Tuesday, August 23, 2016


By Sunaina Patnaik at Tuesday, August 23, 2016 0 comments

Oftentimes solitude fails at making conversations with us.
It lurks behind our backs hoping we'd notice it.
But as we move one from one phase of our life to the other, waltzing from moments of euphoria to awful times of melancholia, it wishes we spot its presence.
It sits along with us on a park bench, trying to lure us into its gifted world of beauty.
In the darkness, when we run and hide from the world, it tries to befriend us.
In the bright light, as we stroll in the sidewalks, with our hands in the pockets, it extends us its hand.
Too lost in the humdrum routines of the world, we never hold it back.  
But there comes a time when we meet solitude eye to eye, and there's no going back after that.
It showers us with meaningful conversations and beautiful introspections.
As we gather our thoughts and experiences, solitude makes us realize that the greatest company a man can ever have is his own mind.
And that, my friend, is when you truly understand you have earned a true friend in yourself.

Friday, August 19, 2016

Mother's Daughter.

By Sunaina Patnaik at Friday, August 19, 2016 6 comments

I guess I was a four-year-old child when I first imagined being a mother was ultimately cool. When I was forcefully sent to school by my mother, I always assumed that all she did was stay home, watch TV, play with toys and basically have a gala time while I suffered at school. As I grew older, I understood and witnessed the amount of work my mother did with an ease that only she could pull off. It has been fourteen days since I’ve lost her and four days since I've started doing the household work along with my younger sister only to realize that stepping into the shoes of my mother is not just difficult, but also very stressful. I realized this as I had a breakdown in my office parking lot, today. However, as a four-year-old, I was still correct about the fact that being a mother is cool. I mean, who else can multitask so effortlessly?

I've been told that the loss of your mother practically paralyzes you for days and then, you are on your own, navigating the big mean world without a survival kit. Though I partly agree with it, I do not think a loss like that ends after a while. Colossal losses like this come in waves, overwhelming and drowning you every time they reach your shore. As a person who has been spoilt rotten by my folks, I find it rather impossible to waltz into the footsteps of a responsible adult overnight. Even more so, when I am dealing with pain and confusion. But then, I cannot refuse the change, can I? Such is the nature of human life. Despite losing a major chunk of your heart, you are constantly encouraged to move on with your life. To smile. To fight hard. To stay strong. My mother too was deeply strong. She had a way with her words and she used them only for good. Her joys were sedate ones too: filter coffee, a blooming rose in our garden, Telugu literature, and conversations with her youngest brother. But the problem with my mother was that she set an example too nice to even try and follow. She was never lackadaisical about anything. As a teacher, she carefully crafted and inspired many young minds and she was always particular about working hard and earning a true value for that work.

So when people are asking me if I really have the need to go back to work and attend work calls, I frankly have no better answer than this: She isn't here anymore but her dreams and her ambitions for me are here to stay. I am solely responsible for carrying them out, now and forever. This is an intensely fresh beginning for me and I am still figuring out how to be cool like her. But you know, I will figure it out eventually. Because I am my mother's daughter, after all.


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