Meenas PoemsIt is a red-letter day they hail
It is a red alert they caution.
It is a red light area they call.
It is a red zone they enforce.
It is scorching red fire they mourn.
It is a red wound they shout.
It is a red stain they blurt.
It is a red blood bath they scream.
It is red in most fronts we admit.
The colour red strikes a discordance.
It spreads a discomfort somewhere.
It signifies a flamboyance everywhere.
It was an exchange,
Neither dealing with currency in a range.
Nor involving a
barter all the same.
It was an exchange,
Away from the economy in a range,
Far away from the mundane all the same.
It was an exchange.
Across the deep blue ocean in a range,
Covering thousands of kilometers all the same.
It was an exchange,
Where age did not come into the range,
Where affection stood above all the same.
It was an exchange ,
Where the grandson poured out his thoughts in a range,
Where the grandmother listened mesmerised all the same.
Then it is not an exchange,
You might blindly say in a range,
Yet it was sharing of feelings in a manner strange.
It was a search.
It was a thorough search,
leaving everyone in the lurch.
It was a raid.
It was a thorough raid,
exposing everything that was discreetly laid.
It was an investigation.
It was a thorough investigation,
unravelling everything from the closely conceived distribution.
It was an exposition.
It was a thorough exposition,
laying bare the well conceited deviations.
It was a fraudulent.
It was a thorough fraudulent,
directing to an unscrupulous deceiving indulgence.
It taught a lesson.
It was a moral lesson.
delivering that integrity has a beautiful designation.
Mortals think they are immortal.
Rich feel they are absolutely insulated.
Powerful assume they are invincible.
Wise observe everyone with zeal.
Thus goes the world round and round
unaware of its impermanence.
Going back is never too easy.
Back tracking is ever too easy.
Keeping up the promise is never too easy.
Eating up the words is ever too easy.
Hearing slander is never too easy.
Listening to praise is ever too easy.
The world moves on round and round.
The interruption of movement is never found.
People’s talk reverberates with full sound.
Their activity advances never with a bound.
The life becomes meaningful with wealth abound.
No other means seeks a serious wound.
Living in the middle of conceit and greed
Man accepts the reality with a distinct breed.
Well, money has always been the prime need.
It is a requirement to arrange a feed.
What then is the crux of the deed?
It is something that directs to a bleed.
This transaction has been going on for years.
It has been carried out without any fear.
Nestling behind the scene in the rear.
We trace a slight jerk which is out of gear.
The affinity for wealth is found with extreme cheer.
As a finale it is held to the bosom so near.
Eat vegetables calls the father.
Drink fruit juice pleads the mother.
Take cereals for breakfast shouts the father.
Have a cup of milk compels the mother.
The six-year-old has a lot to bother.
She prefers chips and muffins altogether.
She looks beseechingly at her father.
She turns lovingly at her mother.
Her eyes express her desire rather.
Would she have her choice? a pointer.
Never would she we gather.
It is a four letter word.
Call it what you may.
It is on the sign board.
It denotes a place.
Many names are below it.
They also stand for places.
The four letter word stands first.
Look at it, nothing else.
The command reckons.
She being a scholar stays put.
She gazes at it from afar.
Nothing is visible.
The colours blue and white sparkles.
She sits puzzled.
She sees no letters
She perceives a writing vague.
She squints her eyes.
Tries to decipher.
She could not.
It is a four letter word.
Shouts the voice.
She keeps silent
She has become an illiterate.
She expresses a wry smile.
She makes no noise.
India Versus Norway: Diplomatic Embroil Over Bringing up Children on Blogcritics.
“The Child is father of the Man,” reads the famous line from William Wordsworth. Begetting a child gives unfathomable pleasure. Bringing up the little one is an art. The making and unmaking of a child depends largely on the mother.
Parenting is a task which requires great skill and foresight. Indians form a close-knit community. Every relation has an importance in the Indian family. The Indian mother, after a child is born, lives with the child all day long. The newborn is nurtured with great care, fed as and when it cries, sleeps nestling close to the mother. The children are put in separate rooms once they become self-sufficient and independent. The bonding between the child and the mother is special, enchanting and enhancing too. The proximity developed between the mother and the child lasts all through their life. Indians presume it as a healthy sign but in the West it is eyed differently.
Norway is in the headlines for separating the children of an Indian geoscientist from their parents since May 2011. Anurup and Sagarika Bhattacharya’s children, three-year old Abigyan and one-year-old Aishwarya, were taken under Norwegian protective care by the Norwegian Welfare services on the ground that the son slept with 
his father and the mother fed the children with her fingers.
This allegation brings to mind an anecdote from a few decades back, when the former Indian President Dr. Radhakrishnan and the British Prime Minister Churchill met over dinner. As per the Indian custom, the President washed his hands well before eating. While Churchill was busy with spoon and fork, Dr.Radhakrishnan was eating with his fingers. Churchill asked the President to use the spoon and fork for better hygiene. The great scholar quipped, “No one else could use my fingers so I consider it most hygienic.” What would have happened to Dr. Radhakrishnan if he had visited Norway now? He would have been put in a centre and alienated from his kith and kin. Dr. Radahakrishnan is dead and gone. He has escaped the Norwegian authorities.
Norway’s Child Protective Service is a powerful organization which has been charged with being overzealous in protecting the children. The Norwegian Statistical Bureau, in its latest report of 2011, 
shows that 19 of every 1,000 children born to immigrant parents were taken away from their family homes between 2004 and 2010.
In a report by IBN-CNN, Mr. Bhattacharya says, “We’ve appealed to the government that we’ll leave everything and go back to India. This is a nightmare in our lives. We want to bring back our kids. We were normal parents. There could be several upbringing issues because the culture is different.”
The Indian Government has taken up the issue and forced the Norwegian government to release the children from Protective Care. Their 27-year-old uncle would take custody of the children and the expenses for his trip to Oslo would be borne by the Indian government.
Each country has its own culture. Each country has its own theory and convictions regarding sex, children, marriage, habits, and behaviour. That which 
is approved in one part of the world may be strongly condemned in another region. Customs and traditions which seem offensive to one sect are appreciated highly by the other.
Shakespeare said that discretion is the better part of valor. Let us practise this ideal by honouring all cultures and values.
Bearing the cross is Lina’s destiny.
The causes for the happening might be many.
The fault might emanate from so many.
The significant indicator pointed to Lina if not to any.
There was an uproar over a mishap.
Lina went there by chance in the crucial 
lap.
She stood mutely watching the crap.
Quick as a wink she fell into the trap.
The main opposition vanished in a second.
The other party was delirious for more than a second.
Their eyes caught hold of Lina in a fraction of a second.
Accusations overflowed in a spate within a second.
Lina did not understand a thing about it.
Yet she had to face the brunt without knowing it.
She did stand the vehemence with a brave outfit.
She said “I am no way responsible for it”
This might be something not of importance.
Lina is not the only catching up with the reference
Lina represents the many who are punished for other’s offence.
The likes of Lina have to bear the cross in defense.
There was a fire burning red.
Lit up to burn the rubbish.
It flagged and waved with the wind.
It then turned into grey fumes.
It suffocated the inhabitation.
The smoke emanated foggy white flakes.
It polluted the environment.
It then subsided into black cinders.
The ash got spread in the brown terrain.
It lay for ages fresh and undecomposed.
An array of colours produced a devastation.
An unbearable heat caused a parchment.
Meenas Poems 