Rain. Football. Wet legs, wetter grass. Dirty shoes. Hot tea. Don’t go home. Get wet. Complete package.
The verdict is unanimous. Motherhood is the most valuable, cherished and celebrated role a woman can ever adore. But, are we only talking about emotions or emotions that perk their way out amidst growing impotency and manufactured behaviour?
Difficult questions but of late, the insurgency amongst the growing existence of surrogate mothers brings us to a more intricate and uncomfortable question – is it all about the result alone or the more viable human intelligence that’s embroiled in a tornado of emotions – the body, the pain, the bonding, the togetherness, the feeling of being massively responsible for a beautiful off spring.
Renting a womb is serious business – well, scary business. Yes, I hate to say that but we must live in gross reality and that I am deemed to dwell upon. If you are trying to pounce and retaliate, then you have a big world outside your window and its time we creep out to understand how disasters have changed in to a blessing. Last week, I did read about a very disturbed article on how surrogate mothers are a popular trend today – yes, disturbing for me as however contemporary I may be, I still belong to the old school especially if we are talking about childbirth.
I totally appreciate the advancements done in the field of technology – not in medicines alone. But the ability of creating test tube babies is giving is the moral incentive to go beyond the standard nomenclatures and lure people in to pseudo reproduction techniques. I admit, that such techniques can be a boon but finding genuinely pure cases is an impossible task. No, I don’t find it detrimental since it gives us a way to have children without the culmination of 2 individuals of opposite sex. I am happy with the advent of our science but this has led to an improbable state of migrant relationships with awful meanings.
Add to the dilemma, the target audience are the less financially capable families but immensely fertile to endure the organic remains of a complete stranger. In short, the womb is mine, the pain is mine, the care is mine but the associated semen belongs to an unknown, preferably called the ‘customer’. For few lakhs (sometimes even less), our women get in to this ordeal as ‘baby producing machines’. Little is thought about the aftermath or as matter of fact, how reliable is this source of sustenance that’s getting them in to this world of reproduction is a question that will seldom have answers.
For a moment, say, I channelize my thoughts and become this insanely progressive person who believes in the phenomenon of surrogacy. The organisations affiliated with such cause must be certified and recognised (either by the government or privately), governance needs to be established and transparent. ‘Come and fly’ approach is demeaning the concept of surrogacy, more significantly when our mindset and ground circumstances don’t sit in the same place.
Way forward or not, we must brace ourselves with the integrity first, let the other conglomerate factors follow later.
Perfection does not lead you to oblivion, it gets you closer to it. Doesn’t matter how long you practiced it, you will fall short as long as excellence chases you.
It isn’t naïve to believe am not perfect, no one is. When people say ‘I am Perfect’, it means the individual is good at something that you are not. He is better, probably much better, but isn’t God. You are good at something he almost doesn’t practice but you don’t tell him. You either don’t care or you can’t. You are mortal.
I say ‘am perfect’ 100 times in a day. The other person across doesn’t respond, not because he isn’t perfect but he fears that revealing the core definition of perfection might self-inflict a sense of animosity towards the integration of human behaviour. Saying ‘I am’ is much easier than saying ‘I am not’.
Nothing is perfect, at the sub conscious level. Work without policies, roads without rules, night without day, shade without trees, achievements without failures. All of these is something we all would like to happen but the tide is never on your side, so is the story here.
Perfection has no alibi. You can be near prefect, be the champion in what you do, encapsulate theories through the palm of your hand and be a master story teller. But, yet, still, no alibi. No persuasion. No stimulants.
Random genius, an act of isolated phenomena, an occurrence coming out from lady luck, camouflage, acts out of prejudice. None is perfection.
Being despicable isn’t an invited proposition, never with perfection. But can glide over, when required. Not inane, but certainly susceptible.
Yes. I agree. My days are far away, and reachable.
‘Celebrate people when they are alive, gives us a reason to believe why they deserved it’. @msksmiles
It’s time we push ourselves to a notch higher were people and their achievements are acknowledged on time. My anguish is pretty much in terms of our award system, be it in/for excellence in any field. I would love to believe that most of the coveted renderings aren’t manufactured, yet it makes sense to award someone when he/she realises and is able to cherish the fact that he/she is being awarded/appreciated/lauded. At the outset, we still have a long way to go when it comes to recognition of human achievements and their monumental impact on the world affairs.
This is familiar characteristic in the media industry, especially films, since it happens to be the most visible and popular. It pre exists in the field of science and politics as well but it isn’t as imperative as the achievements and their acknowledgement is often deemed implicit. But does it demand anonymity is a question to be asked. More significantly, human achievements are not bound by or for laurels, they are a work of magical minds and herculean efforts. If they cant sit on trophies, I don’t think trophies can sit on them. They would rather grace them with their enamoured hands, with a smile and a sense of umpteen satisfaction.
Food for thought?
You do have many names – Mom, Amma, Ma. But all of them get equated to the same level of dignified poise that you continue to epitomise throughout our lives. We were born, we grew up, we told you we love you and we hate you, we still grew up, we finished school and college, got a job, got married.. the saga of plutonized evolution continued and still continues. But over the years, you have not changed. We have always taken you for granted but your sacrifices never went un-granted. Thank you isn’t the word you deserve because we can never thank you enough. Amma, we just don’t love you, we adore you. You are the powerhouse of our lives.
And, ironically, it will always be an icing on the cake for you – Happy Birthday Mom.