What Lies Beneath!

What I am going to write today is something I have never attempted before, not even in my personal diary.  It came up in a conversation this morning with my partner who suggested that I should write about my experience of my mother’s death.  He believes that something significant is locked there.  Hence this attempt to unlock. My mother was only 29 years old when she died.  I lost her when I was three years old.  In fact, she celebrated my third birthday in August of 1961 by buying me red shoes (I remember because a friend in the building asked me to stand on top of cinders on the same day and I could not wear my lovely red shoes on my birthday), and I remember her crying about my burnt feet. She passed away three months later in November, on the same day.  She died suddenly, unprepared, trying to have an abortion all by herself because she did

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Everyone needs a space to express ….

Today our domestic worker Mary came a little early and was looking rather troubled. I gently enquired and out came the story of a matter of difference of opinion between Mary and her children (one of them is married) and how used she is feeling, etc.   As she was describing the chain of events of last evening, night and this morning, she sounded tired and a bit hopeless.  I did not know what to do, except to give her a patient hearing and be there lest she needed support.  I did not want to patronise her by comforting her or advising her as to what she was to do, etc.  I believe she is perfectly capable on making her own decisions on the matter. She possibly needed someone to just listen to how she felt, like we all do from time to time. Anyway, in the afternoon today, I requested her to teach me to do a diwali rangoli as I

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