Like Mother, Like Daughter

Don’t make your life out of some else’s
Don’t do that I will tell my daughter
Why daughter and not children you ask?
Because it is what women are taught to do
And hence are more susceptible to

But what do I tell my mother
who has already done that?
I am everything to her,
along with my brothers
I am to her what my career is to me,
what good books are and poetry
And I find it impossible to believe that I can fulfil
the aspirations and dreams
That she substituted with me,
When I can't fulfil enough of mine.

She takes pride in my each step,
as if it is my gift to her
But it is only what she gave me,
her breath, repacked
A gift I repay, in silent shrugs and curt replies.
I tell my friends I am Gogol from the Namesake,
Like him not knowing why my parents named me.

Trupthi, Contentment I am to them,
just with my existence,
And that seems to blow my mind,
coz after all my tries
I haven’t found contentment yet,
never in my grasp
I only lapse
in doing all that
I can with my breath.

She gave me warm smiles and warmer food.
She gave me her truths
with equal measures of lies
To keep me from crying,
She picked my slack when she could have left

Taught me that she wanted me to do all
that she couldn’t
That if I was right
she would stand by my side
No matter the opponents,
Mostly that is the only kind of courage
a little girl needs for her dreams.

She has made her life out of
caring for me, praying for me,
a courtesy I sometimes
Don’t do enough to deserve
but she doesn’t seem to mind
it’s a quality of her kind,
but I can’t see why.

Since I can’t figure it out
I think it dangerous, an oddity.
To love someone more than
your wants and needs
To love someone even when they insist
That disappointment is all they can give.

But maybe when I have my daughter,
a little one of my own
Something like a poem,
which is credited to my soul and name
Maybe I will make her my life
And will be a hypocrite for telling her
to not do the same.

The Gratitude Poem

To the boy in the train who sold me this Ferrari last week, while saying “chalta bhi hai, Jalta bhi hai”
To the CA course, for making me desperate enough to start TPC,
To the girl who wrote us a thank you mail last time, you are the fuel to my soul
To the guy who has visited all the countries in the world and still personally replies to my fan mail.
Thank you.

To my mother for never losing her sense of humour even when there was nothing to laugh about
To books for connecting me to my soulmate, Kurt Vonnegut you died too soon,
To the girl on youtube trying to make strangers smile,
To my brothers for discovering me after all these years.
Thank you.

To Facebook, For making meeting strangers easier
To TPC, for teaching me that human connection is exhilarating
To anyone who was strong enough to write a thought down, so that I could say I get you
To myself, for realizing that I deserve nothing, this is all a gift.
Thank you.