Deep Ties

                                                                                                                Pinterest The #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay Challenge has come to an end with many of us having written 28 posts in 28 days across the month of February. The objective was to complete 10,000 words by the 28 th of February. It was a wonderful challenge, especially since one had the freedom to write on any topic under the sun. In my case, the common theme that ran through was that all the posts came under ‘Tales of Exclusivity’, in some form or the other. I managed to complete 10,000 words by post number 14 on February 14th. I would like to put down the titles of all 28 posts that I wrote across February along with their word counts. #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay- Tales of Inclusivity 1/2/22: Why Fit in When You Were Born to Stand Out – 786 words 2/2/22: The New Girl – 1470 words 3/2/22: The Little Whistler: 1203 words 4/2/22: Our Conscience Within Us – 943 words

                                                                              Pinterest.com The end of the road can mean so many different things, For a traveller who is lost, it could be his destination at sight, After a gruelling journey, time to take a well-deserved rest, Tired limbs and body, thoughts of a warm meal and a soft bed.   For a young student, it could mean the last part of his labour, Years of study and diligence, nose on the grindstone, The light is nigh; the examinations a welcome break, From the monotony of books, lectures and teachers’ plaints.   The soon-to-be mother keeps her spirits high, as she waits, Her husband keeps her happy, these days are precious to both, The baby decides whether to stay in or come out, Due dates coinciding often with great expectations.   The end of the road can mean so many things: The gaining of a doctorate, a degree or a prize, The farmer’s good harvest, when the grain is threshed, The businessman’s reaping of his profit when the year

                                                                         Moms-in-love                                                       Photo Credits: Deepti Menon February 1984 was a landmark year in our lives, the year we got married. As they say, in India, one marries not just the boy but his entire family, and vice versa. My husband was suddenly hurled into a family of all women… my grandmother, my mother, my two sisters, and of course, me! Even the pet at home was Coffee, a rather belligerent female! Or was it Tansi, a cocker spaniel with gnarled hair and a snarly temperament to match? Anyway, my grandfather was the only male in the house, and since he had spent years and years with the ‘girls’, he did not really find it irksome, unlike my husband who was not really used to so many women in the house. Besides, his mom-in-love and he had only begun to realise that they were equally hard nuts to crack. It was a different life for me as well. I had never lived in any other ho

                                                                                                                           Pinterest.com Shakespeare certainly had the right idea in ‘Romeo and Juliet’ when he wrote “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose /By any other name would smell as sweet.” How wonderful the words sound when rolled around the tongue! This quote has become one of the most popular ones of all times, with people throwing it casually into a conversation that revolves around names. However, I have had my reservations about the quote from the time people began misspelling my name. My name is a simple one – DEEPTI – nothing more, nothing less. One would have assumed that there was no way to get it wrong. Deepthi, Deepthy, Dethpi, Deputy, Dipti, Tipsy (the last was by a tiny Nursery child in school!) – the list could go on and on. The main reason for these variations is the barrier caused by the sweeping Vindhyas. Folks up North do not use the ‘h’ in names – V

                                                                         GoRevizon Everybody loved her. For her sparkling eyes, her lustrous strands of hair that tumbled over her forehead and her tinkling laughter. The entire colony doted on her because where Minali was, there was joy and laughter. Mrs. Nair never tired of singing the girl’s praises. “Kumari, you should place a black dot behind Minali’s ear to ward off the evil eye!” she cautioned her. Kumari smiled at the older lady, “Sure, Mrs. Nair. I will do it before she goes to college tomorrow,” she would say with a smile. She knew Mrs. Nair meant well, and that she loved Minali dearly. As college days began coming to an end, horoscopes began to make their way home. Photographs of boys lay on the dining table and every time Minali was down for a meal, she would have half a dozen photos alongside her plate. “Amma, could we do this later. Some of these photos could easily ruin my appetite,” she would say with a twinkle

                                                                         Boom Sumo The other day I was sitting in my colleague’s office when a lady walked in. She wished my colleague and sat down on a chair before her. When I ventured a ‘Hello’, she gave me a sidelong glance and a cursory nod, which quite fazed me, because she knew me well and had never ever behaved in quite such an icy manner. Obviously, there were many issues churning within her that, frankly, I did not care to delve into. The conversation continued and soon I realized that I was not going to be given the privilege of being acknowledged by the said individual. My nature being as pacific as the ocean until I am pushed, I got up and strolled away, because I did not want to be rude. When I did return a while later, I said only one thing to her. “I wish you well always, even though I do not think you want to talk to me.” With that, I left, and by the time I had reached my room, she was history. Politeness is one

                                                              The Indian Express “Those were the days, my friend, we thought they’d never end…” That was the song that went through my mind, many years ago, when I was waiting at the dingy, overcrowded passport office at Chennai, a building that spoke of desperation and perspiration. People milled about, clutching at files that held precious documents that would decide if they were eligible for a passport or not. The queues were serpentine, an unbroken chain that meandered across the lobby, crawled up the stairs and stood for hours outside tiny cubicles where officials sat, getting more and more irritable with every hour that went by. God help those who were at the end of the queue for they were often at the receiving end of frayed tempers and bad behaviour, for no fault of theirs. Having been part of the Indian Army, with my husband being posted to myriad places every two to three years, my passport got misplaced even as it tried fra

                                                            Credits: Gopi Menon There is this little creature who is the biggest ray of sunshine in our lives. She came to us 36 years back, and when she opened her big brown eyes, my husband and I were over the moon. It was as if we had been handed a bumper prize in the lottery. She grew, year by year, and every year was a revelation to us. Priyanka, our daughter, is 36 today. Many years back, when she was born, our bond was created, and it has only grown stronger with every year. As she gamboled around with our beautiful Labradors, or invited her friends for a sleepover, or won prizes at school in debating, extempore or essay writing, our hearts swelled with pride. She was the eternal Pied Piper, and she would probably tell you today that her motley clothes did remind one of him. However, her real talent was shepherding a whole lot of young ones who would follow her around adoringly. She was the typical Army kid, well mannered, soci

                                                                  Biblio.com I have always been an admirer of the Romantic poets. Wordsworth, Keats and Shelley are the names that jump out when we talk about this era, but this post deals with another equally renowned poet, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who was their contemporary. ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ is a poem that influenced me deeply in school, and later on, when I taught it, which was when all its nuances revealed themselves to me. So many threads weave together to make this a poem both symbolic and lyrical. The poem, which first appeared in Lyrical Ballads, a collaboration between Wordsworth and Coleridge in 1798, is a poem in seven parts, written in loose ballad stanzas of varying lengths. The poem begins with a wedding guest who was stopped by an ancient mariner who held him with “his glittering eye” and forced him to listen to his story. There was a wedding in progress on board, and the guest was eager to attend it,