#vichar

[dafliwali]

men in these arranged marriage settings would promise their fiances of the moon and the stars, but can't promise her the choice of not covering her head with a pallu/purdah in front of her in laws.

[stories-of-a-lifetimee]

hello guys, I'm open to music recommendations for my writing! if you want to see a piece inspired by a particular song, drop the name in my asks!

[attractivewebsolution]

Today is the best day to pay tribute to all the gurus in our life❤🙏💖

Happy Guru Purnima 2023🙏🙏❤

[tuttadil]

Sharad ponkshe pointed the topic of war wining, war ethics at that time so well that hit me so hard.

Rules:

1. War starts at sunrise and ends at sunset

2. Never try to kill your enemy behind his back.

3. Never fight a enemy who is weaponless.

But then he said karn was Surya putra he was so powerful, he had many powers like noone could kill him on air on ground and obviously when there was sun. At one point in Mahabharata Karn's chariot wheel gets stuck now at this point Arjuna says to Krishna that if i kill him now then it would be me who would be breaking laws as karna was weaponless. Then Krishna says karna chose his own fait when he chose to be on the other side of Dharma other side in the sense when he chose to support adharma. And karna had many more flaws Earth Goddess cursed Karna that his chariot wheel gets struck in land which will lead to his death and a brahmin cursed Karna that Karna would die when he is weaponless as Karna killed his cow when it was helpless. Now his only point in telling these stories was if you notice from the past wars be it ramayana or Mahabharata in every war the good side or righteous side of the war had to take charge as in behave violently to get justice out of it.

[daasharjitsingh]

Speaking Words ਗੁਰਮੁਖੀ ਪੰਜਾਬੀ ਵਿਚਾਰ, ਅਪਨਾਣ ਦੀ ਲੋੜ

[stories-of-a-lifetimee]

Chemtrails over the Country Club

inspired by the Lana Del Ray song

They were watching the chemtrails over the country club

So young, wild and free. Racing around in their cycles at the country club, and tossing them to laze around in the field. Who needed a museum when there were cloudy masterpieces created by the sky? The grass is uncomfortable but they are used to it now. They wanted this moment to last forever. Soft , bright daisies surrounding them. They ended up in her curly tresses, woven like a tapestry of memories.

A tapestry that time tore into shreds, its pieces now seemingly non-existent. But how could it just disappear? It was not made of thread;it was made of their laughter, their tears and memories of the country club. The book of time had stored it in its worn out pages of the past, and that is where they would always be.

Tea parties had all the fanfare: dressing up and behaving all posh and proper. Waltzing around the hall with grace and discipline. This was the country club; finest of the finer things in life. Removing their stuffy shoes and dancing to the latest tunes after all of it was over. They never cared about discipline anyway.

On the count of three, they all jump. The water is so cool,so blue. It feels nice in the scorching heat. She closes her eyes and floats in the water. Loud chatter among them. It made her feel like she belonged here. And as she closed her eyes again, her mind stores a picture of this moment, in a file labeled ‘home’.

Sports day and they are all ready to risk it all. It was not all that serious and yet they were fighting for their lives. At the end, they got the sweet taste of victory, and it seemed like they had won more than just a trophy.

A night to remember. Driving a car they were certainly not allowed to, but oh my god we feel so free. Heads out of the window, the fresh november breeze hitting their faces. Cheap beer and convenience store snacks spread out on the blanket. They look at the chemtrails, floating above them. When did they get so close? Were they even there before?

Washing my hair, doing the laundry

Late night TV, I want you on me

Like when we were kids

Under chemtrails and country clubs

It was better when their only problems were stuffy shoes and sports days. It was better when they rode cycles and drank beer without their parents knowing. Things were so much easier. They were so happy and free.

The chemtrails do not let her breathe anymore. Creeping around her neck and slowly choking her to death. Where did it all go? None of the others are with her; she does not know where they are now. To think there were times when she did not have to think about these things because they never left her side. All she does, all she can do, is cry. Her eyes are treasures, and every drop of water flowing through them is gold. The skies cry with her today. It starts out with soft whimpers, then slowly it bursts open. Violent sobs racked her body, her pain seeping through her veins. She is now drenched, drenched in the water, drenched in her sorrow. And as the light leaves her eyes, she remembers all the moments she shared with them under the chemtrails over the country club.

[stories-of-a-lifetimee]

La Natura

I stand among the royal lands. The court had many discussions, and everything had gone sad. It was all over now, and joy resumed.

I thanked the mountains as I left their heavenly court, the soft snow welcoming me into its grasp. I walk along the paths I paved, feet bare on the white blanket. once in a while, something sharp pierces through, but I'm unfazed. It reminds me of my children. No matter how much someone loves you, they're bound to hurt you sometimes.

I sink my toes in the dirt. I'm checking up on the subjects of my dear mountains, the common land. I feel the life in these trees. The forest is alive and flourishing, and the wind whispers sweet nothings in my ear. As I near the end of the forest, I hear the sweet melody of my children's voices. I smile.

I reach the village filled with joy. My children prepare for their festivals. both skies and their hopes are high. Walking amongst them, I feel I'm home. I breathe in deep. The air clings to the salt of the sea and I feel complete.

They ask me, who are you? To some I'm an old man practicing religion atop the mountains, to some I'm a spirit of the forest, and to some a lost sailor of the sea. but you can call me nature.

read it on wordpress here.

[stories-of-a-lifetimee]

Doubt 

I hold the brush in my hand. Uncertainty shakes me to my core. I stare at the brush as if it'll grow and become twice my size and bare its teeth at me. Suddenly, it does exactly that. To make a mark on a piece of paper that would exist forever seems like a huge responsibility, one that I don't think I can handle. I'm scared of making mistakes, which is ironic considering how man is such a flawed character. Who decides if I've made a mistake? Is it really a mistake if it feels right to me?

I hold the brush in my hand and blindly paint on my canvas. It looks nothing like all the tutorials I had tried learning from. We follow their footsteps and fail miserably, and others will follow our footsteps and fail miserably too. Copying what society thinks is right will never work for any of us, because humans are flawed creatures and are bound to make mistakes. Striving for perfection is more depressing than rewarding. Humans like categorising things too make it easy to understand, but that doesn't mean trying to fit in a box that's not meant for you.

I doubt my every single move, and wonder if someone is watching me. I'm at home, alone in my room, more paranoid than ever. Doubt creeps up over the walls of my mind, growing every minute. It will swallow me whole, pull me with it deep into the sea. And suddenly, I'm going down and down and-

I snap out of it, the brush heavy in my hand. Taking deep breaths, I wonder if it is really worth it. Is it worth doing things that I genuinely enjoy if self-doubting eats me from inside every time I do them? Then I wonder, why do I let it affect me like this? I can't let doubt keep me from experiencing life the way I want to, can I?

I let go of my inhibitions and decide to do as I feel. The brush strokes now more bold, the colours brighter. Being scared has often brought me nowhere. The only thing we need to fear is fear itself. It holds our ambitions in such a tight grasp, and doesn't let go until finally, our ambitions die from suffocation. It's a crime fear has committed several times, and every time it evades the prison of self confidence. To give something so much power over oneself is to become its puppet. 

My hands are covered in paint but I can't bring myself to care. When you finally let yourself go, it feels liberating. And maybe my art is not perfect, but it is mine. Something I created, a symphony of my darkest nights and my brightest days.

I call this piece doubt.