My sister

My birthday when I was 8, I would be cutting the cake midst all the causalities. The first piece, I would have put in her mouth, instead of that Amar's who never let me bowl the first over. My birthday when I was 16, the cake would be waiting and the clock ticking. As soon as its 12, she would have been there beside me wishing me in hugs and waiting by staring into my phone, to see who would wish me first. I mean, second. My birthday when I was 24, She would be still there with my favorite Pongal ready at home as I come late from office, to celebrate that one day we never miss. She would be sharing all those little cute faced Childtime photos, holding and hitting me. She would be fighting all day and night with me, crying and complaining, and yet being my best friend. When I was in hostel, my phone would have been full of her texts chattering non-stop all the time. She would have been teasing and blackmailing in my girlfriend's name at home for little treats. She would have never made me feel alone when it comes to roam in Sultan Bazaar. She would have been "my sister."

She would have been, but she wasn't. It all happened; a year ago I was born. My family was unlucky to have her. Being one of those thousands of middle class Indian families, my parents found it hard to give place for a daughter. They were counting their expenditures. The expenses of studies, her little dreamy jewels, and returns she would bring home, forget not the dowry, and the losses henceforth. Yes, they were right as to their part. But, they did not prove successful in providing their son with a friend, trustworthy and accessible, kind and funny, they could never give him (me) something he (I) dreamed of. The lessons they learnt about families were such. They remembered their youth, money and problems. I don't know, into what ruins, did their memories of siblings run. Yet they said, "you are lucky to be one, you enjoy being royal, you get what you want, you don't know your advantages." in spite of all this, I would have had "my sister."

"Today was her sixteenth birthday; along the necklace road did we stray.
I ate her chocolate fudge, as she frowned at her grudge.
She showed her talent to taunt, until was no memory left to haunt.
Mom made my Pongal today, she shed tears in her own way.
Cried her saying I hate this, until mom made again her favorite dish.
Finally she fell asleep on me, as her pain set all afree.
I wish god with a heart pure, in all heavens shall she endure.
Come no perils in her life, not even when she is a wife.
I pray god to fulfil her joys, and play not like with his other toys",
Would have I written about her on her birthday in my diary and titled the couplette "my sister."

It was an Indian preset that claimed daughter of a family to be the economic burden, and a financial cutoff of a son's counterpart. It must have been true long back then. But today, a twenty year old girl is more or at least evenly likely to get an opportunity that a twenty year old guy gets. It is still applicable for the current scenario, that the expenditure on a girl shall be higher. But, given a chance to expect, the probability of women advancing into what men are today, is higher, and can visibly be seen in the developed European countries.So, a parent ought to consider it again, the thought of having a girl child, so that he might proudly point to her and say "my sister."

Kill not a girl child; she too is "your son's sister."

P.S.: the thought is purely fictional and has got nothing to do with my life, parents and other compatible environments. The words afree and couplette are parts of no diction.

Writatouille

Can anyone write?
Had I been asked this question two years ago, I would have quickly said a 'no'. When I found myself reading about a writing competition anywhere, I simply would have walked away. I could hear someone inside me saying, "Writing is a talent I don't have. How do these people write? They must be having some spark in them." And today, I feel it is easy to write. I am not here to lecture you guys about how to present an answer you know in your examination. Rather, I would like to speak on how to create an answer out of the key word you heard just before you entered the hall. Yes, anyone can write. Given, you have something you desperately want to tell about. And the misinterpretation of it would be, “I desperately want to express, but I don't have something to". Instead, "I desperately have to express this thing, don't know how" would do. Write.

When and where to write?
"Time and place don’t seem to matter, but in reality they are fatter. Write when and where you feel or know, for around the seeds the plants do grow." an amateur writer waits for the moment to take over, the right emotion blending in thoughts. And he upgrades into a professional then when he takes over the moment and changes his mood accordingly. You must have observed if you ever tried, that there is a defined period of time over which the spark inside you remains lit. A similar logic can show why you need your surroundings to support the situation. Write where you feel it, when you feel it. A calm chilling night serves most of the ideas, given that your emotions are right.

How to write?
This question needed a precise answer when I started writing. You don't need Wren & Martin or the Oxford beasts to be on your table always. Given the audience, a work is expected to be written in a way so that the writer's message is easily and aptly conveyed. It is not about writing great words or long paragraphs, it is about writing exactly in a way your reader likes it. Much like not offering a great recipe to Mr. Ego but giving him the dish he was most connected to. And more important, write it in a way you like, because that is when the imprints of a given thought can be made clearly on a reader's mind. The choice of vocabulary and the expression of a thought prove influential in succeeding as a writer. Next only to the fact that your dear reader is feeling, knowing and understanding what you want him to.

What to write about?
"The simple blue sky, the crushed blue tie, everything has a right, if you wish to write." it depends on what you want to convey, what is to be said to the audience, what you want them to feel as they read your work. To start with, choose something that is really close to you, choose your experiences. Then in stages, you can feel yourself moving on to write what you want your dear readers to know, then writing what your audience want to know, and so on. The emotion is the mother of all writing. Write what you rightly feel and there you end up penning the greatest works. Often, it so happens that what to write gets decided when you experience it. And to be more precise, you need to feel something to your heart when you put it on a paper.

More things you need to know...
Being biased is humane. If you are speaking about anything socially active and common, make sure you will be comforted reading your thing even after years your write. And that you won't regret your choice today.
Critics are always there, anywhere and probably everywhere. So, be ready for them. There are people who say you don't deserve to be one, or that what you say is wrong. Just sing "haters gonna hate" loud.
What I write is my wish. For whom I do is my wish again. It's my life, my writing, my rules. Never care about what someone thinks, not even the one whom you are commenting about.
It is the same for any art of expression, not just to write. Sing your notes, write your words, act your skits. Like no two people are alike, so are your expressions and ways of putting them. You are unique and so is your art.

Understand that you write what you wish to read. And make sure it happens. Have a happy write.

The love's lullaby

The stars twinkle bright, the breeze is cold.

Had come this tiring night, the sun is a day old.
The eyelids try to kiss, and the heart to unpace.
We lie in a earthly bliss, that lies by no other ways.

My finger in your hand, in your magic am I,
hold it like your wand, and spell my loving cry.
I sleep by your side, I sleep in your heart,
I see you smile wide, as our dreams start.

Together we win and loose, our life is a endless war.
Together we move to cruise, to reach our destinies far.
You and i sleep tonight, and dream of rosy pink dawns.
The days shall be more bright, and evergreen our life lawns.

Our path is one, always to a better life,
more battles to be won, by our deathless strife.
We sleep now, in beds of us,
we feel love, as it ever was.

We sleep to wake, better you and me,
from future we take, those dreams for free.
Sleep in peace and calm, guarded against all harm,
your pillow is my palm, your blanket is my arm.

The facebook nights

It is a time too queer, a time when aught but owl sleeps.
It is a time to cheer, and run to 'lap' in long long leaps.
Open it, type your code, and there you end up struck,
Sail the ship and go aboard, today to fish your luck.

Yes here I am online, trying to see my fellow owls.
My blood is full of wine, in green veins it growls.
I pound leap and hunt down, those beings alone around.
I try to break down their frown, and carry them to the stround.

The land is of amazing folk, people who share people who lol
There are people to poke, people who rise people who fall.
Yet we sail to islands unknown, those where went no embassy,
we meet people long forlorn, those lost in their own ecstasy.

You you people people, I am afraid I forgot if we ever met,
You you feeble people, I found you caught in my fishing net.
Come talk and move on, pay me your emotions and love,
I am a dustbin you won, tell me your problems and plead me how.

I am no prophet, Krishna or the christ, I am a man with a mind.
I am a world roaming lyrist, you are the snake my lyre will find.
I solve your deadly breath taking perils, And I expect back a smile.
Smile to me and pay me the merits, you get one back, in my own style.

Comes waters again, you alive or dead, I put you back and see you drift.
If you are the one with a working head, you swim back the mist as swift.
I am your friend faceless friend, I know you and you know me.
This is what is today's trend, I am afraid of it when a father I would be.

Wheels of life

What is a plain white sheet, a paper untouched and neat?
Fill it with the rainbow ink, and that is when it does wink.

What is a tree that does not grow, give a fragrant flower or a tasty fruit?
On such does nature raise its brow, it has to fall, to grow again or unroot.

What is a glass, that shows neither true nor you?
If nay of the two you do, you definitely are untrue.

What of a man and his survival, if he does nothing in a day?
Into dooming hells or dewed heavens, a man ought to walk, always in some way.