RIFLE RANGE BOY

  https://borderlessjournal.com/2024/09/16/finding-the-fulcrum/ I decided to care for my ailing octogenarian mother, not because she willed me a great fortune or because I have a great liking to care for the sick. Neither do I want to gaslight her for all the not-so-nice things she said about me and my family in better health all through her healthy life. This work is licensed under a  Creative Commons 

The all-embracing loving Maa It is that time of the year when everybody publicly displays their undying love and gratitude for their mothers. No matter how strained their relationships with their mothers had been, at least now is the time to mend fences or to reignite the long put out flames of love and affection. Together with tweets and postings on social media, we are also inundated with many Tamil songs that glorify maternal love. Ah, there are too many Indian movie songs at their disposal that put mothers high up on a pedestal, quite rightly so. It is unimaginable how much a mother sacrifices for her offspring, starting with the many discomforts of early pregnancy followed by the image alternating insults. The puerperal period is no walk in the park either. The sleepiness nights, the constant demand for attention and care of an ill child are just the beginning of many more of the unending saga of nurturing to follow. The wrathful protective Maa All these are fine and good, but in ...

https://mybukz.tumblr.com/post/175292906152/poem-the-roost-by-farouk-gulsara Credit: FB group: Rawthers Penang circa mid-1960  There was once a time, a few years ago, there was a spate when many of my relatives had given up on their motherland, turned their back on Malaysia and started looking around for greener pastures. I wondered how Mother Malaysia would feel to see one by one, her children, after years of nurturing them, after growing so big and strong, feel compelled to fly away from their roost. Like a proud mother seeing her kids having a mind of their own, she must be immersed in a kind of bitter-sweet feeling. Like a flight of swallows, you came all stocks and barrels, from Swatow, from Coimbatore, Looking for a peace of mind, you scaled the high seas and brine. You were hungry, I fed your soul, you had shivers, I showed you warmth. you were homeless, I gave you home. you were stateless, I was your hope. Under the yellow umbrella, and a piece...