Mothering pains

cat-1116_078_0I have a confession to make here

There is nothing nowadays that I fear

More than meeting other mothers on weekends

For children’s activities- I’d rather run mundane errands

 

For each time mothers meet, the topics of conversation

Revolve around the extent of their enthusiastic participation

In their children’s lives- soccer practice, dance recitals

Advanced math classes, playdates- these are the staples

Of life as a mother- to which I sadly do not conform

I know driving children everywhere is the norm, 

That I cannot keep up with because I need 

The weekend to recharge my batteries indeed

While spending some quality time with my son-

So we read together or do art projects for fun

I am perfectly happy doing this, and so is he

(I think), but then I get worried each time I see

Or hear other mothers talking about 

The tight schedules of their children; doubt

Starts clouding my mind- what if my son

Falls behind his peers- no, he has to run

The same race that everyone seems to

Be running, surely they have a better clue

As to how dabbling in ten different activities

Can secure a seat in an Ivy League with ease..

 

When I get carried away by these thoughts, I want to

Enrol him in every single activity available too

Then I stop myself so that I can  re-evaluate

My priorities for my child, consider what I have on my plate

It is true that I want my child to develop skills multi-faceted

But not the same skills as others- I want him to be unique instead

Maybe by being at home and doing projects with me

He is learning more by exercising his creativity

Then I calm down and decide not to be a part

Of mom discussions next time- that would be a good start!

(Image: www.theriaults.com)

 

 

 

 

 

Where do my loyalties lie

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In a world that is increasingly
Divided, with pervasive hostility
And paranoia everywhere-
I struggle to see what is right, what is fair
In this divided world I cannot decipher
Where to place my loyalties, with whom to concur
Every group I belong to has views that are right
And other views that I want to fight
With any one group I cannot align
Myself- there is a need for me to find
A happy medium- the most moderate view
Of the world, the outlook that rings true

I try to eliminate prejudice from my mind
Yet in a polarized world I find
It is difficult to avoid biases making their way
Into my subconscious, looking for a place to stay
Inadvertently, often thoughts cross my mind
Reflecting subtle biases of various kinds
I can see them mirrored in the world around me
Fueling my warped views, unfortunately
I chide myself each time my bias I realize
And remind myself next time I would be wise
In a world divided I have to work relentlessly
To owe my allegiance to nothing but humanity.

 

Will toot my horn

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I cannot help but notice how these days

Self-promotion has become easier in many ways

So the talents that we had were meant to be showcased

Before close friends and family, often based

On the context and occasion, employed strategically

To garner praise, or arouse envy specifically-

Now there is a smattering of our “talents” for all to see

On social media, to boost our self-esteems for free..

Most of us are guilty at some point or another

Of checking our profiles after posting with fervor

To see how many likes and comments we receive

We feel validated, we are admired we believe…

 

I suspect most of us would never be able to

Boast of our achievements the way we do

Out loud in front of an audience

But facebook gives us the confidence

To publicize, promote, self-aggrandize

While posting we do not even realize

That fifteen years ago we would not have dreamt

That showing off would become such a big trend..

 

Pardon me if the tone of this verse is too sanctimonious

Let me check the number of likes on my post ostentatious! 

 

 

 

 

 

Woman at Work

“We cannot all succeed when half of us are held back.”

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The week starts off with a list robust

Of things to do- she gets cracking, but first

An adequate dose of caffeine she needs

To get her galvanized into action indeed

The list is long, but in her view

It is exciting to have more things to do

It brings out her efficient, no-nonsense way

She means business, her manner conveys

Working without breaks, targets she exceeds

By making secondary her personal needs

In a brutally competitive, male-driven sphere

She has chalked out her strategy, her goals are clear

She arrives early to work, late she leaves

To be on equal footing with the men, she believes

Her industrious and dedication would certainly

Lead her to the top echelons eventually

 

 

Whether she was naive to think so

I cannot say, I do not know

But in this world with its warped ways

Where discrimination occurs in myriad ways

Her workaholic tendencies were misconstrued

And given a sexual context, this was so not true!

Credit for her productivity was claimed

By someone more powerful, with a “Mr.” to his name

As you can guess, the opposite gender acted in collusion

To sabotage her chance of landing the coveted promotion

 

She was angry, hurt, disappointed

She blamed herself until someone pointed

To her that it had nothing to do 

With anything except her gender- sad but true

 

Unfortunately this story is not unique

Women are subject to unfair critique

In their workplace, especially if they are 

Good at what they do, they don’t  get far

 

 

She is learning to fight her battles, learning to say “no”

I hope one day she shall be the CEO!

 

 

 

 

 

Escape

“I am not addicted to drugs or alcohol- I am addicted to escaping reality.”

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There are days I wish I could forget

The route home, wish I could upset

The predictable order of things at a whim

(Though the chances of this occurring are dim)

There are times when I let my fantasy take flight 

The little battles of everyday life I refuse to fight

 

And dream about driving away in my car

Way past home, to a destination far

Assume an identity completely new

Among new people who have not a clue

As to my real identity- is that too outlandish

To think it is possible? Or just plain selfish?

To run away from my family and obligations

Just like a gypsy- to an unknown destination?

Then find my soul;  free from the chains

Of daily living, return as a person sane..

**

The fantasy is alluring, I must say

Yet I am not an escapist, I know, any day

So while a physical journey is quite out of question

I need to take a mental break from the tensions

Of daily living- so I imagine myself in another place

Footloose, unencumbered, solitary in my space

Vivid images of a sanctuary I try to conjure

To which I can retreat, a place untarnished and pure-

Alas! A minute or two at most lasts my reverie

Broken cruelly, abruptly by insipid reality…

The escape that I dream of, I realize

Will in the near future not materialize..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hello, I am your doctor..

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I know you are worried I do not fulfil

Your criteria- I can see I do not instil

Confidence in you that  I am capable

Of  taking excellent care of you, that I am able

To diagnose and treat your condition-

You might not have chosen me of your volition

 

But you were forced to make a compromise

Between timely referral and me, I surmise…

Probably I am the wrong gender and size

The wrong accent, wrong physical attributes, I realize

I hardly resemble the image you have in mind

Of a distinguished middle-aged male with eyes kind

And a soft-spoken manner; with which he can claim

Your complete trust and respect- I do not blame

You for feeling that way- that is the stereotype

Perpetuated by media- yet there is no one prototype

Of a good physician; we happen to be as diverse

As the rest of the denizens of this universe.

 

So here I am, my petite frame stretched in attention

To your complaints, concerns, apprehensions

I know you are gravely ill, and in distress

Your condition is one I am equipped to address

I might have an accent but know what I tell you 

Is based on up-to-date knowledge, backed by experience too

Because I know you do not intrinsically trust me

Know that I shall be as thorough as a physician can be

Your preconceived notions challenge me to do my best

I know that on a perfect image I cannot rest

Let me tell you- since I do not conform to a stereotype

I’ve had to work harder to earn my stripes

I hope you look past my physical attributes and see

That you shall be treated as well as you deserve to be.

 

Running out of the weekend..

versaillesAnother weekend is over and I

Watch the minutes go ticking by

Sunday night is here, and my

Anxiety level is reaching its weekly high

Where did the weekend go, I wonder

I feel so tired, I guess it was a blunder

To create a jam-packed schedule

It seems to be an unwritten rule

That we must socialize, do something new

While finding time for chores too

So in the mayhem of going out with friends;

And cooking, cleaning, running errands

I’ve tired myself out yet again-

I forgot my resolve to rest, I think in disdain

The grind of the next week is knocking at my door

I’m not ready for Monday, I need some more

Of a weekend that actually feels like one

Where I can relax and read, not be on the run

Yet again I decide my next weekend shall be

For rest and relaxation, absolutely-

Then I glance at my calendar and realize

There are social obligations next week, and thus dies

Any hope of a restful weekend in the future near

I just sigh and decide to catch up on sleep dear

Like it or not , I will have to face

Monday- for its shenanigans, myself I brace..

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Heart of an Immigrant Writer

“The immigrant’s heart marches to the beat of two quite different drums, one from the old homeland and the other from the new. The immigrant has to bridge these two worlds, living comfortably in the new and bringing the best of his or her ancient identity and heritage to bear on life in an adopted homeland.”- Mary McAleese

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Reading yet another evocative book one night

I thought- why were so many immigrants compelled to write

Stories set in lands whose shores they had left behind

Narratives giving a glimpse into the longing in their minds..

 

Perhaps the gnawing pain of separation necessitates

Expression in words- it is an attempt to placate

The uprooted soul which in the process of immigration

Loses its bearings, silently protests in indignation..

 

Or maybe, forced to leave one’s motherland 

Succumbing to fate’s cruel, unrelenting hands

Refugees have traumatic memories that torment

Such that to process those harrowing moments

They turn to writing as a therapeutic exercise

Demons of the past they thus exorcise..

 

They say broken hearts make poets out of many men

Immigration is worse than a heartbreak, I think, brethren

No wonder the anguish that an immigrant carries inside

Is woven in beautiful words within which his feelings hide..

 

As an immigrant I can feel, I can touch those words

That describe the love and longing for lost worlds

Words wrapped in pages that mirror my emotions 

Words that stir my heart, create a commotion..

I hope one day my pent emotions shall spill over into

Words that form powerful stories too..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Woman and Society

venetian thinkerAh, you fickle society

With your norms arbitrary

Established by those in authority-

When will you learn to deal with me?

**

If I did possess, proudly

Alluring, exquisite beauty

If I were willing to sacrifice

My intellect, often perceived as a vice

You would know where to place

Someone like me, just a pretty face..

If I were meek and willing forever

To lean on a broader (?stronger) shoulder

You would readily be able to

Put in a box, label me, wouldn’t you?

If my eyes dripped of vulnerability

You would look at me quite comfortably..

To parochial authority if I could submit

My desires, aspirations if I could forfeit

I would merge in your fabric

Seamlessly, without perturbing your rubric

If I never raised a voice of dissent

Never ventured beyond the extent

Of liberties allotted to me

By those who think they shape you, society

I would live life predictably

Fitting right in, respectably..

**

Ah, my dear society, you see

I do not fit in those molds, unfortunately..

Underdosed in beauty I happen to be

Wit and intellect were bestowed on me

In reasonable quantities-

Your irrational vagaries

Exasperate me, I am forced

To say things that are not endorsed

By your members esteemed

Therefore, to me it has often seemed

That my chutzpah makes it difficult for you

To be comfortable with me, isn’t that true?

Afraid I am not, no shoulder I need

(I can offer my delicate shoulder indeed)

In your carefully woven tapestry

I clearly stand out like a jarring accessory

I speak my mind, sending your members

Scrambling for suitable answers…

Your stereotypes fail to classify me

We need a middle ground that I don’t see

I keep hoping someday we shall find

A way to celebrate both beauty and mind!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Sound of Applause

“O, popular applause! what heart of man is proof against thy sweet, seducing charms?”

William Cowper

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They say happiness comes from within

Yet I proudly say I have committed the sin

Of pride- in my life many times over

I am flamboyant, I am a lover

Of attention from audience, their adulation

The sound of applause produces an exhilaration

That is hard to match- a heady feeling it is

Thunderous applause fills my mind with bliss

Throughout my life on the stage, I did strive

To give my best performance live

The motivation that might too shallow appear

Was always the same- to get the loudest cheer

Many other moments did bring happiness profound

Yet again and again I yearned for the musical sound

Of applause from my audience that proved to me

That my efforts were not an exercise in futility..

**

So accustomed was I to this adulation

I never considered my worth in my own estimation

Thus, when the vagaries of ageing  led to demise

Of the career I had cherished, I realized

Bereft of the applause that I had lived for

There was nothing else to give me succour

The vacuum of loneliness gnawed at me

Suddenly, quite rudely I was forced to see

That without my audience, my self-esteem

Was in a graveyard- somehow I had to redeem

Myself in my eyes- do something different

Hidden from public eye, something that was meant

To bring some solace to my scorching soul-

I re-examined, in the world, my role

And decided to impart the skills I had perfected

To the next generation- I thus elected

To teach theater to enthusiastic souls

I thus redefined in the world my role

This time there was applause which appropriately

Was for my students, definitely not for me

Yet the thunderous applause that resounded in my ears

Came from within, said, “This is real happiness, dear!”

 

 

 

 

Ramblings of a doctor in the intensive care unit (ICU)

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Exhausted, discouraged, demoralized I feel

As I sit at the end of the day, rubbing my aching heels

Life and death in all their unpredictability

Get in the way of caring for patients, inevitably

And I question myself, that though my team strives

To make every single sick patient survive

Our efforts turn out to be exercises in futility

Sometimes, making me question the utility

Of using fancy drugs, gadgets, machines and more

All these resources without a second thought we pour

Into treating our patients, yet often we fail

On days like this, a sense of failure prevails

Over me- I keep trying to second guess

Myself, I try to find errors in my care- I confess

Sometimes I pick up some, myself I remind

Next time, to keep these mistakes in mind

Though I feel bad, I am satisfied too

To know that there is something better I can do

But more often than not, no flaw I can seem

To find in the care delivered by my team

Then I am conflicted- I cannot decide

Whether to trust a higher power- I do confide

That not getting answers makes me uneasy

My analytical mind is skeptical, naturally

To believe in something that cannot be explained

By scientific principles goes against the way I’ve been trained..

 

In lamenting all the things that go wrong, I forget

That there are days when this pessimism is reset

By miraculous recoveries, inexplicable turns

That are equally hard to explain in rational terms

 

Then I remind myself that I am merely an instrument

That gets used in fulfilling the destiny of my patients!

Weary traveler, come home

“It’s a funny thing coming home. Nothing changes. Everything looks the same, feels the same, even smells the same. You realize what’s changed is you.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald

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Excitement starts stirring in my chest

In anticipation of what’s coming next

Memories of the hallowed land dear

From my brain’s recesses suddenly appear-

Invading all senses in an explosion

Of images, smells, sounds and the feel

Of my homeland, making my head reel

The sense of missing something crucial

Is keener than ever, the pain is real

Nervous with excitement and anticipation

I look forward to the landing with apprehension-

What has changed in the land that is preserved

In my memory as a snapshot in time leaves me unnerved

Despite annual pilgrimages my warped vision

Of my homeland has not changed, it is frozen

In time- back to when I left the shore

To taste new flavors, new vistas explore-

As the plane touches the ground and comes to a halt

I am shaken out of my reverie, I smell the asphalt

Melting under the mercilessly hot tropical sun

My fragile nerves are finally soothed

Euphoria fills my soul, I am back to my roots!