With entrepreneurship tucked under her belt, has she treaded a rougher path, abrasive for ber bellies to withstand? Is her favorite pink replaced by a rusty brown and grey? Or is it another of the multifacets that just unveiled from under her long tresses clipped down to a neat bun, her fore fringe still denying the tie up!

A wildly passionate woman, effeminate, affable and infectiously imaginative hinged into the bottle, you may just let the gennie suffocate. Let your woman express through her flair. Her need to create, to overpower, empathise and yet demand is a world full of paradoxes that is better kept safe from the logical hands that can easily crush her spirit and leave her a withered leaf.

How easy is it for others in her world to get this right? Are the other belles hearing her? Or still stuck in the obsolescence of envy and narrow hallways of aciduous  grape vines? A woman for a woman, sounds much like an alternative club. We are seriously talking about hand in hand coordination.

What’s common observation is how males and females work in groups. While males are seen collaborate through common interest, women largely worked better with males than other women. There are many areas women face that men don’t relate to, which languish because women avoid forming collaborative work groups. 

That’s what Womania desires to showcase. Come together and celebrate the strengths of women work groups!


32 Cups of Wine and You are Mine..

The story goes thus that this young lady, disheartened with a harsh man in life, who merely promised golden words that held little value in a matter of minutes of his stepping away from her, happlessly waited for life to turn around and smile.Her beauty and charm was waning, her tears scathing her peach skin to a dusty brown, eyes and brows wrinkling with deep scars in the heart.

She was beginning to cripple with his torturous ways, but for her heart, still felt the warmth for him; an insane forgiveness of wild philanderings. She singed in separation, she held tight those little moments of giving each other and hopelessly wondered why life were no more giggles and swervy drives, holding hands and crushing ties!

But often she saw him happy otherwise, she was fine with the pain, but now she began to realise, perhaps some are moulded thus that they live lies. They believe its fine to crush spirits, all dreams and trample over to reach their skies. 

She often complained why he didn’t move on, so then he did, but still he would come back with more reasons and hopes and ride away in hours to his own destination. Things made her wonder if he was evil, insane or dastardly.  She then tried to scare him with threats and even thought of getting him socially obliged to accept his flaws and keep away.

One strange evening he appeared at the door, shocked she was about to shut him out and run for cover, when he held her hand and pleaded “Love benign! Walk with me, dance and dine, thirty two cups and you are mine!” She stood agape at that boggling instant, hoping there was a way to test sanity, to know his intentions, to read between lines.

But her faith in life murmured into her ears, ” if you were that wild I would love you instead of shunning you “. Perhaps there is something in those expressions, no matter how different from my needs, they speak an uncanny mix of craze and doing big things despite all odds! She shut out her silent thoughts from spilling out of her lips so gentle. She pressed them hard together to let her gestures show instead, how well she could reciprocate no matter how it would hurt thereafter.

She let her arms slip into his, led by his big gentle steps she lightly trudged along. Humming slow her head into a sway. Ready to hold tight as long as he led the way. She fell into a daze when he entered a palacial home, inviting and jubilant, embellished in peach and gold. At the centre stood the big table, the thirty two cups of wine, a golden engraved platter and a priest divine!

Tears rolled down her cheeks, numb she stood, like a wax model to melt. Out of wits, out of words, out of her thoughts, she folded her hands and kneeled beside saying “your love was just too pristine to be true and I am cursed I am not the right one for you.”

Disappointed he looked on as she snatched away to go, “you were right I wasn’t a good man, until your patience taught me to be real. Don’t do this now for I wouldn’t know who else to be.” 

The priest then hurriedly pronouced them married, like he hadn’t seen a thing as this before. His praying lips trembled as he had witnessed God’s love in shear.

He saw Different šŸ˜

“Put on your shoes”, I opened the door chirpily expecting him to hop out. Surprisingly he burst into a peel, weeping inconsolably. “Why?” I stood dazed. “Aman kicked him to shoo him away from waiting for his turn on the swing in the play area”, reminded Nobi. Did he hurt Aman back?, I asked. “Not initially but after being pushed away several times, he did push him back”, came my citizen reporter.

I counselled him and instilled some more confidence to go and play again. He held my hand tight to recover from the hurt. Even after an hour’s play he came back a weaker than usual happy go lucky baby. At eight he was a soul so adolescent and yet so baby like.

The simplicity touched me. His running away from books, whistling like a birdy, humming consistently like a bee, rocking with Michael Jackson’s music, was now taking a teenage look! Smell of good food, long drives thrilled him, zipping bikes, the sea side, sand, water defined him more than a movie or a game. 

I hugged him and tried to see things his way, at times. Mute, babbling and smiling, planning mischief, stealing syrup, biscuits or mashing and melting chocolate to lick it off his hands! I saw in his gleaming eyes the love that one in million would ever have. So special, so involved, how could words ever define it. It made perfect sense not to use our words, mundane words, selfish ways and mean expressions. The love was super natural, super powerful, intuitive and beyond the world!

Blessed be the different vision!

The Dark Myth

I stood near the window gazing at the shimmering lights like little stars against the dark skies. Embellished like a bride on her best night, I blinked not, nor moved the blinds so I could keep glancing over all night.

Scurried to shut the chime from mid of a deep slumber, soon I woke up to this strange sight. The alarm was snoozing off to remind me I had to rush, to reach on time and I looked back at the window. An appalling set of tall rises against the low, standing away looking down upon the blue tarpaulin saving the leaking roof. My eyes withdrew from the sight. Was it the same landscape I had devoured all night?

Such is the miracle of darkness, it hides the ugly side, charms you with its passion, takes you off your stride. Darkness they say brings evil, but who has missed how it glorifies little twinkling lights! Silent in its candour, deeper truth of nature, modest it stands guard as a brave honouring knight!

Sometimes, I thought ā€˜darkness was all to fear, until this night revealed it’s but as sweet a paramour. The one who hides his beloved’s modesty in a dark veil so no harsh eye could chide her.