In quiet support......

Sometimes, you pay attention to the ordinary, click, and come up with blades of grass, loaded with meaning, on a  wild monsoon morning, as you walk home from work for lunch.

Pankaja did just that.  Posted it in Facebook, and went back to work.

 Somewhere else, a poem  happened,  and the drops continued to fall....

जन्माला येण्याआधीच होत्याचे न्हव्त करण्याची खलबते , जन्मतहः व्यक्त झालेले खेद, शिक्षणाचा बोर्या, चुकून शाळा असलीच तर मोर्या नाही , मोर्या असल्या तर दारे नाहीत, मध्ल्यावेळी शाळेत पाण्यासारखी खिचडी , अवघड कुमरिपण , हिणवणारे पुरषी डोळे , अणि मग एके दिवशी डोळे मिटून हुंडा मोजून , पुन्हा अथ पासून इति चे तंतोतंत प्रयोजन . कायदे बनतात, नियम असतात , पण ह्या जगात ते तोंडात गिळून , पैशाचा विडा वर कोम्ब्णारे मतांनी मढवलेले नेते असतात, आणि देशाच्या मुलींच्या वाट्याला फक्त फालतू घोषणाच येतात . वर्षानुवर्ष हे बघ्णारि वनश्री असंख्य कठीण पावसाळ्याचे अनुभव आठवते आणि जणू एक एक अश्रू जवळ धरून, कवटाळून, मग हळूच नाईलाजाने टप टप हताश पणे पृथ्वी वर सोडून देते.

Smarter than Hamlet, they try and answer his query, To be or not to be, illegally even before birth. Apologies at her birth, unwilling education, Toiletless schools, and doorless toilets, and a watery gruel as a mandatory mid-day school food, then a difficult pubertal adventure, molested by masculine eyes, and one unfortunate day, a sendoff with dowry to a place, to perform all these steps all over again. Make laws, Make rules, and then vote in those who swallow them all, with currency for dessert, leaving the girls to the mercy of umimplementable mindless slogans. Away to one side, the greens, tangling with difficult and horrendous monsoons, see it all, and slowly, with great care and empathy, let go, the tears, as they stretch and fall helplessly into the lap of the Earth.