New how to write tribute to my late grandmother Quotes, Status, Photo, Video

Anurag Mankhand

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मोमीता देबनाथ : एक ओर बेटी August 23, 2024 To September 10,2024 09:24 A.M. To 12: 53 A.M. सिसकती रहीं और बेबस रहीं वो हैवानियत से भी ज्यादा कुछ और ज़िस्म से भी ज्यादा कुछ अपनी रूह पर सहती रहीं माँ दुर्गा के इस शहर में बेटी आज मारी गयी और ज़िस्म से नौची गयी वो आसूँओ की गूंज कहीं दीवारो से टकराती रहीं बहती सिसकियां और लहू आँखो से ज़मीन भी मातम मनाती रहीं माँ दुर्गा के इस शहर में बेटी आज तड़पती रही और ज़िस्म से नौची गयी दर्द की पराकाष्ठा से भी कुछ परे है तो (चरमसीमा) उस बेटी ने सही होगी उन दरिन्दों की क्रूरता की पराकाष्ठा से हवा भी सहमी होगी कितनी डरी और लाचार होगी वो तब जब वहशीपन की इन्तिहा हुई होगी क्या गुनाह था उसका , इन से पूछो तो सही परवाज़ के लिए तैयार थी वो (उड़ान) एक ख़्वाब था उसका और वो गरूर था माँ- बाप का कितनी बिजली गिराई होगी कितनी पीड़ा से वो निकली होगी इन दरिन्दों को सिर्फ हवस दिखी , न उसमें बहन दिखी, न उसमें माँ दिखी न गर्वित करने वाली समाज की वो औरत दिखी न दिखी उसमें एक उम्मीद न दिखी उसमें एक ज़िन्दगी न दिखी घर से निकलते वक्त चोखट पर खड़ी वो औरत न दिखी जन्म देने वाली और दुवा पढ़ने वाली वो औरत न दिखी खुद की वो छोटी नन्ही सी परी बिटिया दिख जाती तो शायद आज 'मोमीता' जी पाती , जिन्दा होती ©Anurag Mankhand #Stoprape Tribute To Momita Debnath

मोमीता देबनाथ : एक ओर बेटी August 23, 2024 To September 10,2024 09:24 A.M. To 12: 53 A.M. सिसकती रहीं और बेबस रहीं वो हैवानियत से भी ज्यादा कुछ और ज़िस्म से भी ज्यादा कुछ अपनी रूह पर सहती रहीं माँ दुर्गा के इस शहर में बेटी आज मारी गयी और ज़िस्म से नौची गयी वो आसूँओ की गूंज कहीं दीवारो से टकराती रहीं बहती सिसकियां और लहू आँखो से ज़मीन भी मातम मनाती रहीं माँ दुर्गा के इस शहर में बेटी आज तड़पती रही और ज़िस्म से नौची गयी दर्द की पराकाष्ठा से भी कुछ परे है तो (चरमसीमा) उस बेटी ने सही होगी उन दरिन्दों की क्रूरता की पराकाष्ठा से हवा भी सहमी होगी कितनी डरी और लाचार होगी वो तब जब वहशीपन की इन्तिहा हुई होगी क्या गुनाह था उसका , इन से पूछो तो सही परवाज़ के लिए तैयार थी वो (उड़ान) एक ख़्वाब था उसका और वो गरूर था माँ- बाप का कितनी बिजली गिराई होगी कितनी पीड़ा से वो निकली होगी इन दरिन्दों को सिर्फ हवस दिखी , न उसमें बहन दिखी, न उसमें माँ दिखी न गर्वित करने वाली समाज की वो औरत दिखी न दिखी उसमें एक उम्मीद न दिखी उसमें एक ज़िन्दगी न दिखी घर से निकलते वक्त चोखट पर खड़ी वो औरत न दिखी जन्म देने वाली और दुवा पढ़ने वाली वो औरत न दिखी खुद की वो छोटी नन्ही सी परी बिटिया दिख जाती तो शायद आज 'मोमीता' जी पाती , जिन्दा होती ©Anurag Mankhand #Stoprape Tribute To Momita Debnath

Krishnan

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White Grandma Stories I still love to hear those stories narrated by my grandmother. From the starting punch line of "Once upon a time...." to the exciting finishing statement, and finally, after that, they lived happily." I used to get engrossed in every nuance of her narration. I used to persuade her to narrate the Cinderella-type story many times. The way she used to begin was perfect, drawing me into her story. "Once upon a time, there used to be a pretty girl who often rested her heart, mind, and soul every evening on the steps of the porch of her house after doing all household chores dumped on her by her arrogant stepmother and sisters. She knew no prince would come out of nowhere and hold her hand before taking her away. It happens only in dreams. Still, she waits for someone who wouldn't come. She knows that she is bound to continue as a puppet here. But what if, one day, her waiting pays off?" Then my grandmother sighed deeply and expressed her wish as she looked at me: "You know, Krishna, I hope that, one day, the prince from her dream will arrive and rescue her from this hell. But none of us can predict the future." I then raised my head from her lap and looking at her eyes, I put forward my curiosity, "Will the prince arrive, Grandma?" "Even the gods cannot resist the glowing beauty that radiates from her, along with her pure heart—let alone a prince! Let's see." She remarked before continuing with her story! ©Krishnan #Grandma #grandmother #storytelling #Childhood #childhood_memories

White Grandma Stories I still love to hear those stories narrated by my grandmother. From the starting punch line of "Once upon a time...." to the exciting finishing statement, and finally, after that, they lived happily." I used to get engrossed in every nuance of her narration. I used to persuade her to narrate the Cinderella-type story many times. The way she used to begin was perfect, drawing me into her story. "Once upon a time, there used to be a pretty girl who often rested her heart, mind, and soul every evening on the steps of the porch of her house after doing all household chores dumped on her by her arrogant stepmother and sisters. She knew no prince would come out of nowhere and hold her hand before taking her away. It happens only in dreams. Still, she waits for someone who wouldn't come. She knows that she is bound to continue as a puppet here. But what if, one day, her waiting pays off?" Then my grandmother sighed deeply and expressed her wish as she looked at me: "You know, Krishna, I hope that, one day, the prince from her dream will arrive and rescue her from this hell. But none of us can predict the future." I then raised my head from her lap and looking at her eyes, I put forward my curiosity, "Will the prince arrive, Grandma?" "Even the gods cannot resist the glowing beauty that radiates from her, along with her pure heart—let alone a prince! Let's see." She remarked before continuing with her story! ©Krishnan #Grandma #grandmother #storytelling #Childhood #childhood_memories

Anagha Ukaskar

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White My grandma used to say "Clothes tell story, A tale of what we have always been. They hold a beginning and the end And everything that's in between" Her cotton, soft Sarees are now keepsakes, They hold the happy rays of the sun, The times when she danced in beams, Those good old days of fun. The rough white patches on its edges Are badges of what she has earned, The freckles and marks of lifetime, Of hands that left no stone unturned. ©Anagha Ukaskar #love_shayari #naani #Grandma #grandmother #Aaji #poem

White My grandma used to say "Clothes tell story, A tale of what we have always been. They hold a beginning and the end And everything that's in between" Her cotton, soft Sarees are now keepsakes, They hold the happy rays of the sun, The times when she danced in beams, Those good old days of fun. The rough white patches on its edges Are badges of what she has earned, The freckles and marks of lifetime, Of hands that left no stone unturned. ©Anagha Ukaskar #love_shayari #naani #Grandma #grandmother #Aaji #poem