कोई लगाता है बहाना मोहब्बत का,
तो कोई प्यार या इश्क का,
नोच लेते हैं,
ये झूठे प्यार करने वाले,
जिस्म उस,
पापा की जान का…
 
ले गए नर्क में, 
तुम उस प्यार को, 
जो तुम्हें इस दुनिया में लाया है, 
तुम अपने जिस्म के साथ तो खेली हो, 
मगर उस, 
माँ बाप के सर को, 
तुमने नीचे झुकाया है… 
 
चार दिन की चांदनी को तुम अपना समझ कर, 
तुमने अपने – अपनों के विस्वास से खेला है 
तुम्हें उस जिस्मानी शक्स का प्यार सच्चा लगा, 
अपनों के रूहानी, 
मोहब्बत से तुमने नोच – नोच खेला है.. 
 
मैं कहता हूँ, 
प्यार करो सच्चा करो , अच्छा करो, 
हो सके, 
तो छुपाऔ मत, 
और, 
जिसने भी तुमसे जिस्मानी मोहब्बत का, 
जिक्र भी कर लिया, 
मैं कहता हूँ उस माँ बाप की तरफ देखो, 
उससे प्यार करो मत… 
 
#तुम्हारा_Khanna 

She tried hard
Not to think of her blue heaven
Still painting with that very color
Thought to gift her house, a fistful of sky
To inhale at her leisure.
She borrowed from jasmines,
The selfless love to emblazon her walls
Not realising, jasmines live to die everyday.
Something was amiss
Yeah, she remembered.
Frantic searches for that corked bottle in every nook and corner
In which she stored the volatile crystals of life
Only to find the cork under her pillow

Afterall a house too wears its expression
Just like hers.

Clutching my handbag, I stepped out
The fragrance from the hanging garlands
Makes me pause to take a glance through
Reminding my sister with the nuptial thread
Two days passed by, the decorations stand fresh
I cannot wait and embrace the moment
My workplace is calling, to fulfill the promises
Made to all my loved ones in my circle
To the world, I stand in a faraway land,
All alone, dressed as a bride,
A garland caressing my neck, with fake flowers
To me, my priority stands as my concern
I put my family in front of me, that joy
Completes who I am, ’cause for me,
Marriage is a choice, not a need

She stood outside the closed door,
Shut on her face; the ensuing pain she couldn’t ignore.
She was filled with such deep hopelessness and woe,
Even tears refused to flow.
Her in-laws had thrown her out five years ago,
She couldn’t give them a son hurting their community ego. 
She had reconstructed her life; her past a mere echo.
It was now time to save her daughter from the predators’ ghetto.
They refused to give her custody of her daughter,
Said she’d be happier and better provided for with her father,
But she knew the ulterior motive was not so noble,
Her daughter would be a free domestic help like sad rubble.
But now, she was armed with ample proof in her little bag.
It was time to open the closed door again,
To free her daughter from cruel chains. 

I am a Woman of a substance
I must strive my level best
I have to create my identity best
Lest everyone forgets me like a 
grain of dust 
I have to give myself the priority first  
I may have to leave my home locked 
Yet, I will try to shape my identity
My potentials , I have to unlock
I have the key to open myself
I have dreams to fulfil , before I 
return to my nest
Thus , I will bury my hours of rest
I will return home only after , I have 
given my best
Those ,who trust me we stay awake 
constantly
I will be inspired by them , shaping
My Identity endlessly.
©
Aditi Lahiry
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Children come running as she returns from the textile-factory,
Entangling their tiny arms around her neck
In that split second, the efficient seamstress becomes mother- solely
When the door-bell rings a few hours later like harbinger of breezy purple dusks
With pink clouds floating in her heart she sprints to the door with a spring in her step 
For him, like a lovelorn teen 
When life throws tantrums of thunderclouds and rains
She shines like lightening, showing the path
When seasons are calm with sunshine spilling golden
She flows as poetry on paper, effortlessly…
 
Wearing her bright chintz sarees from local flea market
 After bidding goodbyes to her loved ones; seeing them off to school and workplace
As she locks the door, she pauses for a moment, near the flower garlands hanging for sale at her door, 
To admire tiny blossoms smiling, relish the feeling
Of meeting the challenges each day holds, of toiling hard to nurture her world, her soul, 
And she feels content, Rapt… in that moment at the threshold.
 
 
 

 Waiting  near  the  front  door
                            **
Rushing  from  the  office,  after
a hectic workload, reached home earlier  than usual
only  to see the door  locked  from  outside.
She  stood there, with her handbag 
in  hand, carrying  a barren  heart 
and  hollow  head, without knowing
how long  she  has  to  stand  there;
Oh!  she  didn’t  take the house key  with her.
Long garlands are hanging on either side of the door,
for  her  son’s and daughter’s  wedding  at night.
She felt thirsty  and hungry  and had  bad  headache
Alas! things  made worse  as there are neither neighbours
nor tea shops nearby, to drink or eat something.
Never carried  water bottles, now  no drop to drink  
Knocked and knocked the door, she heard no answer .
                                            **
Tagging #Sharingstoriesliveand#sharingstorieswritingcontest  
 

Dreams of a happy life remained just that
Sufferings and taunts enough I’ve had
My barren womb an excuse
My parents, a money-bank to squeeze
To please society, and to conform
I’ve tolerated abuses of all forms
To suffer and endure, or put an end to abuse
I know what I’ve to choose
With a prayer, I step across the threshold
It’s time to break the shackles of this household
A sea of sorrow threatens to engulf
And swallow me in all its might
But it’s time to be brave, and set right the wrongs
Forget the past, and re-write my life’s songs
 
I choose myself, for now it’s my time
 

verimillion is such a costly thing,
you frown at this statement?
Hey you, don’t be!
Now you understand, when our daughter being ushered by you towards the sacred tent called mandapa,
Just the same I never wished her, yet she will standing near the window on a rainy day,
thinking of the love she got in this house and the appreciation she deserved yet never get in that house.
If she choses to live her extended life now,
Doors might be locked when she’ll return in the evening,
even if they are wide open she’ll welcome the accusations of not being a worthy wife!
Strange hmmmm,
Yeah, remember when my father stood at the porch, not welcomed inside for a hot cup of tea, 
instead showered with his daughter’s faults, that day a daughter from behind the locked door cried and prayed not to see her father so often!
Oh, my heart ripped into two; if my daughter has to do the same.
I’m glad my king, my daughter isn’t like me, she ain’t chose a prince like you…

Drowning in twinges of heartbreaking agony she wanted to walk into self
To illuminate and incarnate her beautiful dreams
Showering clouds of happiness on her drained self.

Like garlands of fragrant flowers, plucked yet blooming incessantly
That would turn her into a woman of graceful resilience
Cheerfully clustered, crisply independent.

Chained and scared, she excelled in household duties
Meeting standards, all those that were set by society
She sensed lone self under dark skies even after years of her religious duties.

It was the time to fulfill her dreams, to play and rejoice on her favorite tunes
Move with confidence and majesty fenced by her passionate radiance
A conducive place she yearned, blushing under the crescent moon
Winters would awaken her sublime femineity fringed with tinkles of dainty living.

I chose my saree with care
Contrasted the bangles
I painted my lips, for you, my love.
I combed out my hair
Made it shine like raw silk
I polished my nails for you, my love.
I softened my calloused hands
With fragrant oil and cream
Just to caress, caress your body, my love.
I wore those pearl earrings
The ones you loved taking off
With your kisses, oh, soft kisses, my love.
And then I came and I waited
Waited right outside the blue door
The one you locked up, years ago, my love.
Sreeja Mohandas.

Garlands on the door that were hanging,
The din of musical instruments banging,
Announced a grand function in the house,
That was to bring in a beautiful new spouse,
To none other than the man, with whom I wed,
And spent many blissful nights on his bed.
Now I stand alone outside the door locked,
With my head hung low for being mocked.
‘What use to me is a woman so infertile?’
Reckless and ruthless, he turned but not servile.
“Lord! Will locked doors open on us ever,
And teach men, ties are not made to sever?”

O Mother Divine!
As you step out, clutching your black handbag,
your guilt-ridden face tears me apart!
Fret not, amma! I’ll be fine! Just fine!
 
O my love! My wife!
As you wake up from the nuptial bed,
caught in the crosswords of home and office,
I’ll do all I can to better your life!
 
O my darling girl!
As you free yourself from my clutching hands,
and step inside the big bad world of wolves,
I’ll be the guiding light, watching you unfurl!