My Mother’s Kitchen

“Homemade food is the best.”
a lesson taught by mother
remains strong in my mind.

She had a retinue of cooks
who prepared all she wanted,
especially, what all her children demanded.

Her kitchen was evenly poised.
Quantity and quality juxtaposed.

She trained her cooks, sent them to cookery classes,
read out to them the recipes.
Her kitchen was a laboratory,
a venue where different cuisines took shape
The paniyarams, chutneys and puliyodharai
notwithstanding the samosas and the salads
were made with diligence.The aroma filled the kitchen.
Traditional ones were improvised.
Colours were worked out with skill.

Eggs could never make a foray into her kitchen,
she being a born vegetarian. Eggless cakes
were baked. They were such a delight to us, the kids.

Born in such an environment, I too stick to the old rule.
It continues unknowingly,
passed on to my children as well.

Not fortunate like Mom, I managed the show
with a single cook. Tutored him from the basics.
He mastered the culinary expertise in earnest.
He is a stellar performer.
He is the chef in the sophisticated
“The Oberoi” in New Delhi.
My kitchen is back to me with all its strength.
I slog and scour, day in and day out,
being a lover of tasty food
and a stickler for cleanliness.


Ties That Bind.

Three hours – seems like minutes –
come to term, as an exhausted
mother and new-born child
rest on in a deep nap.

The lactation flow saturates
and the seeping milk wakes
Maitiri up to nurse. The half
asleep Veda seeks the nipple
to receive the nourishment
she needs from the suckling breast.

Invincible for the invisibility,
this cordate union encouraged by the Light,
continues unsevered after birth;
the undeniable joy shared
among atheists and believers,
as the miracle of life belies science.


Lets Not Me.

A feel not to mingle with others

being  an unopposed dominance

lets not me to become familiar.


It could be a strange one  as such

could explain nothing more to it

lets me to remain to myself.


The thought, of keeping aloof  and alone ,

could have descended from my ancestors

lets me to live apart from the rest.


Trace I back to my roots in a while

could not find anybody to that style

lets me to stay away from the others.


Not possible to get back to the one  of ages

I come back to the days of recent

lets me to rest within myself .


Came I closer to my days of yesteryears

could finally locate the kind in my mother

lets me to withdraw from the world.


The likeness could be  similar in ways

no better could a daughter be than the mother

lets me to behave like the mother almost.






The Mother ‘s Warmth

The warmth of the mother

her smell is  a  delicate flavour

her closeness  renders a  savour

her embrace extends a solicitation

her touch passes on a  direction

her looks  lend a rejuvenation

well, that be the mother in a special

experiencing 115659d6717be0752203c1a79f6ecf08_small a satisfaction better than a ritual


capable Love Poetry Pride selfless

Mother ———- A Symbol Of Love.

“Mother” a lovable word

embraces all with love

looks with eyes benign

seeks nothing  in return

a solace to all

solicits with a smile

knows only selfless affection

brings tears to my eyes

as I recollect my own

a tough lady by nature

bore so much love inside

never showed it out explicit

being an innate confidence

versatile and  a genius

took after her father

an architect par excellence

not in a way qualified

an administrator beyond imagination

not in a way qualified

a housewife  ahead of thoughts

not in a way qualified

a teacher strict to the core

not in a way qualified

lacked she in one aspect

could that be a minor one

it be the cooking skill

she never wanted to master

rather never attempted once in her life

the mother of mine is a straight woman

majestic and careful

walked with an air of pride

her eyes reflected her feeling

her hands excelled in sewing and knitting

the  embroidery was her speciality

grammar was her focus

punctuations  came first

she lived like a Queen

her bastion always in her hand

such a mother I was blessed to have

being so born in the earth

which too bears the honour of a mother

earth being the founder of all

a symbolic significance of patience and pride

all at the same time  and with the same demand perfectmoment

calls Poetry thoughts

The Mother, The Mother

A talk all through the evening

a conversation over the phone

I wait for the phone to ring

expect the most familiar tone

the weekends usually is fun

not like the weekdays

when I have to  work in tons

tired and exasperated  always

I relax on Saturdays

answering the  successive phone calls

the one after another in a way

they be in  the order never false

the first from my first born  at the onset

enquires  my welfare  in words of choice

the next one from my second at the behest

mother-inspirational-daily in his inimitable way introspects on  my poise

the final call from my little one when at rest

who interrogates  my  health status

all the three come up in different turns

the subject being I at all runs

it is  the mother, the mother  all the more

they could not think of anything more.


My Mother

MMy mothery mother comes to mind often
could it be for fun
nay, she was sober and thoughtful
thinking of the next and next successful.

Firm and resolved she lived
a performer ever, never timid
strict mother and a stern administrator
set her goals far above the greater.

If at all she had been resolute until the end
had she not given away in a bend
sure she would have retained the heights
from where she fell in dire straits.

How did she stoop down? I cry
A question set across with a buy
never could I find out the reason
could that be the reason
why my mother comes to my mind often.


Call Me What You Want.

Call me what you want
as I am daughter
to my parents
a wife to my husband
a sister to my siblings
a mother to my children.

Call me what you want
according to your age
if young call me granny
if an adult address me as aunt
if a little older as sister
anyway, relationshipas you please.

Call me what you want
never call me a wife
as I could be to only one
a relation not to be shared
a connection very exclusive
once and only for a lifetime.

gracious Poetry

Gracious Unto Thou And To Thy Child!

The toddler is pampered

as her mother goes wayward

not otherwise but in her deal with a child

feeds her child now and then as often

goes round her with a spoonful

coaxes her to partake the entire

dances before as a cajole

fills the little one’s mouth in a jowl

the toddler knows now  the tricks

she plays truantly with a flow

hides herself in one place

naughty she turns  all at once

the mother becomes extensively scary

the girl goes topsy   in a second

while the mother turns crazy

the melodrama continues for days and years

let not the  years spoil the child

as she has to grow into a responsible adult in the go

the way you bring up your child

matters the most in her later life

discipline and  liberty are to be shown

not the one more than the other

proportion the two in a measure

let the combination be  balanced

as the more of one would ruin the child

or be that a less of one

could also destroy the nature of the child

care to be deployed with poise

the child would then blossom with grace

Gracious Unto thou and to thy mother-and-child-against-a-green-background-mary-cassattchild.

eulogy Poetry

The Mother In You – —-Parenting -5

The mother in you twinkles
I see a sparkle
and also a trickle.

The mother in you smiles
effortlessly you cross the miles
carry a record of activity in files

The mother in you beams
as you see the order in a stream
and walk with a dream.

The mother in you stands tall
as your children listen to your call
you glide through in ease without a fall.

That be the mother in you at last
a name to reckon with in a cast
up goes your fame all fast.

There ends my eulogy of you
that be the mother in you
a shrine of values true.mother and sons