shikha's space

Each Day Startes with our own choices,Shall I wake or stay in Bed...Shower or sleep lil more and have one at office...Coffee or Milk...Breakfast or not...Ciggy or not...All choices are up to us.

We Make the Choice to to woRk...To Earn our Daily Bread...We Choose To Do Our Very Best...We make a choice to go to work, Or just slide by instead.

Our sense of self comes into play When we choose to wed;
We make a choice to follow our hearts, Or follow what others have said.

And when we find our lives are wrong, Each day is faced with dread;
We choose to stay or choose to go Where angels fear to tread.

Our lives might end up nothing more Than trying to get ahead;
Till sometime hence we realize How fast the years have sped.

The path we take from day to day Can either be followed or led;
Our lives are lines of choices made, From birth until we're dead

Me and I are 2 people who often were using to talk to each others..

Walking all alone, In the strait of life, Me and I are Looking at each others
And looking for a soul...To walk beside me, And catch when I fall,To hold I in the arms, When Me feel so low and dry...But all Me and I found, Is no one close,Walking along with me,Walking side by side... All of a sudden, Me eyes met something,As black as it was,And  it was following I...I tried to run, It ran with me, I tried to hide, It hid with me...Then I  realized what it was,it was Me own shadow,Walking along with I,All I found on that day was,I am my own friend in this lonely life...I supported myself,When my legs gave up,I cheered myself,When i felt a little low...But yet my mind,Desires something,Which I may never get,Which i may never feel...The motherly love,From anyone dear,But walking alone,Me and I can expect none...

Thats how me and I became good friends and decided to never leave each others cauz me will die without i and i have nobody else then me

Sometimes you feel like you got everything but you never wonder that it take a minute to lose everything  and years to get everything back at the end of the day thats how you break down and make me and i best buddy.. I wont wish to anybody to have me and i as best buddy cauz both of them hurt alot...

A new-born baby girl was buried alive by her mother to avoid social ostracism perhaps. The baby girl was dug out by the street dogs. They also licked mud off her face although it had gone in her mouth and her nostrils. For the whole night they kept barking, surrounding the baby and facing the village. Villagers – being human – were scared to go in the fields in the dark and checkout why the dogs were creating such a din.

It was only in the morning when someone went to the fields to answer the nature’s call (in most villages people still go to the fields to answer the nature’s call) that it was observed that there was a mud-covered baby amidst the barking group of dogs. The dogs went away when the villagers assembled there.

Although in the link above they say the villagers removed the mud from the baby’s mouth, in our Hindi newspaper they wrote that the villagers were so scared that they didn’t go near the baby. They called the police instead. The two constables came and picked the child from there and then cleaned her.

The girl was later adopted by a mother of 3 and was aptly named Bhumika as she appeared from the bhumi — the earth.

It was overwhelming to read the news because it was totally the other way round – the baby’s own mother buried her to kill her, and the street dogs – you might as well call them the beasts (I’m not using “beasts” in the wrong sense) – saved her. Then again, while they protected her the whole night and kept barking in the direction of the village in order to summon the villagers there, the meek villagers took their own time and even when they came there, they could muster enough courage to go near the baby. What an irony.

Life is an enigma. All your life you run from pillar to post. Your try to secure your future  Then you die. You die either after arranging everything for the next generation, or you die an “untimely” death. I wonder what’s the purpose of all this.

Sometimes I’m really put off by the overwhelming nihility of life. Right from the single-cell ameba to the human beings, life is paramount – we have to survive no matter what; for us, for our posterity. What are we achieving in all this?

We become painters, writers, actors, scientists, musicians, mathematicians, politicians and god knows what and then feel great and after having felt great and all we die smug in the thought that the future generations will remember us. Big deal! We justify all this by saying that we’re constantly making this world a better place for us and for the others. I don’t disagree. But I’m not talking about the betterment of the human kind or all the species of this planet. I’m talking about something else. I’m talking about the existential logic.

What exactly are we doing here? Are we a part of some gargantuan cosmic assembly line? “Who” is a very human expression, what we should think about is, what are we? What the hell is it all about? Because otherwise it doesn’t make sense. There are planets that go round the sun, and the sun spews out all sorts of gases and it gives us heat so that we can survive as if it has been put up there just for our benefit. There are billions and billions of stars – Carl Sagan’s expression, not mine – and there are infinite galaxies. There are comets and there are asteroids and there are galactic clouds. There are dimensions we know and there might be dimensions we are not aware of. Life may exist as a totally different concept in another part of the galaxy, or for that matter even in some neighboring solar system. Time may hold different meanings in different constellations – they say time doesn’t exist in the black holes.

So you see, there are such big things, and there are such small things as the husband of my maid beating her up and feeling all powerful. What’s macro and what’s micro, we don’t know.

Unless we know the primordial truth, the reason of our existence, living and dying seems quite silly. The universe seems silly. The planets and the stars and the seas and the clouds and the forests and the mountains and animals seem silly. Osama seems silly. What’s this hoopla about if we are all going to die in the end?

I am at office working tonite and just took a break and somebody came in my mind..My maid in India Tara man she was fun iw as using to have gr8 laughes with her anyway so I concluded that she is the real woman of substance — despite the fact that she secretly takes away 4 almonds everyday and despite the fact that she is highly irritating if allowed to do her own thing.

Now, she is totally illiterate, she has a good-for-nothing abusive husband, and she has 3 kids. Perhaps she and her eldest daughter — both work as house maids — are the only earning members. She is continuously trying to improve the lot of her kids.

I remmember her learning the elementary tables and talking about it with her she told me she’s learning to read and write. She constantly plans to get her children either decent education or some good career-oriented vocational training. She works 15-hours a day in two houses without resting and still she is always laughing. She never grudges her work and does everything cheerfully. This is I think her strength. In the conventional sense she’s got nothing to feel cheerful about. Her husband beats her up on a weekly basis, he doesn’t work, one of her children is perpetually sick and she herself often doesn’t feel quite well. Her attitude is her strength that keeps her going. She not only takes care of her children, she also tries to improve herself by gradually studying, in small proportions.

I wonder if women like her — and there are thousands like her in India, even millions — can ever feature in the glossy magazines that are specifically published for “the women of substance”. These magazines can publish pages on self-obsessed bimbos but can never in their wildest dreams imagine featuring people like Tara on their pages. Their basic definition of women of substance is that they should know what dress to wear on what occasion, how to put that lipstick without smearing the already stained teeth, how to patao that guy in the party and how to get the maximum out of their g-spots.

If they really want to experience the real substance, they should feature women like Tara in their magazines.