Stories we tell!
Stories go where you go
Stories that were cut short…
It’s our job to tell these stories
No matter how much they took from us…
Because it’s our job to get to the end
And give them closure’s...
~ Rubaroo
The Hand That Rocks The Cradle Rules The World!
The Hand That Rocks The Cradle Rules The World ! The hand that feeds us... The state that protects us… The men that ensure our sleep… The Sikhs that one looks up to for protection, respect, and affection are at the borders of the capital of their country, India. Years ago, during my graduation years, for my holidays I would sometimes visit the farms of my friends in Punjab. Days filled with sarson da saag and makai di roti. But more importantly than any other experience I remember my interactions with the elderly Sikh members. Adorable, lovable, gentle, caring and farmers to the core - true to their being. ‘Betaji’ or ‘puttar ji’ were the two words that would echo everywhere. The usage of names was so limited, as they had a mouthful of sweetness. Tractor rides of the lush green farms adorned with colourful turbans and flowing white beards. That is the look of Punjab, the “land of five rivers”. Today, I can spot the same elderlies braving the winter chill, sleeping on o...
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