My angie's story

My eight years old daughter would never run out of alibis to turn study time into something that she loves doing. At times I feel I'm a failure as a mother. Every evening, we have to quarrel over her study timing. "5-7 PM miss, you ain't budging an inch. STUDY!" I warn her. Meekly she turns away from me and takes her seat. I turn on my phone to see some updates, if any, in my facebook and she is there, smiling beside me, " mama can I show you something in your phone?" I bark out the timing again and she jumps back to her room.

It is so difficult making kids follow their study routine seriously. Sometimes she comes out after one hour with some crafts she has made using papers and other stuff. Other times she shows me beautiful cards that she has made for me. And I am so taken in by her arts and crafts that I forget that she has studying to do.

So, yesterday, I told her from the beginning itself that she cannot work on any art project during the study hours. "Mama, is writing a story studying?" she asks me. I give her a nasty look that sends her scurrying to her room. Fifteen minutes after that look, she returns with an impish grin plastered on her face and hands me this paper. "Mama, I just made up this story!"

I read and re-read her story. Amazed and happy. Of course, I see some spelling errors here and there but what captures my attention is the minute details of punctuation marks that she has taken care of in her story. I know they have still not learnt anything about the inverted commas and I see that she has used it so correctly. Then there is the moral of the story that catches my attention. "Angie what is gonna happen if you don't do good listening to mama?"

She has understood without me having to explain it. After all, she wrote the story in which the naughty chickens dies after failing to listen to their mother Hen's words, not me!

I'm singing

Today there is a song; playing on my lips. The tune that I thought I had forgotten returns. With the tune comes the melody which fills me with ecstasy. And I sing......yes! I sing! I sing of the clear blue sky in which I placed the clouds of my dreams.

I sing of the treacherous cliffs on which I left my rugged hopes hanging. The tune disappears for a while and I prance around; scared that this time I've lost it for good. But it's only a while and the spasms of tune returns, and I hum the forgotten tune back to life.

And hence I sing, of the vast green sea of love that I spread and the melody picks up. So, in a breaking shrill crescendo I sing of the Abundance of bounty that I shall soon harvest.

I sing of the white moon lying blindfolded in the embrace of the black night. There is an unspeakable beauty in the darkest of the night. When the dark curtain lifts its mighty presence; I sing of the freedom of the pretty birds that fly ceaselessly in the empty sky. And I continue singing.........

My handbag is a monster

My handbag is a monster 
It eats up all I can offer. 
My purse, a diary, the book I' m reading
In these goes; every morning. 

My pen, few markers and not to forget
Red inked pens; and a lot of it
All lay trapped in my bag. 

Used vouchers, bits of papers
Names of students
Those who were found shouting
And those who had done good;
All chomp! Chomp! Chomp!
Goes into the belly of my bag. 

A note scribbled here
A reminder scribbled there
Whoosh! It goes inside my bag. 

My blue umbrella and my
Purple phone
Are the only two things
That are vomited frequently
Out of this monster. 

My bag is a monster
And this monster goes
Wherever I go.