Tag You’re It!

Is there an inherent and growing apathy and intolerance in the theories drawn out of emotions based research or psychology?
Labelling as “chronically unhappy” , “toxic people”, “optimists”! I don’t know many people that live in one state forever. A matured human knows that circumstances, conditions, experiences add upto a personality or demeanour.  Then why crucify someone as chronically misbehaving? Unless it’s a serious medical case.

I read one popular author mention ‘people do not want to stay near unhappy people. So one must learn to be happy!’ That’s really a self centric, low empathic view of life. It’s not uncommon that people flock during good times and rush to share your success. But growing endorsement makes this a predominant culture!

I have cherished some great learnings from civilised communities where people have stood by to make the life of poor, disabled and unfortunately unhappy people in dire misery.  They have likewise stood by young, old and miserable to help them better.

How does intolerance help make a better place, except a cold house with a fire place?

How do you see this?

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Amidst the Humbug…

Waking up to a mundane routine. I was surprised by the two pretty visitors to our neighbourhood.Right next to this concrete jungle is a little space left out by the landowners for a natural bite. And sometimes I am taken aback by its trespassers. They leave such an overwhelming impression.

Only thing that perhaps breaks your heart is their short stay. Yes, somehow nervy and impatient or perhaps cautious of the worldly ways they choose to keep their visits short and fiesty!

The sheer thrill of loosing a few moments of worldly worries to the serenity and charisma in their presence, their quick fly aways is the valuable bit to this capture.

What it leaves behind is the idea of an engrossing engagement with reality in its truest essence. And yet so strange it seems unreal for our taste of the plastic world, sketched so deep into our nerves.

Womania

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.