A Voice for Change

 Deep maroon or Chocolate brown? Certainly, chocolate brown! My mind quizzed me as my fingertips tapped on the shades of lip colors I own. Not many, I possess merely 2-3 lip shades. Make-up or skin care essentials are my pet peeves, but this particular chocolate brown shade is my favorite. Whenever I have an important meeting or a presentation, I wear it to work. The color applied to my melanized lips adds a spark to my attitude. Somehow, I feel I can win over the world, overcome my shortcomings, and come home with a trophy in hand. The lip color is like a trophy to my mind. It is a dangling carrot which when shown makes me believe I can conquer the uncharted islets of my abilities. I find it amusing, sometimes, why such a trifling thing is so crucial to my self-confidence. Why it strengthens my drooped shoulders? No logical explanation found to date.  On the days when I have to seal a deal for my business venture or simply when stepping out of the house for work seems a Hercu...

 I have nothing to do. I want to write but find no prompt to initiate the process. I pester the husband to give me a good word or picture prompt to write. He is as usual doing stuff that interests me little. Money-making. He ignores me. Yet, I continue nudging him in the rib. Some more indifference from his end. Followed by a little more prodding from me. 'What?' He looks up from his mobile. 'Give me a prompt to write.' I blink my eyes and give him my best smile.  'Go write on those steel dabbas!' The dabbas are lying peacefully on the bed after I have finished munching their contents are now in focus. 'Who writes on steel dabbas?' I give the husband an aluminum dabba look, non-reflective and nonchalant. 'If you consider yourself a writer, then you must able to write on everything and anything. No? Or No.' He gets back to his android and me... I tramp down memory lane. Though not immediately but surely. I stare at the imbecile stainless steel dab...

 Table no. 12. Final round. Ahmedabad. Under-7 National Chess Championship, 2022.  The sky was as blue as it should have been. The wind cooled the sweat beads on anxious foreheads. The sun had chosen to go a little easy on us. The outside environment was supportive and stood by us. Nothing worked for me within. Meditation, prayers, reading, writing, talking to my husband or a friend. Nothing helped to ease the trepidation of a mother's heart whose son was playing the second most important match of his life.  Life. I paused at that. Wasn't he born just yesterday? Here, he was fighting for a win. All of seven. A mere seven-year-old who was standing for the past one hour and giving his opponent a tough fight over the chess board. Sitting was not an option. His height barely reached up to table no. 12.  Table. no.12. A position where if he won, he would escalate to the top six players of India, and if his stars favored him, he would represent India at the Asian U-7 Champ...