The air thick with dust
Cows roaming the streets,
Flashing lights and loud noises,
Children laughing an playing.
Houses painted in sickening colors
sarees tumbling from the waists of women.
Amazing, flavorful, mouthwatering food.
Family and friends, celebrating festivals
color in the sky and all around
Though there are things both good and bad,
I love my homeland and I stand proud.

Since its inception, Aarong has been determined to bring about effective changes in the lives of artisans and underprivileged rural women, by facilitating and advertising their handicraft. Today, it has become the foundation of independent cooperative groups and family-based artisans. Now, it is known as a contemporary life outlet, among people not only in Bangladesh, but all over the world.

This wedding season, you can adorn yourself with one of Aarong’s festive looks. On November 17, Aarong launched their latest product line – the Wedding Collection.

Aarong has introduced a series of looks and styles to try out this wedding season for brides, the bridal entourage and the wedding attendees. What’s more, they are promoting Jamdani, Muslin and Katan sarees as the choice of outfits to wear for the bride and her close ones.

The line is introducing bridal wear in some uncommon hues, moving away from the routine “red” to peach, pink, purple, blue, green and beige. These unconventional colours can also look grand on the big day, and this is the idea that the creators of Aarong are attempting to establish.

Jamdani saris will be incorporated with remarkable embroidered and printed blouses, helping ladies look regal on their special day. The wedding entourage also has a lot to look forward to. This special compilation includes Katan and Jamdani sarees, paired with embroidered blouses, ideal for any reception soiree. Katan sarees can be worn in bright or bold colours and contrasted with multi-layered pearl jewellery and complementing blouses. Furthermore, the collection also includes Jamdani saris in light shades such as light pink, peach and white, and these can be paired with frilled petticoats or dupattas.

Along with gold, the creators encourage the brides to try out silver jewellery with complementing stones, layered pearl neckpieces and hair ornaments. Hence, the looks are a mix of modern and traditional, and are not only advised for the bride, but also for the close relatives or wedding attendees.

This collection also comprises of saris, appropriate for the bridesmaids, the cousins, the sisters, and even the parents of the to-be-weds. Aarong has prepared similar ‘matching’ attires for the bride and the groom, that are perfect for particular occasions like Holud, Mehendi, Aiburo Bhaat, and so on. For the bridegroom, as well as his family and friends, there is also an exclusive range, that includes Sherwanis and Panjabis. Aarong also provides a variety of gift options such as ceramic dinner set, cushion and bed covers, as well as women’s accessories, such as bags and purses.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/white-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses

I and you won’t be
Two unfamiliar women of our land.
I’ll not leave you to the radio
To swallow up our history,
We’ll have phone calls and photographs
Transported between seasons and changes
And barracks of old classics
Drilled in between our conversations.

You don’t leave the land, abstract-
Smell or your braced triangular family
But I, your daughter, a nomad
Demands change, unbuckled knees,
Thunder and lightning than a
Frozen damp lake.
I don’t know if this absurd let you down
Being a floating female disc
Without a silver hanging off her neck.

Your cotton sarees and senseless arguments,
Modest gestures and peripheral smiles
Walked miles with me.
My uncivilized ways and half assembled days
Somehow compromised your 7pm calls.
You didn’t declare an ownership
Or terrified me with protection
But your roots branches and leaves
Held me with an irresponsible luck.

You did want to walk with me,
Comprehend your traditions and family tree
But you grew obsessed over my books,
My anglicized friendships and father’s ways.
I don’t want us to wrap up stories
Let us be ‘us’, flesh and blood
Without English comprehensions,
Fork and Spoon-
The world is desperate to squeeze in between
‘us’.

I want to sit next to you every eve
Even when I’m miles apart
Sip your ginger tea and gossip with Leela
And I know you have more of
Mukundan, MT and Padmarajan
Jolted in between your memories
Wanting to be told, to be felt.

Retreating monsoons, half naked veranda
‘Shifting houses’ and ice cream spoons you lost
Bridged the gaps of a dysthymic brain.
Your diary and worn-out scribbles
Lifted an awkward silence, I ignored.
And I know there are plenty of
Conversations
Separated by a trigger.

Your four loud aunts and their-
Disproportionate-pinches,
The main house and its innumerable doors
And the single toilet your grandad possessed
Will always be ‘our stories’ with mango pickle
And little almonds
I recollect as your curfew years.

You need not worry, I will not-
Sit with bubbles in my mouth.
I can pinch your cousins and
Exchange few golden bangles.
I can walk the temple lanes with your-
Mother, silken skirts and jingling anklets.
And I know the family recipes,
The exact nicknames and garlanded gossips.
There will be days, get-togethers and
Photographs
Added into your prized collection.

A subconscious music flooded my psychology
When chlorine water, light-lit-days,
And flirtatious silly men
Swung in fine tune next to me.
There was always a detached-attachment
That translated a traditional ghost
Who announced a corner for itself
Somewhere exact I cannot pin point.

Let us not freeze the prologue
We can walk door by door
Between generations and blue window panes
In a coordinated tune guided by-
Voices of our ancestors.
The genes inside me needs a
Second hand journey
With-out an altered you and me.

You find an old trunk
In the attic of your nani's house.
Bravely braving the dust and
Creepy cobwebs, you tip toe,
t i p p y t o e
towards this testament to the ages.
On the heavy, heavy lid
lie the introductions of old stories -
tucked beneath discarded truths
and gilded lily lies.
You push the heavy lid up
like the brave, brave child that you are.
The only sounds -
a massive groan,
and the absence of your breath.

Tucked within are treasures.

The first layer -
a thin film of castles
royal drawbridges,
a high tower,
several dozen horses,
gold necklaces,
of Kings and Queens,
and the in-betweens.

A second sheath
Decorated with tales of conquests,
a victory here and there,
tales of rigid tests,
a problem to be solved
by the truly good,
and the uniquely pure.

The last layer sits happily at the bottom.
An age-old invitation to all
who seek solace.
Mumma's old dolls sit beside
Nani's soft sarees,
faded like her hair,
and like her memory.
This layer gives warmth.

No, it is warmth.

The last layer awaits your weary heart,
It holds the secret art of
curing every bad day.
This layer will caress your worries
And fold them into
itself
         into oblivion,
or perhaps
into a Happy Ending.

I am the voice,
Of the fifteen year-old who wipes away her dreams, weaning her baby boy

I am the shudder,
Of the woman who hurries down the alleyway pulling her coat around tighter, afraid

I am the smile,
tugging the lips of a little boy, at the burst of fireworks, on a Diwali night

I am the whimper,
Of the boy on fire, alight by those who think patriotism means uniformity

I am the red bindi, the orange putka, the white cross, the green burka
I am the Kashmiri, the Madrasi, the Punjabi, the Gujarati,
North, South, Madhya whichever way I go I breathe the bharatha

I am the delight,
Of the saffron sarees, and the cinnamon wafts with pani pooris

I am the cry,
Of the drop out whose artwork lay in the cinders of childhood dreams

I am the tears,
Of the betrayed by the soothing words of political promises that were never held

I am the spirit
Of Ghandi, of Bose, of Tagore, peace woven in literature, histories’ waves that never recede

I am the song in all our souls,
Singing, we are India, in all our flaws and all our colours,

Together, we,
Roll up our sleeves, envision brighter smiles for when the sun touches our India tomorrow,
And we, the voices, sing in unison,
And look towards the skies,
In Hope.

Get ready…

Get ready for the initial teeny weeny troubles…
Which as the baby grows up - doubles..!

Get ready for the sounds of never ending cries…
And ofcourse the stains of dropped pies..!!

Get ready for the patches of spilt milk…
So better store in your sarees, all those that are made of silk..!

Get ready to find teddy’s and goofy’s and other stuffed toys all lying here and there..
Not forgetting the guns, dolls and brick games scattered everywhere..!!

Get ready for the sleepless nights..
And with the baby around - no dreams of queens and knights..!

Get ready for the messy marks of ******..
Which often don’t count a lot, after those wetty loving little kisses..!!

Get ready for those around the house walks..
In making the baby sleep and in return get those ununderstood squeeky baby talks..!

Get ready for those lovely moments of love and affection forever..
And cherish these with tender touches which can be forgotten never..!!

Get ready for a whole lot of change - an absolutely new life..
I’m sure which you can tackle for you’re a wonderfully efficient wife..!

And yeah..! Be sure to get ready when the baby says - “mother”
Do get me another nice and chubby naughty little brother…!!

And this one here is a very small prayer…
Which comes from the bottom of my heart—
For all i can do
In helping you
Is that I can be here and pray
Be the baby hale and hearty to God in my prayers is all I say..
May all dreams that youve seen and have believed in come true..
And may life be smooth and happy and gay and bright for both baby and you…

You search the world,
Looking for love.
rummaging through countries
as if they're ikea drawers
and almaris that hold the
warmth  of your
mothers banarasi sarees;
this is a race against time
And you wouldn't know
what to do
if the clock defeats love
because they told you
all else fades
But love doesn't.

So you draw parallels
between potential significant others
and sit com characters
because eventually
people are people
and you will eventually find
someone who is wiling
to show up.(?)
The odds , the chances
and the probabilities are on your side -
you can get a little lazy,
a little less precise and stop squinting,
you’ll see whole people
are rough and rugged and soft and squishy
and the bits that feel incomplete
for now, you’ll be gracious and complete them
Because you promised to be less stringy
and this is a good thing
(&you decided you’re worthy of good things)

You look for love all over,
Only to find it where you
first stumbled into it,
engulfed by home or the feeling of it
you were willing to break your tongue
to learn it's language.