A Never Ending Summer

The little hand plucked a vibrant purple flower. A smile spread across her pretty baby face. With winter gone, summer had taken over in all its glory. Her favourite season. The warmth of the sunshine made her feel happy.
Simaya was going home today and was overjoyed. She sat outside on the grass, wondering what it would be like. “They seemed like wonderful people. I’ll call him baba,” she thought aloud, “and the lovely lady who came to visit me yesterday, asked me to call her maa. Yes, so that’s settled, maa and baba.”
Just then, Miss Rose came out to see her. They had finally come to take her. Maa and baba. Formalities completed, it was time Simaya bid adieu to the place that had kept her for the first 7 years of her life; most of which she had no memory.
No longer would she have to live in the orphanage. No more rebukes from Miss Rose. No more going to bed hungry. Above all, no more sorrow, no more winter.
The beautiful radiant face of that gentle natured woman, who she’d call maa from today, gave her a sense of assurance. The surety she had been longing for. Baba called out to her and Simaya went skipping away with them. The sun smiled down upon her, as though blessing the child with a guarantee of a bright future, like a never ending summer.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

The Goddess

She can read your mind
Before you speak,
She knows you’re hurt
Before you weep,
Fights a million silent battles
But knows no defeat,
She may be hurt
But sure isn’t weak;
Heart large as the ocean
And equally deep
She walks beside you,
Yet in temples you seek;
She’s the same “goddess”
You pray to in mandirs
And prey on in the streets;
She’s not your toy!
Not your property!
O society, wake up and see
Her incessant struggle against atrocities;
She has the right to be free,
What ever happened to equality?
It’s about time you realize,
Goddess, mother, daughter, wife –
You are because of she,
Without her, you wouldn’t be;
She is your all in one,
She… Is a woman.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

A Life Full Of Colour

Every day on her way to school, Asha walked past the slum and invariably encountered the little boy. That little boy, of about 8-10 years, with sad brown eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Every morning she found him right there. Sitting on the floor, leaning on the wall of his ramshackle shanty, staring blankly into space. She didn’t know what drew her to him or why he reminded her of herself. All she knew was that he was terribly poor and terribly sad. She often caught herself thinking, ‘he’s only a small child. I wish I was rich and had lots of money so I could do something for him.’
Holi was just around the corner. An indicator of the advent of spring, the season of new hope. Hope, that’s what her name meant too. Maybe that’s why she’d always had a mental connection with this festival of colours!
It was Thursday, the day before Holi. Asha was on her way back from the market after making a huge purchase of water pistols and gulaal. She was eagerly awaiting the family reunion and Holi celebration. That’s when she saw him again. The little boy.
She was about to look away and walk off as usual only to drown herself in guilt later. Without a substantial amount of money she couldn’t possibly do a thing for him, could she? She didn’t have that kind of money. Barely had she taken another step, when she felt drops of water fall on her face. It had started drizzling and with the first shower of the year, Asha felt a strange feeling. A sense of liberation and courage. It was as thought the Heavens had opened up to give her a sign. She immediately opened up a pack of colours, beckoned to the boy and offered it to him. He hesitated and then stepped forward. She applied a little colour to her own face and smiled. He did the same and smiled too. That was the first time she saw a glimmer in those vacant eyes. A tiny troop of children from the slum joined in their mini celebration. They laughed and enjoyed the colours and the rain.
Much to her mother’s astonishment, Asha returned home drenched and colored but with a spring in her step and smile on her face. She’d realized you don’t need to be rich to add a dash of colour to someone’s life. Nor do you need to be wealthy to feel content. All you need is a willing heart and smile to live a life full of colour.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.