Godliness in greenery!

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‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

Cleanliness and godliness have been interchangeably used since time immemorial. Though it can’t be traced to biblical era but Hebrew connections in the past do show off about the emphasis. However the newbie toast of the town is greenery and godliness. The greener the pastures and savannas, the better is the purity of mind, which in turn revels spirituality. Actually the connection is deeper and ripples effect down to our inner food for thought. Greenery is sanctity of mind and soul, the rhythmic progression of body, psyche and attitude. The more we stride abode the nature trail, the better we breathe and visualize. It accentuates the freshness of thought and reinforces health with purity. Nothing beats the oneness of nature and soul and the repercussions that follow. But why just nature, all his creations are pulchritudinous and so are his superpowers, I’m sure they merge within dwindling boundaries unknown to most of us.

Cleanliness breeds health and hygiene. It also propagates the spiritual being of godliness in every aspect of your clean health, body, thought and surroundings. And now eventually greenery is the superlative degree of cleanliness and also a medium to seek wisdom. So plunge into the green wave, soak in the nature, his creations and celebrate the cohesion with you, the ubiquitous god.

H4 Maker

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usa

Today is India’s Independence Day and I’m trying to be ecstatic about it however after sending few greetings on WhatsApp, my interests sublimed. I started exploring novel ways to celebrate and feel the enrichment. This can be a little struggling if you are in a hotspot USA state, rekindling Indian sentiments with a crisp US topping. Being an h4 dependent visa holder, I claim to be an extrovert home maker, preserving Indian sentiments in this foreign land. My daily routine includes a spectrum of activities from mundane to the elite extra ordinaire. In weekdays, I’m consumed by potlucks with my fellow Indian ladies who happily flock places and share common sentiments-sorrows and admirations.

I watch telly through sling TV that aptly records every exaggerated act in the Indian serial circuit. Netflix is still not a hot favorite (I read subtitles to understand the slang better: p) though I watched few episodes of Quantico for Priyanka’s sake. The bold scenes however evaporated my pinned interests. I impatiently wait to watch a khan or kumar movie in the nearby Marcus theatre, though they hardly record a houseful/significant overseas sales. I’m nourishing my taste to dress and have graduated from salwaars to maxis and jumpsuits. Now saris n salwaars are occasional and mostly limited to Indian festivities or a dress code unless otherwise stated. It’s amusing how much indianness overflows once you are in another land. The national oath comes reminiscing our values and culture even though we are struggling to keep up the spirits. I am proud dunno why: P, while visiting the Indian store nearby and find the whole array of MDH masalas stacked up. Sometimes I’ve found the rare stuff that you might not get at a grocery in India. I’m telling you its indianness unplugged here.

Weekends are for shopping through premium brand outlets or a Walmart near you though the online shopping spree might catch you soon if you are still unaffected.Im mostly online with Wi-Fi over speeding and downloading complete Bollywood movies in a wink. Im fully accessible through fb, watsapp, twitter,messenger  and what not. India calling is a daily ritual and I can talk till my throat is parched without worrying about that nasty phone bill. Kudos to the telecom revolution. WhatsApp is spanning me all day long, cooking will have to wait :P. I’m catching the accent and the nasal phony’s now and try to flaunt it in my communications but I guess originality resurfaces now and then, sometimes to my embarrassment; P

Visiting a nearby Hindu temple is a must on the to do list where the head priest will enchant you with his pleasing English skills. A gala gathering in Janmastmi or Holi will churn out the remaining Indianess till you are the perfect brimming cocktail. An identity crisis that manifests into spirited thinking. I might sound amateur guniiea pig at the moment but believe me the seasoned ones in my genre do pretty much the same here.So while you earn the greenbacks, ur attitude and lifestyle get a sumptuous dose of America over the Indian nutshell. I guess I’m bipolar; thinking like Indian and behaving like American.

As I write and gaze through my patio door; the fountains splutter lavishly and the clouds thunder rain, I’m gathering spirits to lurch out n wet myself. After all its America’s rain(;P). That’s lavish too. I go on and indulge.

A Beautiful Island – Daisy Bala

Creative Talents Unleashed

A Beautiful Island

The milky seagulls screeched high and low saying the forbidden goodbye. The waters didn’t seem to rush anywhere. But I did, to see it all in the moment. The famous Mackinaw city and the Mackinac islands. Bare beauty it was… but essential it was! You understand the bare essentials of life, when you are amidst nature, one with it. The island perched cheerfully in the sunshine waters. Water glugged from sky blue to turquoise green everywhere. We cruised on the Sheplers fastest ferry boats from the fleet departing from the city dock in the north Michigan to reach the abode at the streamers pace. The ferry’s outlet pipe busted out water tailgating it. Wind bloomed and then squashed us on the faces, flowing everything along as we travelled under the Mackinac Bridge. The island was a rustic fairytale locale overlooking the Mackinac straits. It captured the innocence…

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Learning to Ride a Bike, story by Daisy Bala (STARTING TO RIDE Poetry and Prose Series)

Silver Birch Press

bala photo1Learning to Ride a Bike
by Daisy Bala

Wikipedia defines bicycle as a single-track vehicle with two wheels attached to a frame, one behind the other. I was also always behind my brother, coping with teeny weeny challenges while he mentored me in cycling. He usually was better at grasping everything — advanced or mundane — while I was a laggard and a little gullible too.

When he learned to ride, his example sparked my desire to learn. So began my learning to the balance between the wheels. It was not long before my brother was handholding me during a dedicated daily schedule while I attempted various maneuvers.

I was his project and he worked me hard in the days that followed. Scorching my juvenile skin under the cacophony sun, barging into dead-ends, and colliding head on! He ran alongside me, straining his back and holding the handle to keep me…

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My Drive to Drive, story by Daisy Bala (LEARNING TO DRIVE Poetry and Prose Series)

Silver Birch Press

daisy carMy Drive to Drive
by Daisy Bala

Grotesque and gullible drive it. Illiterate and irreligious can drive too, then why not me. I wanted to flaunt it too, perched in the driver’s seat, flashing my Ray-Bans, but my pounding heartbeat irked me. Many a times during trial driving, I maneuvered poorly, rickety over gas and brake pedals. Appalling is the word! My senses numb and white while my father would be crimson in anxiety (I was test driving his car). I tried and failed to my dismay, voluntarily or otherwise, dunno. But that tenacious itch always resurfaced. I wanted to brandish my style. After few unsuccessful attempts, abomination and nearly fatal scratches, I procrastinated it as a “to do thingy.”

After marriage and a kid, the spirit to do it was flickering low. However, when my kiddo had commuting issues, a commotion stirred inside me, fanning my vanities. I put…

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Valentine’s Day

It’s a lovely sonnet poem, I scribbled as ideas came rumbling to me. Enjoy the flow!!

St Valentinus honoring day
I was pompous since a week
Lovers feast with kisses in hay
But eventually Despair strong and love meek

In shadow, no surprises
Blatant thoughts got me carried
Heart melted like melancholy hospices
Either I can b in love, or I can be married

It was just a day dated fourteen
I did my usual chores in saunter
Though he could have expressed umpteen
My tongue waggling in banter

Nevertheless hopefully for the next year valentines
Surely my husband will propose, singing love hymns.
Copyright © daisy bala | Year Posted 2016

Tenacious tresses, poem by Daisy Bala (MY MANE MEMORIES Poetry and Prose Series)

I’m so glad my write up got going in the My Mane Memories series. Enjoyed reading other blogs too. It’s fun flying with silver birch press.

Silver Birch Press

daisy balaTenacious tresses
by Daisy Bala

Things that made me different were the things that made me
That included my mane — insane
Ever since I can visualize
Sitting atop my head
Twirling whirling unruly curls
Unpretentious and docile
Being scraped and torn with brushing
Like a cutie pootie toddler

I felt miserable
For spawning the little mop top
Like a dandelion head aspirations
I would flock school blocks
Eventually, puberty made me realize
Less is more with springy coiled heads

So I learned to maneuver like a maven
Shake it all up, shedding banality
And scatter it like a hedgehog.
My locks sputter now, luscious
Dashing through the face
And I get going my kinky curly ways

AUTHOR’S PHOTO CAPTION: It’s my pic clicked a short while back when I was in a playful mood with my tresses, de-stressing myself.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I always felt my hair was…

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Snowflakes

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snowflake

Crystals like dandelions,

Icy ones like scintillating diamonds,

Your million rosy kisses, peck me on the face.

I look up and they wet my lashes, tasting too

Fresh newborn ones, stellar dendrites.

You drop and melt, white on white,

Till I can walk on crisp landscapes,

And soon you are all over like glitterati.

I will not prejudice and classify,

You are one of me,

Shower like a blizzard and become one.

 I turn to see my footsteps but you dwindle them.

This white scent is filling my nostrils,

Overwhelming me!

 

Daisy is me! poem by Daisy Bala (SAME NAME Poetry and Prose Series)

Silver Birch Press

DaisyMiller
Daisy is me!
by Daisy Bala

Charismatic and day’s eye like the sun,
I have shone in my world of liberation in anonymity, just like her.
I am poised too, integrated with innocence but not flirtatious to the extent of being vulgar like her.
I don’t bloom with winterbourne genre because I am the sun-fed one.
I will be spirited with repartee; don’t slander me for breaking social conventions.
Rumpus here and there has always targeted women with stigmas,
But I shall not admit this one. This daisy shall bloom!

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I read about Henry James’ novella, Daisy Millerand was instantly shaken by the beauty of the protagonist and the end she meets with. Since time immemorial women have been subjected to social stigmas and character assassinations–facing harsh judgment if they don’t follow social mores. Like her, in my younger years I was fresh and crisp…

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