buildings, the trams, the statues and trees all better. It used to be nice to not feel the distress of not being able to view places while I strolled.

My mother imagined I would be spoiled if I would always demand to sit on his shoulders. So I asked him whenever only we both walked together. Though he knew how much I loved observing, for all the drawings I made of the things I saw outside, nature I loved being present in and the peculiar details of certain personalities I saw.

I vividly remember as soon as I was placed, with each step he hummed, like a soldier marching. “Hmm, hmmm!” he sang in a deep voice as he confidently paced in synchronicity while we head towards the ice cream shop.

We arrive and he places me down, asking me to select the flavours. I was never the person who would follow suggestions. So even though my father asked me to try pistachio, I would always go for the most unusual looking ice cream colour. I pointed at blueberry and looked up at the young woman in her apron. She smiled and asked in Italian, “So you’ve picked blueberry? Any other flavour you would like to add sweetheart?” I looked around with wide eyes, examining every flavour. I could not read by then, so I could only distinguish their uniqueness with the colour or perhaps if any fruit was drawn on the placards. I nodded in negative and waited for my ice cream to be handed over.

My father was right. Pistachio is indeed worth the try. But I am glad I made my own choices. I was given the space to learn from my own experiences. He and I are uncannily similar when it comes to our wants to explore. He learns from me and I learn from him. And together we grow, understanding each other.

The lady in the apron looks at me like I am the purest form of joy breathing. Perhaps I was. My concentration was fixated upon the curiosity of tasting that blue coloured ice cream. And it was all. All the worry was there. Whether it would disappoint me, and I would have come back again some other day to try another flavour.

 

 

Poetry

Calm.

Anonymous Artist

 

Cars moving in disorder,
something like the chaos in my head
but in harmony with the leaves
of branches hanging in dismay.

To seek more beauty,
I look up towards the dark horizon.
The grey clouds and the frightened birds,
shrilling across the skyline.

I’m so happy to see the world like it is,
that I would cry tears of joy.
Except I couldn’t,
and I shamed in the inability.

So nature took pity
and covered my face with tears from the sky,
soaking everything to deceive the imaginary
and explicate the real. 

The branches stopped and went to sleep,
so the people had to leave too.
But I didn’t, because I was not a dancer.
Only an observer. 

I felt happy, in that moment of stillness,
until stillness felt torturous.
And I turned towards my car,
longing to seek confusion anew.

 

World

How realistic is being plastic-free?

agriculture-bottles-close-up-2505705.jpg

Recently there have been trending changes in environmental sustainability and conscious consumerism, driven primarily by the Millennial generation. We are being flooded by posts on environmental mindfulness on our social media, influencing us to be a part of the change.

The increase of plastic in the Earth’s environment has been adversely affecting wildlife, natural surroundings and humans in ways we are mildly aware. Plastic is the most preferred by production companies for its inexpensiveness and durability.  The chemical composition of most plastics makes them immune to organic processes of degradation and as a result, they are almost impossible to decompose.

Due to this, we have a high prominence of plastic pollution in the environment. Normally, plastic items can take up to 1000 years to decompose in landfills.

To find this out I will try to live plastic-free for seven days and tell you how much it is possible to live in an urban environment without accepting a single object that is made of or is packaged in plastic.

 

Stay Tuned.

Travel

A Solo Trip Isn’t Impossible!

Hello people. I know it has been a while since I have posted anything. I have been busy collecting good stuff for you all to share. Recently I went on a solo trip and it was a marvellous experience.

Aurobindo Ashram, Pondicherry.
Aurobindo Ashram, Pondicherry, India.

It is sometimes overwhelming to think of going for a trip alone, as a woman. But it can be a pleasurable and comfortable experience, keeping in mind some points:

  1. Plan your itinerary beforehand. It is very important to know where you would be going, and the places you would be visiting, in order to avoid wandering.
  2. Be confident, or fake it. People commonly do not notice if you look like somebody who knows where to go, even if you don’t. If people ask questions, avoid letting them know. Smile and ignore. You know where you have to go.
  3. Knowing how to drive a two or four-wheeler helps tremendously when you have to travel in and around the city. Since I did not have the driving license of any of the two, I hired a bicycle, which is just fine if you want to travel in a radius of 5kms.
  4. Don’t overtire yourself during the trip. I had been super excited to visit places, because of which I was forcibly taking myself to places even though some part of my mind wanted to go home and sleep. If your plans to visit clash with your health, your wellness and sanity come first.
  5. Chatting with people around you makes the trip even more interesting. It helps you learn more about their local culture and customs, and you would feel backed having acquaintances around you.

 

I would be glad to assist all my girl readers and would want to share any other tips out of sheer love, as you took your time to read my blog. These can be good tips for even guys who are still indecisive about the idea of vacationing by themselves.

 

Sukanya.

Poetry

Eternal Lullaby

leon-perrault-mother-with-child

She hummed to me,
a faint lullaby
etched in a corner,
of my numb mind.

Her wrinkled hands,
caressed my scalp in pauses,
running her thick fingers
through my tangled hair.

I know this cradle song
since I started to utter words of my own,
and carefully listen to her sing
the story of the king,
who fights the monster alone.

I watch the white walls,
project me as the king,
battling my monsters
and return home in victory.

Suddenly her voice breaks.

She pauses, and I know why.

But again, she continues to sing,
this time on sadder notes.
Her fat lap and stout fingers,
give more comfort,
than the dull hospital ward,
and the foreign pillow.

My mother is beautiful,
in her grace and strength,
concealing her inner devastation.

I am not afraid to die,
for I spent my last breaths
in a place I call home.

My mother’s eternal lullaby.

Sukanya. ©

Poetry

Raw

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Unknown Artist

 

 

 

Have you stayed raw lately
With your flesh still clinging to your soul
changing skins
For every excuse and rationalisation

Raw is denied, raw is abhorred
Raw is uncomplex, naked in all senses
From raw we escape
And raw we want to seek

And no, it’s not a necessity because
Sometimes you’ll pause and stare
For you’ll forget your real one
With all the masks you wore

You’ll often call the false one your own.

Until it will give an itch
And crawl up under your skin
Infect your heart
And murder your soul

You’ll realize you’re sick
Struck with a terminal disease
Life will become a nauseous ride
And plenty of time of endure

For I am raw.

 

 

Sukanya.

Poetry

Work.

 

Alex Pillin.jpg
Artwork By Alex Pilin

 

The dark sheets are tangling,
and so is my spirit to keep myself awake
in the wee hours of the morning.

I have to work
and by work, I intend
lending my knowledge and substance
to thieves smiling in suits.

They call it called work.
The ultimatum of fifteen years
of dreaming with open eyes
of having the power to change.

I am being consciously robbed by society.
And my people are the accomplices
because of their worldly possessions
of talents and the ability to dream were snatched too

They want you to exchange
these treasured belongings of yours
like your gift of creating magic with sounds
or evoke feelings with mere words

for coloured paper with unmatched worth
they put a price tag on your ways of life
ask you to sell your worth

in replacement for attractive litter
calling commodities obligations of life.

You know, you know all.
Yet you prefer to blindfold your eyes
and enjoy the distress

Your real riches are validation
You celebrate sadness
Your value misery
And misery you chase to seek,
and recommend your loved ones too.

Like pills, society prescribes it
drugs themselves of ignorance.
My ancestors did it, and so will I.
I will go to work too.

 

 

Sukanya.
©reserved.

Poetry

Me and my storm.

sea-waves-storms-rocks-dark-1080P-wallpaper-middle-size

 

I stand on a slippery rock
while huge waves roar beside me,
foaming white and grey.

I quite not remember how I arrived but,
The hard blue sea is the only horizon I see
for my eyes don’t reach lands, or any humanity

This sea is powerful,
but I wonder whether it ever exhausts
of being in a constant storm and conflict

I am tired, of watching this sea every day.
I calm one wave, a thousand more erupt

And then I send a bottled message to my lover,
“Please help me.”
desperately crawling around the small rock,
bearing the wild sea, waiting for the aid

Perhaps it is a mirage
but the rock I am stranded on,
becomes smaller,
and the sea ever more monstrous

It is beyond my control, this havoc
I am tiny to this mighty phenomenon
There is nothing I can do
except wait for the rage to calm itself

The only thing I dread that
I may have finally accepted that,
this is where I belong.

Me and my storm.

 

 

Sukanya.