Seashells Goa

The resort in Goa was buzzing with energy that evening. We were all together as a family, sitting at a table near the stage, enjoying our dinner. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a sky painted with hues of pink and purple. It was a perfect night, and the atmosphere was electric.

The stage nearby was lit up, and a group of girls was dancing, each moving to their own rhythm. They were carefree, lost in the music, seemingly unaware of anyone else around them. My eyes scanned the stage, but then they stopped on one girl in particular. She was stunning, with a radiant smile and a way of moving that seemed almost effortless. I couldn't look away.

As she grooved to the beats of the loud music, I felt an inexplicable urge to join her. I tried to match her energy, but my feet felt heavy, my body stiff. She seemed so free, so alive. Then it hit me—a little liquid courage might help me catch up to her vibe. I reached for a beer, took a few gulps, and suddenly, I felt that familiar warmth spreading through me, loosening my limbs and steadying my nerves.

With the beer in hand, I walked up to her, my heart pounding but my steps steady. I held out the bottle and asked, “Want a beer?” She looked at me, eyes twinkling, and without a moment’s hesitation, took the bottle from my hand. She smiled, took a sip, and passed it back.

At that moment, the DJ switched tracks, and the familiar beats of "Dum Maaro Dum" filled the air. The song was iconic, its rhythm pulsing with life and energy, and it felt like an invitation. She grabbed my hand, pulling me onto the stage with her, and before I knew it, we were both dancing. Her movements were infectious, and I found myself moving without thinking, just feeling.

For those few minutes, it felt like it was just the two of us. Everything else faded away—the crowd, the noise, even my family watching from their table. We danced together, laughing and spinning, as if we had known each other forever. She was a stranger, yet it felt like we shared an unspoken connection.

As the song ended, we caught our breaths and shared a smile. We didn't need to exchange names or numbers; the moment itself was enough. It was one of those perfect, fleeting encounters that left a lasting impression. We parted ways, each returning to our own lives, but that night would forever be etched in my memory—a spontaneous dance, a shared beer, and a moment that felt like pure magic.

Chapter  11 : Travel Diaries

The Dance of a Lifetime

It was August 15th 2006 the day our school came alive with the colors of the flag and the spirit of independence.

 Every year, we celebrated with parades, songs, and dances, but that year was different for me. It was the year I danced with a girl named Shraddha.

Shraddha was the girl everyone noticed. She had a grace about her that was hard to describe—a quiet beauty, with dark, wavy hair that shimmered in the sunlight. She smiled often, and her smile was the kind that made you feel like you were the only person in the room. I’d had a crush on her for as long as I could remember, but we’d never really spoken beyond casual greetings.

As the festivities carried on, I was caught up in watching Shraddha as she moved among her friends, her laughter echoing through the schoolyard.

The music began, and we moved together, our steps a little clumsy at first, but gradually falling into a rhythm. I could feel the warmth of her hand in mine, and every time I looked at her, that familiar smile was there, steadying my nerves. Her hair danced along with her, catching the light with each step. I was mesmerized.

As the song played on, I felt as though we were the only two people in the world. I forgot about the audience, the teachers, and even the nervousness that had been coursing through me moments before. All that mattered was Shraddha—the way her laughter mixed with the music, her smile that could light up any room, and her hair flowing like it was part of the dance itself.

When the music ended, applause erupted, but all I could hear was my own heartbeat. Shraddha smiled at me, her cheeks flushed. her eyes meeting mine in a way that made my heart race even more.

That moment—dancing with Shraddha under the open sky on Independence Day—stayed with me long after the day had passed. It was a simple memory, but to me, it was perfect. It was the day I got to dance with the girl who had always felt like a distant dream, and in those few minutes, that dream had felt wonderfully, beautifully real.

Chapter 12 : School

The 2nd Home

In a land far from her childhood days,

A girl, now a bride, in a new sunlight's blaze.

Her heart echoes with memories, a distant song,

Yet, her parents' love travels, strong and strong.

A package arrives, a treasure in disguise,

Local snacks, flavors of home that arise.

Wrapped in memories, each bite a trace,

Of the sweet embrace of her familiar place.

The crunch of nostalgia in every bite,

Takes her on a journey, a nostalgic flight.

From her parents' kitchen to her distant abode,

Love transcends miles, a truth to be told.

In each delicacy, a piece of their care,

A taste of home, in a land so rare.

Her eyes hold a sparkle, a teardrop's gleam,

As flavors unite in a shared dream.

Distance may linger, but love knows no end,

In every snack, a message to send.

A connection of hearts, strong and true,

From home to her, in a box so few.

A girl married far, yet not alone,

For in those snacks, her roots are sown.

A culinary bridge, love's sweet track,

Her parents' love, in each local snack.

Daily Story of a Caring Mother

In the morning light, a lone sun rises,

A caring mother, where strength never disguises.

Three years of joy, a little one by her side,

She takes each step with unwavering pride.

A kitchen symphony, pots and pans in play,

Her son's laughter, the melody of her day.

No hand to share the load, no one to lean,

Yet, she dances through chaos with a grace unseen.

Little hands reaching, seeking her embrace,

In the routine of chores, a tender space.

From dawn's first light to the night's embrace,

Her love paints a canvas, an unyielding grace.

Laundry, dishes, a constant hum,

Yet, in her heart, a beat like a drum.

No applause, no audience to cheer,

But the resilience in her eyes is crystal clear.

Bedtime stories whispered, dreams unfold,

A story of courage, of silver and gold.

She tucks him in, a lullaby so sweet,

Her arms, a fortress where love and strength meet.

No trophy on a shelf, no laurels to display,

Yet, she conquers mountains, day by day.

In the silence of night, when stars align,

Her inner strength, a constellation, brightly shines.

A caring mother, a hero unsung,

In the journey of life, her song is sung.

Managing alone, a household to steer,

Her love, a beacon that dispels every fear.

To the mother, in shadows unseen,

Your strength is a masterpiece, a serene queen.

In solitude, you find power untold,

A story of love and courage, beautifully bold.

The Social Approval...

क्योंकि तुम अब तुम नहीं।।

तुम जो थे वो आज नहीं,

मै भी अब वो नहीं, क्योंकि तुम तुम नहीं।

बचपन में तुम जो थे, वो तुम रह ना सके,

उस बेबाकी को तुम्हारे आस पास के लोग सेह ना सके।

तुमने सोचा, इनमे है मुझसे ज़्यादा समझदारी,

क्यों न मैं भी सीख लू थोड़ी दुनियादारी।

बड़ा पाठ पढ़ाया इस संसार ने,

जो बचा था वो सिखा दिया दिल के संहार ने।

अब खुशी औरों में ही ढूंढोगे न तुम,

क्योंकि तुम तुम नहीं।।

Family : First Job for every Indian Woman

Family : First Job of every Indian Woman...

The birds chirp, waiting for the grains..

The plants need watering...

The phone kept beeping, and school bus is honking...

No bread  left for toast....

The milk just spilled over... 

Ah  Shit..

The maid has not arrived today, 

The breakfast is still not ready,

And she has  tiffins to fill.

Can u please iron my shirt first, a voice came...

The laundry heap increases day by day...

Groceries can wait...

Mum, my homework is still not done..

She also has to go early to school.

There's a workshop in the school,

She don't know how to manage.

Her mother in law is here, 

To ask medicines for backache.

A call from the bathroom

“I’ve forgotten the towel ”

Her  shoulders aches

And she  has no one to tell.

Her eyes are heavy and sober.. 

With last night's long presentation..

She don't remember the last time

She had been to the parlor.

She even forgot to iron her saree..

The bus honks again, But before that she has  to pick the  toys that are scattered.

She don't remember 

When she spoke to her sister.

Can't recollect the moments

when she chatted with her mother.

-----------------

She is  not a  feminist, 

She is  not an  atheist, She is 

more than a housekeeper, 

a mother and a doctor.

She could be an orator,

a painter, an artist,

a singer, a poetess,

a traveller, a photographer, a calligrapher, a cyclist,

a writer, a musician.

In fact she is doing part of everything for the kids..

The last time she tried something at writing

just to find her ability, 

The child scored badly ...

And then we know what followed exactly...

So next time the kid got a gold medal.. Bang..

Everyone praised his father's genes

She tries to  remember her trophies and medals

which no one had seen...

She don't know what her daughter 

Will do after growing up.

But she is  sure that these responsibilities

will never stop to follow her.

Marriages are made in heaven

Love is a fairly tale.

 Every working woman

has a different story to tell.

So, whenever you look

At a house that's tidy,

A child who is happy,

Intelligent and healthy,

Remember, it's the woman behind 

Who sacrificed her sleep,

her degrees, her passion

her ambitions and needs.

Give her a pat, a word of praise,

a ear to listen, a helping hand

It's always a woman 

who makes the house a home.....

To all brave women's around....

🙏🏻