Hello, hello ready for some fun with sticks and stones? The virtual kind are the best and thanks to Cee I never thought I would ever be fearlessly playing this game. This week the topic is either Sticks and Stones. As usual Cee gives wings to sticks and stones as well and we are allowed to be creative and have fun with this challenge. How could I resist eh? 😉
Off we go…
Some serious contemplation of sticks. Perhaps they too have a challenge that they need to participate in 😉
When sticks stick to the ground…
Sticks and stones – big ones. 😉
This one evokes envy – one can only dream of the peace and contentment in his life 😀
No pebbles here but it’s made of stone – a contemplative stone 😀
I used to love reading books in this pose, once upon a time – do you/did you?
Time for a break on a sticky stand 🙂 Love the bilingual message 😀 We all do deserve one break at least!
Here’s the break time complete with stick spoons 🙂 Yes it was delicious
One of my favorite notices that I found at a hotel in Goa and so apt for the times we live in. It was on a stick type frame, just in case you were wondering.
Thank you for dropping by and do leave me a note – they make my day! Cheers
Hello and welcome to Friday Fictioneer’s party hosted by Rochelle where we all are invited to post a story in 100 words or less based on the photo prompt (with due credit to the contributor). Click here to join or read the other stories on this prompt.
Hello and good day to you. Today I am participating in Eugi’s Moonwashed Weekly Prompt. The prompt is Magical Village. It can be any variation of the prompt or the image (below).
The photo is rather magical and made me throw caution to the wind and attempt a free verse. Actually, I am not even sure, if that’s what it is – anyway, here goes.
The World of Trees
Fireflies line the path
Magical village
Hiding in plain sight
A lush rustling village
No wants and little needs
Strife there was none.
Oblivious of taunts, curses
and betrayals
Partners for life with
ample space for young’uns
Once they grew roots
they too stayed put.
Some were short, some tall
some colorful, some shy
The naked and the bedecked
together, no bite in their bark
Phoenix rising from the ashes,
They were that magical.
Passing travellers stop by
Catch a break,
have a stretch, grab a bite,
Scratch an itch or build a home
They leave without even
A hug, a pat or a backward glance
Once in a while
When the weather is fine,
a light wind blowing
they nod and
wave to each other
going about their daily chores
Day in and day out, these
voiceless master chefs concoct
magic out of thin air
Some make tea, some coffee
Offering children of their heart
an arm, a leg, their whole being
With no expectations
the tireless village plods on
in pursuit of its
Endless thankless task
-- Feed and sustain
20 quintillion lives and counting
***
Thanks for visiting and your kind comments and suggestions. Have a super weekend.
Note (8/10/23): I changed the title of the poem as I felt that otherwise the poem was very obscure for most readers. Do let me know your thoughts. Thanks
Hello! Hope you are having a super day. Here’s my attempt to participate in the weekly flash fiction party hosted by Rochelle where everyone is welcome to join. Click here to read the other stories inspired by the photo prompt below.
“But Madam,” Rekha pleaded, “30th was the agreed date. Chikankari* is handmade, it’s time-consuming and back-breaking ….”
“I can pay extra.”
“They’re award winning artisans, one can’t just order…”
“How about 30% extra?”
“I‘ll request them.”
“So darn hot!” Rekha moaned at her artisan’s makeshift shop, a mat, under the banyan tree.
The wizened woman looked up from her embroidery.
“When will my order be ready?”
“Another 10 days.”
“5 days.”
“Sorry Madamji. My son isn’t well and my…”
“Not my business. For each day’s delay, I will deduct 10%.
***
A/N * Chikankari is the technique of creation of a chikan work, which is a delicate hand embroidery on a variety of textile fabrics. Traditional chikankari is white floral embroidery on soft pastel shades of light muslin and cotton. You may visit this link for more information
Thanks for visiting. Would love to know your thoughts. Have a great day 🙂
Hello, hope you are having a grand day. Today I am attempting to participate in a new challenge hosted by XingfuMama which is about Whatsoever is Lovely Challenge – It could be anything: a picture or you can go into detail and tell it as a reflection, story or poem.
I would like to present a true story. It happened on my recent travels to Gavi near Thekkady, Kerala, India, where I found myself guilty of being biased and judgemental.
Here we were at a viewpoint deep in the midst of the rolling gorgeous greenery of the Gavi inside the Ranni reserve forest. The sky was overcast and breeze was cool and I was in seventh heaven of delight. I gobbled up the sights – the short tree, the light green, the stocky one, the balding one, while the driver-cum-guide attempted to spot wildlife for our perusal.
To be honest, there were none. Just a couple of dogs, mom and child, gambolling about. What do they eat in this wilderness I wondered. I was distracted by another jeep load of chattering tourists that drove up to ‘our’ point and disembarked. There goes our peace and silence.
One of the tourists went straight to the parked truck. Can you imagine? At this scenic sight, all he could think of was food? Or perhaps a try at the balloons? Sheesh. I rolled my eyes.
I flushed and cringed at my petty thinking. He had rushed to buy biscuits for the dogs. Hats off to the kind gentleman with his heart in the right place.
“Individuality should be celebrated, not judged.” From the internet
Reposting an old post from a couple of years ago – would love to know your thoughts 🙂
As a matter of principle I don’t meddle in affairs of the heart but I came across this piece by Rosemarie Urquico that I thought was too good not to share. Anyone who needs a bit of advice on which kind of girl to date – read on or pass it on 😉
“You should date a girl who reads.
Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes.”
Ever since I read this piece, I have been wanting share it. It is a feel good article that makes the ‘dated’ (for want of a better word, at least in my kitty) feel special and great about themselves. Regardless of whether anyone else is inspired to date her or not.
But strangely enough as I begin the actual posting process doubts began to creep in. Is it really sound advice? Apart from the fact that he will be saving a lot of money on gifts; ) A critical factor that seems to have been overlooked is whether the ‘dater’ too is a reader. Can he discuss Murakami, quote Neruda? (Not that I can!) Or is this a given and second nature for men? Is hecomfortable with the idea of a thinking girl? Someone who is her own person, able to make her own decisions, walk the less traveled road, is complete by herself (give or take a few gazillion words).
And if there is such a man, then I would advice her to grab him and never let him go.
Look forward to reading your thoughts, reactions, opinions, comments….
Edit 1
I came back to this post to add my belated nebulous thoughts with apologies to the author and her brilliant piece. For it is a diamond glowing and shining dispelling the darkness, giving up hope that one day we will find that one person who will realize our true worth (and possibly push us beyond ourselves) and love us forever and forever.
And therein lies the trap that young girls fall into – at least in these parts.
We always want to be loved, be appreciated, be valued, be understood, nurtured, cherished, forgiven etc etc.
When we should be looking for the person who interests us, fascinates us, engages us, intrigues us, and makes us want to nurture, cherish and look beyond the many flaws that make him who he is.
It is my understanding that men (apologies for the blanket generalizations that follow) are notoriously like children – fascinated by new toys. They won’t rest until they have taken apart the pieces of that one toy which attracts their attention, got to the bottom of it before throwing it away, broken and mangled.
Knowing that why don’t girls look (instead of waiting to be looked at or picked up) for that person who fascinates, intrigues and enraptures her enough to overlook the myriad glitches that are part and parcel of the package deal? For her first teddy bear, no matter how threadbare it maybe still finds a place in her bed and heart forever and ever.
But then again, like I said, I don’t like to meddle in affairs of the heart – take my advice and find your own path instead of following another ignoramus’ advice 😉
Like me.
I almost never follow my advice and frequently disagree with my own views 😀
Amidst thunderous applause Kali walked up to the dais to receive her award from the President of India. Not just a wife and mother, she was a woman of substance – of the likes of Madame Curie. Pride and exultation filled her as she surveyed her family cheering and clapping until their throats and hands were sore.
“Wonderful groundbreaking work Madam,” the interviewer gushed. “You are truly an inspiration for all women and we are extremely proud of you.”
“Thank you.” Kali said modestly.
“Tell us Madam who was your inspiration on this long and difficult journey in a male dominated field?”
“My inspiration?” Kali laughed. “Everyone!”
“That’s interesting. Could you elaborate please?”
“I was named Kali because I was dark. I was also given other names because I was fat and short.” Kali shrugged. “Rejected by suitors and reviled by society I turned to my first love, academics.” Kali smiled. “So here I am.”
“What about your husband?”
“He’s been a pillar of strength all throughout. He took care of home and children while I slaved away in the laboratory…”
“How long does it take to make a cup of tea?” A querulous voice demanded.
“Coming.” Kali switched off the gas.
***
Written (after a long time!) for the Sunday Photo Fiction – a story in 200 words or less. Thanks to Susan for hosting the challenge and Anurag for the awesome photo prompt. To read the other stories inspired by this prompt click here.
“I’m afraid Deva this isn’t working out,” Arnav softened his words with a smile. “I think you should read it a couple of times and then I’ll give you some questions, which you can answer and,” He nodded his emphatically, “that will give you an idea about your strengths and weakness, not by this…this verbal Q&A session.”
“But I always….” Deva protested.
“Daddy come and help me!” having set up the craft material to her satisfaction, Chotti demanded her share of his attention.
“Okay!” Arnav raised his hands in surrender. “Here’s the deal.” He looked at his phone, “the order will be here in 30 minutes. Deva you read your chapter thoroughly while I sit with Angel and help her out,” Chotti glowed while Deva glowered. “And then we’ll take a goodie break and I’ll make a few questions,” quelling a ready-to-protest-Devansh with a look, “simple multiple choice questions,” Devansh subsided, “which you can do after the break.”
“What about me?” Chotti was unwilling to be left out post-break.
“You can finish up your project,” Arnav coughed, “on your own.”
“That’s not fair Daddy.” Chotti protested. “What will you do while we are slaving away?” For once Devansh was in complete agreement with his pest of a sister.
“Excuse me?” A crack of laughter escaped Arnav.
“You heard me Daddy.” Chotti crossed her arms and waited.
Arnav rolled his eyes. “Oh come on! You can decide that during the break while I am slaving away making questions.” He tapped his watch. “Come on! 30 minutes, not a minute less, even if the order arrives,” he warned. “The ice cream cake can melt for all I care.”
The next half-hour flew by as Arnav joined his daughter on the floor after having sought her permission to change his suit. She graciously agreed. “Take a washroom break as well.” She extended his parole.
“Yes Ma’am.”
She grinned cheekily at him before bending over her chart paper.
During the dessert break, ASR labored over the SS chapter, racking his reluctant brains trying to come up with decent questions. While he was otherwise preoccupied, the siblings were in complete harmony, slurping and planning an activity for ASR that would suitably match and more than make up for their slave away time. Arnav couldnt help but feel a twinge of trepidation – all the khusur-phusur not to mention the wicked glances that Chotti sent his way along with Deva’s animated inputs didnt bode too well for his future. Hey Devi Maiyya raksha karna! The thought inadvertently slipped out from his heart.
“Okay break over.” Arnav packed away the decimated cake and other stuff. “Back to work. And no talking,” he warned Chotti, “He’s taking a test. And Angel, you have to give the finishing touches to your project…”
“And we decided that you will also have to do something for us.” Chotti laid down their condition.
“What?” Arnav was seriously regretting his offer. Nothing short of madness!
“Anything.”
“Meaning?” Arnav was taken aback.
“Meaning surprise us. Entertain us.” She waved her hand at the stuff littered on the floor – streamers, sparklers, balloons, colored sheets, glue and what not, “Make something for us. Something we will enjoy.” She threw him a challenge exchanging a look with her partner-in-crime who wore a smug look admixed with superior glee and pity for his beleaguered Dad.
“Well? Go on. What are you waiting for?” Chotti prodded before snickering behind her hand.
“I’m waiting for you guys to begin slaving.” Feeling on safer grounds, ASR remarked.
Chastened, they bent over their respective tasks, shooting curious looks once in a while to Arnav as he stared at the available raw material and tried to come up with something creative and enjoyable – something that he would love doing. When had he done that last? He couldn’t recollect anything apart from getting a rise out of Khushi that is. And now with his kids. He sighed feeling guilty about all the years he had missed spending with them. No wonder Devansh viewed him with suspicion as if he was some alien. He shook his head. He too had been overprotective of his mother and his Di.
Di.
A smile creased his face. He swiftly gathered the things he needed and stuffed them in the oversized pockets of his cargo pants before Chotti’s sharp eyes caught him.
“Okay guys.” He held his palm over this hand to indicate time out. “Carry on with your work while I go into the other room and do something creative worthy of you. And mind you no cheating.” He warned strictly. “I’ll finish…finish my project and come out and check your progress and only then allow you to check it out. Otherwise it’s back to the books.” He looked at Devansh. “Got it?”
Devansh nodded. He had already gone back to his test.
“But Daddy, why do you have to go to another room?” She whined. “Why can’t you do it here?”
“You’ll know when you see.” He said mysteriously.
“Oooh! Tell me now! Please, please Daddy please. Dad….”
“Shush!” Arnav hushed her. “Devansh is giving a test. Remember if he doesn’t do well then even you can’t see what’s in there.”
“What!? Why!?”
But Arnav shook his finger at her and had walked off.
“Da,” Chotti muttered softly, “I hope you know all the questions.”
“Of course I know all the questions!” He waved the sheet of paper and tapped it with his pen. “They are all written here. Buddhoo.” He scoffed.
“Fine! Be that way!” Chotti stuck out her tongue. “When it’s time I’ll tell Daddy…”
“Before you say anything I will tell him that you are disturbing me!” Deva shot back. “Daaad!”
“Shush!!!!” Chotti clapped a hand over his mouth. He glared at her and pushed away her hand. He opened his mouth to call out again.
“Please! Please!” Chotti begged.
“Say sorry.”
“Sorry.”
“Not like that. Hold your ears and do sit ups. Say sorry ten times.”
Chotti had none of Khushi’s hesitation or sense of humiliation. After all Da was right. She was disturbing him and she had no shame in owning up to it or paying for it, while Devansh watched with an unholy gleam in his eye.
“What’s happening here?” One afternoon with the kids and his sixth sense had kicked in. They were silent. Too silent.
Deva bent his head assiduously over his worksheet while Chotti made some elaborate leg extensions swinging her arms up and down. “Angel?” Arnav was hard put to keep the grin off his face.
“Nothing Daddy,” Chotti swore airily, “I was just trying out some dance steps for my dance class next week, 4, 3,2 and 1, 2, 3,” she panted and she switched positions. Arnav’s eyes strayed to Devansh – a tactical blunder as he was watching his Dad’s face with keen interest. Arnav’s expression slipped and instantly a wide grin split Devansh’s face. Arnav turned on his heels and went back to his slavery, all but laughing aloud.
Dad wasn’t so bad after all, Devansh admitted to himself with a warm glow in his heart.
“Wasn’t I clever?” Chotti gloated. “Daddy didn’t get to know anything!”
“Oh didn’t he?” Deva grinned to himself. “Will you please let me work?” He sighed.
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