A Ballad of Growing Up

A little girl was born in a family.
The Gods were offered prayers thankfully.
No she wasn’t a fantasy!
She was a sunshine in reality,
For all the people of the locality,
With whom she played happily.

All loved her with their hearts and souls.
She played a million roles,
For various relatives and their goals.
Everyone felt fortunate to watch her grow.
There seemed to be no ‘loophole’,
In any relationship under patrol.

The little bud had all bloomed then.
She was a rare combination of beauty and brain.
When it was the right age, a hundred wise men
Came to take her as their woman.
She married one of the finest gentlemen.

In red-velvet she was prettily dressed.
The grandeur wedding was the one that impressed,
Everyone in the northwest.
There were special arrangements to welcome the guests.
It was a princely fest.

Only a couple of years thereafter,
One day she visited her mother.
What a surprise it was to discover,
That the people who called her their color,
Now didn’t even bother,
To meet her at supper.

The incident struck her like a thunderbolt.
She knew not what was her fault.
The relations she once flaunted,
Had all vanished at once like they were some fraud.
The ‘loophole’ was her final reward.

When people of your own,
Behave like some unknown,
Is the time you realize that all the while you were in a fantasy zone.
Suddenly you know that you had been all alone.
She felt disowned.

But no,that wasn’t so true,
The nature told her in a déjàvo.
In order to grow,
The seed has to undo,
All the links that join it to its debut.

The little nut does detach,
From the tree so as to attach,
Itself to a fresh soil so as to stretch
And bloom into a new version of itself.
That was real the catch !

An ode to Indian Weddings

The color coded ceremonies,
Initiate when it’s time for ‘Tony’,
To begin his new journey,
With his soul mate that he brings on a pony,
After the ritual and testimony.

The events are sometimes so hilarious,
Because people are so curious,
To know how luxurious,
Would his big day turn glorious,
While he would be sitting on a chariot.

Oh the people are a chatter box,
They only know how to mock,
At each and every little talk,
About the preparations done round the clock,
And ruin all the arrangements unlocked.

An aunt came in an expensive back seat,
But the inmates did not greet and treat
Her as she did entreat,
And now she ought to deplete,
The function by turning up the heat.

An uncle who is a fake swish,
Did not like a particular dish,
Would soon lose his bliss,
And behave so foolish,
Trying to be the reason for everyone’s anguish.

A drunkard is yet to come,
With a nasty bump,
After spending his unearned income,
On the costly drinks he has already gulped,
And then the effect would be ready to throw a tantrum.

The mother has waited forever,
For this trendy grandeur.
Spending the family’s hard earned legal tender,
Just to showcase their high caliber,
Which means just a negative gossip to the gather !

Oh ! It’s the father’s sad fate,
How it took years to accumulate,
The money he spent on a single date,
Yet could not create,
A perfect day where everyone would happily participate !


© Ritika

A Therapeutic Rebroadcast

I saw a young girl today.
It wasn’t the first time we met that day.
She was there in the park to play,
With dirty shoes due to the wet clay.

Just then, a thought flashed through my mind.
Was she my mirror image from the past?
Or she was just made from God’s same cast !
For her activities to me, were my childhood’s rebroadcast.

She behaved the way I did years ago.
Laughing like a parrot at the weirdest bellow.
Innocent and care free like a doe.
She chattered without a pause no less than the cawing of a crow.

Insignificant things to her were as important as a job interview.
She talked of things that for an adult seem untrue.
She was far away from the reality that people go through.
To her, the world was still a fascinating view.

Looking at the lustrous blue cloudless summer sky,
She asked her mother about the emperor butterfly.
Her amusing tattle seemed to detoxify,
The problems that were traveling in my mind’s eye.
I pray that unlike me, the child in her would never die!

© Ritika

The Devil Device

Our favorite season was the one at Granny’s,
Where our pockets were loaded with candies.
Now the children only know their nannies.
Are they genuinely becoming less brainy?
Oh this devil device is turning them crazy !

Once was an era when we played games in the park.
Our group of friends was a trademark,
Not the one that is created by Mark.
Instead, we were our society’s spark.
We enjoyed every moment with our hearts,
Although mom would scold us if we returned when it got too dark.

The new generation seems to have no clue,
For they only bother about Yahoo.
They know not what treasures we once went through.
It’s only the captivating cellular that they have grown into.
I wish they could appreciate things that are beyond the digital view.

The playgrounds are all abandoned,
People are all busily stranded.
Only using social media is supposed to be branded,
Where real emotions are never granted.
Oh how I wish I could command,
And with some magical wand once again create a world that is authentically candid.

© Ritika

Nostalgic

Never have I ever seen a world so beautiful.
The brilliant colors and the markets so wonderful.
The skyscrapers which seem invincible.
The people are gentle and no less adorable.

Although the streets are packed with traffic,
The cozy cafes to me are a marvelous magic.
The night life that was only a part of my dramatics,
Now makes my weekends more enthusiastic.

This is the imposter twinkle of the Tinseltown,
Where my new friends are all dressed in glamorous gowns.
They lavishly stay in the upper town,
With materialistic possessions that are quite renowned.

Inspite of visiting places I once dreamt to roam,
A piece of me still lingers back home.
Though the hip-hop life circulates in my dome.
The celebrated culture of Rome,
Is far away from what I have known.

Every ordinary episode of the past,
Is now a treasured rebroadcast.
Oh how dearly I wish to use my life raft,
And once again meet the mortals in the old photographs.

© Ritika

A Woman

Did you ever stop to think,
About the population in pink.
“My dear, you are a doll”, said the father settling his cufflinks.
“You look to be the prettiest bride”, said the mother in an eye blink.
Was that actually true then? I pause here to rethink.

Many-a-years have past by.
The two sides of the families have always tied,
While debating over the beautiful butterfly.
They only wish to own her with a hue and cry.
But does anyone actually exemplify?
Then whom do I signify ?

The former say, ” You belong to us no more !”
The latter never thought I was one of their core.
I still remain in a zone that is between the two doors.
Only needed as a supply store !
For it’s only me who bore,
Their grandchildren with great vigour.
Is that the only reason I was raised for ?

No one cares for the opinions I hold.
Tis the girl that was once tagged “bold”.
I wonder how tremendously one’s life can mould.
Here I stand by You with my hands fold,
“My lord kindly enlighten me with the untold.
Let me know, what for on Earth am I enrolled !”

© Ritika

Rain

For some the rain is merely a pain,
All their efforts are in vain.

“The clothes are all wet”, shouted the woman,
“There are none I can wear to work”, roared the lazy man.
“The storm has ruined the lawn,Madame!”
“It’s been pouring since the dawn”, said Adam.
“Oh dear! Oh dear! My little angles are shattered,
The cloudburst has ruined the flowerets I gathered.”

Not realizing the events are just a trifle,
There are incidents more painful.

The sun unable to cast it’s spell,
For the clouds are still a rebel,
The harsh weather made the girl too unwell,
The preparations she made were quite well,
But for the doctor’s bill,
She could not attend her school’s grand farewell !

Cried over the petty trouble,
Not realizing there are incidents more painful.

Twilight fell. The sky looked as dangerous as hell,
But the smother not yet ready to dispell.

The loner, not by choice but by luck,
Wasn’t too thunderstruck.
Sitting under the dim lit roof,
With expressions almost unmoved.
His heart forced to beat,
But his soul had already deplete.

As he missed his beloved who had deceased,
For their love in this weather would have unleashed.
But now the weather only diseased,
The grief-stricken old priest.
With the portrait of his lady beneath,
He hugged it tight teethed.

Whispered his last words, with love so graceful,
“Oh dear, without you my life has been very painful.”

© Ritika

The Good Old Days

Childhood was an age that was uncaged,
An era when the vibrant colors were not a trade.
Wish everything could remain unchanged,
Alas! That magnificent infancy can never be regained !

Whenever we felt like, we could cling to our mom’s apron,
Watching television was the only contamination.
Every moment was a celebration,
Because life had fewer complications.
But we all had a lot of aspirations.

To be one of those childhood role models,
That we discussed while spinning the bottle.
O how joyous it was to read a novel,
And not just surf through Google.
It was far more peaceful.

Gone are those heavenly days,
Only a glimpse and all seems in a haze.
Years have gone now and we are in a rat-race,
Sitting in an office that was once a chase,
But there is something that we have misplaced,
Tis the innocent and warm smile that has been wiped from our weary face !

© Ritika

The Unappreciated

The sunset is trending,
Students are nervously analysing,
Writers are comprehending,
Toilers are up winding,
Officers are still busy finding,
Workers will never be done enough with mending.

All are engrossed in pretending,
About the gone and the succeeding,
But no heart is still in the existing,
How strange a behavior is ascending !
Their errands are never-ending,
O thou sun, will no one ever be intending,
To witness your spectacular blending,
Into an inky world that seems unending !

Thereafter, the shadowy night will unveil it’s face,
The mighty moon will take your place,
I know not what will be it’s phase,
What path it might trace,
The hideous will thereby chase,
The innocent ; for it is in their race,
To fall down in disgrace.

But o thou sun, when no embers are left in the fireplace, I will look forward to your cage,
From where thou chariot will unbrace,
And once again thou shalt blaze across the space,
And raze the negatives into base !

© Ritika

Because I am perfectly imperfect…

Lately, I’ve started writing my thoughts on a piece of paper. I guess I am in love with this line of action. As I am too good to speak my thoughts out loud, I feel safe when I jot them down.

  • Doing this as I require honest reviews about my writings
  • A lot of people would hopefully connect to my line of thought and help me endeavor
  • All I expect from this platform is to become a better version of myself.
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