224.Quest

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 54; the fifty-fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

The Joy comes and goes;

The Sorrow returns and stays for some time;

They do not remain forever.

Peace replaces War

Then returns the War;

They do not remain forever.

Hunger, Thirst, Sleep, Desire,

Dream, Passion, Frustration,

Pain, Smile, Thought, Idea, Vacuum,

Lust, Jealousy, Kindness,

Selfishness, Empathy,

Belief, Commitment,

Body, Mind, Identity, Ideology, Ego,

God, Earth, Sky, Rain, Wind, Sun, Moon,

Nothing remains forever.

Even Life is not forever;

And Death too is not forever.

Only the Quest

To understand the meaning of the Existence

Remains Forever.

The baton is handed over

From generation to generation

With the same zeal.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 47

223. Bitter

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 53; the fifty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with ​Soulmates: Love without ownership by Vinit K Bansal. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

I like chocolates.

But Mama and Papa do not allow me to eat chocolates as often as I want. 

My Didi is great. She always gives me chocolates. 

But something is wrong with Didi.

She weeps continuously when we are in our room, but laughs loudly and looks happy when everybody is around.

Yesterday when she was crying, I offered her chocolate.

“NO! Bittu, promise me; you will never eat chocolate”, she said.

“Never? Why?” I was surprised.

“Because the chocolate is bitter,” she sobbed.

She was so sad that I promised her so.

How can sweet chocolate be bitter?

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222. A verdade

Início

Mãe pensa que na escola sempre estudamos.

Mas não é verdade.

Na escola trabalhamos muito e estudamos pouco.

Todos os dias varremos o quintal, varremos sala de aula, limpamos casa de banho, apanhamos lixo e regamos as plantas.

O trabalho continua, um depois do outro.

Desde a semana passada, a professora de português deu-me uma nova responsabilidade. Cuidar de bebé dela.

Antes de ir para escola, em casa, ajudo a minha mãe. Então, depois ando por uma hora para a escola.

Estou muito cansada.

Quero estudar, mas não quero ir para escola.

Como posso dizer a verdade para minha mãe?

221. Letter

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 52; the fifty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with Metro Diaries by "Namrata". To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

After the meeting; women disappeared fast. Except one.  

 “Come to my home,” the middle aged Rakhama mavashi ordered.

I knew so less about her, that I decided to take the opportunity. 

After a cup of tea, she asked, “Can you write a letter for me?”

I was glad to help her. 

She brought a post-card.

She told me what to write. I wrote.

It was clear that she was writing to her husband.

In those ten minutes, I understood the story of her life.

“Address?”  I asked.

“I do not know”, she said. 

“No one knows”, added her little daughter.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 45

217. Início

"Acorda filha, tu tens que ir para escola", diz a mãe.

Quer com chuva ou frio, mãe quer que Laura vá a escola. 

Laura sabe, a mãe já contou pelo menos cem vezes a sua história.

A mãe gosta muito de ter ido a escola e quis tornar-se professora. Mas avo' quis dinheiro. Por isso, pela a mãe casou-se com 12 anos. 

Laura pode parar o ciclo de vida da mãe e muitas outras meninas a sua volta.

Laura sabe que pode trazer mudança para a vida dela pela assistência regular a escola. 

Ir para escola e' início da mudança. 

216. Is it my name?

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 49; the forty-ninth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

“What is your name?” someone asked.

I tried to remember, but could not.

“I don’t know”, I said.

“Where do you live? Where is your home?” he asked, in a soft voice.

I tried to remember but I could remember nothing.  

“I don’t know”, I was feeling ashamed to say so.

Another man came.  He held my hand, asked me few more questions. 

But I could add nothing more.

“Give a try, Uncle. Go down the memory lane. What do you see?” he asked me.

I could see nothing. I told him so.

“Alzheimer”, someone said.

Is it my name?  

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213. Apology

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 48; the forty-eighth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

“You owe me an apology”, she demanded.

“I am really sorry,” he said controlling his tears.

“I did not ask for “sorry”, I want an apology,” she was stubborn.

“I apologize”, he said in a low voice.

“You too owe me an apology”, she turned to the silent woman and demanded in the same tone.

“I apologize”, she said in a low and tearful voice.

There was pin-drop silence.

The child moved away, very slowly, without looking back.

“So, coming back to the custody of your only daughter….” the lawyer continued.

They knew they would be apologetic all their life.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 40

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