To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the ****** disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.

                       - *Arundhati Roy

“It’s a Girl.” They said,
Destined to go to her ‘own’ home one day,
As if she is born into a strangers home.

Marriage has its own time,
Why make her birth seem like a crime?
Do give her the unconditional love but don’t consider her a bad luck.

“Who will bring forward the family name? She will bring only a shame”, they said
Destined to go to her ‘own’ home one day,
As if she is born into a strangers home.

If that were the case,
Ashamed are parents who gave birth to,
Kalpana Chawla, Asha Roy, Arundhati Battacharya and many more.

Worried about the family name?
Bring her out of the shallow box,
Filled with your narrow thoughts,
Help her reach her full potential,
Then watch the family name gain credentials.

“Do what he tells you to.” They said,
That is your house,
He is your everything.

From her, kings are born,
From her, woman is born,
Without her, there would be nobody at all,
So why then do we make her a slave?

Likes, shares, tweets and re-tweets can only do so much…
Empower your thoughts and not just the woman,
Teach your son to respect the girls,
Allow your daughters to reach their passion,
Then watch the empowerment take action.

What did I pause about the other day- was it at the kitchen table? I think so- I was sitting down next to my fluorite crystal- something occurred to me- it was a pleasant thought, I remember, something a bit marvelous, I winked at my pretty little stone and she winked back. Oh! I think it was sparked from Arundhati Roy’s novel God of Small Things. Or no, I think it was the smell of spring wafting through the window that transported me to sweet grass-stained jeans at six. (How Consciousness can subvert Time! Making past present, making present eternal and infinite- undermining order imposed and idealized- tirelessly trying to give itself, but faltering before the closed fist of human conquest). Or perhaps it was the language and sensation simultaneous that lifted from within me this deep affection- for what, I do not know. For everything and nothing, I suppose. For all that is and all that be—and all that must cease to be.