SHE was destiny's daughter, no longer Fate's Bride. Shaped by tides of emotions, as deep as the tears of the oysters she wore. Pearls, they called it... now she knew why. Each perfect beauty molded like the tears she'd cried.Pure, transluscent, fragile. Many had loved her but she wore her widowhood like a mantle. Protecting her from rapacious eyes lusting to satisfy their greed. It sheltered her from falling in love again. Yet, she did.

The unbearable lightness of being insignificant in her lover's life. He had yet to come to terms with her widowhood. Something, that was a nagging thought in his otherwise placid life. Choices left to moods, because he knew... one day, he'd just take up a virgin as easily as he lied about her existence in his life. Just one of those technicalities solvable by appliying a formula.

Yet, she often pondered. Shouldn't time and maturity bring one close to the one and only truth... Death? She was still destiny's child, following her mother's footsteps whatever fate meted out to her. Love only held her hand when noone was looking. A lover afraid of truth casting long shadows in his own life. Her insignificance was not personal, just another grain in a series confusion created by a fleeing mind.His.

She was DESTINY, tired of living a lie! Her mantle, shining as a bride's veil, nolonger in the shadow of a cladestine lover who feared the her truth. Hypocrisy has no place in love. Hypocrisy shares no space in life.

Join her as She walk along the streets of her life
Life with many indelible marks, She have carried across.
Across the prime meridian from here, by the Coastal Bay
Bay that harbors city, where she was born to a beloved lady.
Lady and her husband smiled as they saw the baby
?Baby, our baby? they said with pride and happiness
Happiness unbound - boy o? boy, isn?t that a moment to cherish?
Cherish this thought, a ditto for all parents to date.

Her first few streets have many footprints
literally, footprints that She left on others kicking with her legs
Legs went weary as the years passed, until She jumped to five.
Five years it took to start her school ? a whole new journey
Journey that created more prints through new friends
Friends who made her laugh, some made her cry
Crying that She?s now as she see flashes of them all
All her teachers, friends and fellows, their prints say it all.

Streets six, seven and eight all look the same
Same, very much same that a feeling of innocence sweeps you off!
Off she went to school everyday, studied and talked
Street for the adolescent, street for the curious
Curious enough to tread the unexplored, to evolve.
Evolution of thoughts and deeds that would form the footprints of her character.

The next few streets were colorful and mystic
Mystic by its fragrance and colorful by its very presence.
Double your hard work, your intelligence, said somebody
Somebody she would be, lest she wouldn?t be anybody
Anybody can offer free advice, so she thought, until?
until failures left its dark footprints in her heart.

Come 18th, she begin to realize what it takes to
take on the world and grab life by its horns.
Horns of knowledge, and a tongue of tact,
intact within herself added with a burning desire to succeed.
Success over others, control over herself
Myself against herself is the hardest contest she?ve seen.
See around, observe, seek and learn - the experience of
experiencing this life left its deepest footprint in her.


Failures healed, or rather, never bothered her anymore
More she failed, more she learnt from them to handle life,
With backing from her parents, God and friends? circle, she saw
a circle of aura that encompassed her heart.
A heart made of simplicity and nobility that, touch wood,
would always wish good for others and share the peace within.

Her last couple of streets is by far the best
in reflecting the gains that she have made.
A happy heart, a healthy body, an able brain,
Rich harvest of what she sowed not so long ago.
As she stand at the end of her 23rd street,
She can see herself standing at the horizon
So, She says
"Keep your hopes alive and push success to its brim.
Carve your life and watch your footprints spread
in all directions that would fetch more than just your daily bread.
Derive strength from within; steal accolades from others
Radiate humility from all over, preaching love like that of a mother?s.
I hope to have inscribed some of my fine prints in you!"


Ashley!

"The Unbearable Lightness of Being".... Though the writing is quite unbearable -laden with troves of cliches, the stolen phrase reminded me of the movie with the same title - one of the best movies I ever saw. Based on Milan Kundera's novel. Rent it if interested.

mG.

Hey Ashley! Thank you for continuing the saga of life. I have always enjoyed your writing. Always!


Mindgames, indeed clever of you to notice the cliches (I was hoping they were cleverly camouflaged! hehe!). On a serious note, I had a glimpse of impulsive enlightenment too, (and I am not being cynical here), no matter how the story goes, life can be strung together with a series of trite phrases and sentences. Almost like a Hindi Movie. And yes, "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" is truly a great movie.

I would not want either my life or the life I create to even remotely follow the cliches or be like Hindi movies. Yeah we may repeat the same experiences and similar circumstances but still cliche means just that - overdone. No cliche will satisfy your need to record or adorn the "glimpse of impulsive enlightenment." Let life's singularity show through not the deadwood of Bollywood.

mG.

Mindgames, great observations indeed, but quite naive, if I may say so. The flexibility of the mind and the existence of the timeless cliches need not adorn, nor paint any one person's experience every time a typed word makes it to the screen. Doodling need not qualify as art... it's just what it is... not a personal statement. Hence, the purpose of idle cliches.

Would love to argue/discuss with you as to why/when/how cliches...? But as one of my writing professors used to say... "Why not? If it serves your purpose!"

Got to go nunu! Goodnight mindgames!

"Life can be strung together with a series of trite phrases and sentences"

True, it can --- but it does not make a story readible. If all one wants to do is tie down a life's worth of living into cliches why not just sing a bollywood song and get it over with. After all there are all kinds of tune to suit every cliched mood.

If doodling is all one wants to do then let thought flow free without the pretentions of looted thoughts.

Some of the heart warming tales scattered throughout the forum have a way of sneaking into the imagination and creating in the mind pulsing entities ---- your grammatically correct rendition of a young woman's woe fails to give life to anything other than words.

You have great talent ---- its just shrouded in your need to portray perfection (pardon the cliche :))

yeah and my ficition professor said, "only those who lack novelty so blatantly do steal." The naivete that you talk about is more apparent in how you naively took your professor's advice and are now trying to justify the shamelessly titled "Destiny's Daughter" as something with a grand purpose. Doodling as art indeed! And the reasons behind the use of cliches that you hint at are not there. Besides any work should stand on its own. If it needs explanations to convey the said purpose then why even bother putting out the flawed piece? No explanation can save that which needs explanation.

Yes, do sleep on it dear!

mG.

Anyway, I can hardly comprehend what Sitara writes most of the time here. It appears very esoteric.

Sitara: Nicely portrayed. I had read your -Vermillion - at sajha Guild. liked it.

--------
mindgame: Her brilliancy in writing overshadows the flaws (if anywhere) :o)

-------
Ashley: insanely original. Well done !

Ah! Mindgames, sir, the self elected judge, jury and executioner... I am in awe of your powerful opinions. ... go back and read what I wrote about "doodling..."

Thank you joonkeri and welcome if you are new to Sajha! Words like "perfection" and "flaws" are a matter of perception. Thank heavens for diversity in Sajha.

P Queen; esoteric re...? :) I feel the same when you refer to the aristocracy of Nepal..."kas kas ko, bhitrini ko, natini ko... ko ko re!" You seem to know them all and are in the loop di loop.


G_I, Thank you. I remember one piece you put out 2 years ago. One sentiment(yours) stuck in my mind and to paraphrase, "Despite my personal tragedy, nothing's different. Flowers still bloom and the seasons still change when it's time. What was my crime that I was the only one penalized for having loved unconditionally." Atleast, this was how I understood it. As for the "hypocrisy" in love... I feel for those women, men swear to love and cherish. Only to drop them because they don't fit perfectly into the mold of a socially acceptable bride.

GreenGal. Thank you for your generous words. "Vermillion" is a metaphoric writing, written in a philosophic haze about a woman who refuses to grieve in the traditional way. That piece satisfied a personal, psychological need in me.
However, this is one is a cliched writing as many have kindly pointed out, stating the obvious. It is a tongue-in-cheek satire on double standards...hence why I wrote it after Valentine's Day: "The Day for True Lovers!"

On Ashley's writing: She is exceptionally creative ... full of life, imagery and contemporary flavor. However, the few times, she wrote in Sajha... some viciously tore her apart, badgered her because her writing did not quite "fit into their standards". Many comfortably ignored the multifaceted forms of creative writing in their obsession to make a mute point. Her writings are rare these days, but always a joy to read.

expecting some sense of class and dedication on the works of the most celebrated author in sajha is not an obsession to prove a moot point. or maybe the typo was intentional, you did want us to remain mute!

mG.

Sitara and Mindgames, GREAT as usual. haha, good read. Ofcourse, i cannot criticize or judge anyone's writing in here, (sab ek sey ek) tara taini, i cant help but say, Better than the story was the disscussion :)

Ashley, wonderfully written.

"Keep your hopes alive and push success to its brim.
Carve your life and watch your footprints spread
in all directions that would fetch more than just your daily bread.
Derive strength from within; steal accolades from others
Radiate humility from all over, preaching love like that of a mother?s.
I hope to have inscribed some of my fine prints in you!"

MG, "moot" or "mute" make it interchangeable as the mood suits you. Are we suggesting that G_I, Ashley and Greengal have no "class" for having found a connection in this piece of writing...in Sajha?! Really, your definition of class, is it! Perhaps, its those many writing classes you took in college that decides "class","taste", "flaws" for all and sundry.

Confused, thanks.

How many days in a row?
Lost the count long ago
Story is the same, though
Your life is an arrow, mine is a bow.

Are we suggesting that G_I, Ashley and Greengal have no "class" for having found a connection in this piece of writing...in Sajha?!


We were not suggesting that. We were suggesting that I deemed your story lacking in class. That started the discussion about hackneyed phrases; which they still are and both lacking in effort and not living up to anyone's standards. Yes, it is my better judgments and all the classes I took that I could see the flaws. May be the professor of yours did not spend enough time in teaching what class is.


mG.

Sitara, Are you trying to tell here that you're always right? Duh. Get over it. Who cares if few of your girl friends liked it. Most of others don't. Thats what me and Ladybug have been trying to tell you from the past. Accept criticism if you think you're class writer. Get real.

****
Ashlye, your poem is boring as well thats why you liked this boring story. Duh

Peace out

Mindgames, Effortless it was (remember doodling?)... an idle break from the rigors of formal writing.
And I am truly sorry that this piece has offended the sensibilities of your classroom rubrics. I'm sure you'll live to read another one and get your hackles up, again. If not... oh well!


Deep ji:

My life like an arrow,
flying straight, flying past
its fated track.
Yours is the bow,
Steady and strong,
Tell me whose is the hand,
that holds it so firm.

:)

SonikaNY... Good to see you here again! I hope your porche is still crawling. :)