March 8, 2017

Women's day

I choose this day of “Happy Women’s day” especially to express my gratitude and love for the “MEN” as I believe this beautiful collaboration of equals i.e masculine and feminine can make this world a better place. Shiva&Shakti.
I am a feminist. Being a feminist, feminism means equality to me. I do not seek any bias towards a particular gender as both are important. I truly respect and value the role of men and how both genders complement each other equally. Although, I do feel that at times the woman or girl child needs that extra support to be celebrated and accepted as equals. In the Indian context, for that to happen, we still need to elevate our consciousness.
And yes, there is more sensation than sensitization in our society with regard to the true spirit of feminism. I do not find it right that women are imitating men to prove equal to them. It’s not the correct approach to emulate their dress or life style. That doesn’t prove anything other than allowing and acknowledging the stereotype. There are some inherent qualities in both genders, and one can progress embracing those qualities, working in tandem rather than stereotyping the role of one gender. Both can co-exist and collaborate beautifully with respect for each other.
As Anais Nin quotes on the power of hers:
“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”
So the aim is to be a happy, regardless of days and gender.
#SHEFORSHE #SHEFORHE #HEFORSHE #SHETHESHAKTI#MEENAKSHIMSINGH

January 10, 2017

And She kept dying happily everafter



I write to die,
To die after pouring life on the paper,
To let the creation be alive
And float, stay or fly
It’s a process of consumption
Emotion, resurrection, consummation
But I get reborn, anew, lighter
It’s a compulsive murder
Killing of the wrath or exuberant joy
A constant tussle between the heart and the pen
The pen pulling out the words like mining something
 It’s a fight and my being looks forward to this struggle
To get churned, and after it flows entirely
I feel dead, neutral as if
That poem never belonged to me
I forget the words
And read it like a narrator reciting someone else’s words
I belong till its birth
And cut off the umbilical just after it
The baby gets raised in other nests
Other hearts
And I enjoy to die
And my epitaph says

And she kept dying happily everafter