I started to write poetry at the age of eleven and I have continued to do so for decades till today, having survived both breast cancer and the pandemic.
A few years ago, aging and a gradual and sudden worsening of my physiological condition hit me very hard. I thought I would give up poetry and writing altogether and seek refuge in gardening.
Poetry called me. I attended the Jaipur Literary Festival 2025 with my son Toshu . He followed me out of love.
I realized how a fortunate mother I was when I slipped and fell under the shower and Toshu rushed to my rescue. Diagnosed with severe injuries in the right shoulder, I spent the rest of my stay in Jaipur in a hotel room bed with a quill and with the passion of my life, my poetry.
Reading loud from my book of short poems Leaves cc. Anita Bacha.
Many thanks for spending some of your precious time with me, dear friends and readers.
On 26 Novembre 2012 , I was attending the Conference on Child Welfare and Protection organized by The Hague in Dakar,Senegal.
A writer at heart, I was inspired to pen down this story
The Tears of A Mother
A very long time ago, before God invented the dictionary of words, he sat down and started to create the first human beings. In no time, he produced the writer, the doctor, the moderator, the builder, the vegetable seller, the beautician and many, many others. Last he set out to make the mother.
An angel, who was watching God at work, asked:
“Why do you keep the mother last on the list? She should be the first.”
God answered “It’s not going to be an easy task. For the mother, I have to make more than one pair of hands.”
“Why?” asked the curious angel.
“She needs many pairs of hands as she will have to roll the parathas, check the temperature of the kid who is down with fever, put the dirty linen in the washing machine, answer that phone call and check her email to know how her eldest son is doing abroad and all at the same time!”
“Oh!”
“That’s not all! She will need a few pairs of legs too, to rush to school to drop one kid, to take the other one to the dentist, to run to the market, to collect that parcel from the post-office and all at the same time!”
“She must also have an extra pair of eyes in her back to watch the kids when they are in their room and see that the roast is not burnt whilst she is peeling the potatoes. Her lap must be larger than the average to cradle more than one at a time” continued God “her voice must be hard enough to scold and sweet enough to console.”
“That’s all?” the angel wanted to know.
“She must not only be an example of virtue but she must also be endowed with a few defects – spoiling, smothering, overfeeding her child and doing his home work when he is falling asleep to name a few.”
“She is hard to the touch!” said the angel.
“But as soft as butter inside!” answered God.
“Oh! Oh! God! There is a defect in your manufacture” remarked the angel “look here, there is a leak – water is running down the cheeks.”
“The tears! Of course! This is how the mother expresses her joy, her grief, her relief, her disappointment, her happiness, her sorrow and all her innermost feelings. But mind you, I did not make the tears. No! Niet! Non! Nahin! She made the tears herself.”
Splendor of the Fall Tiny boats floating lively – In the silent pool
A sad fallen leaf Aware that life is finite – Curbs her soaring self
Autumn Equinox Leaves shudder under the breeze – Embracing the change
Autumn leaves From green to amber red – Waiting to fall
Image of the Fall in Japanese Garden,Vienna,Austria cc Anita BachaImage of fallen leave cc Anita Bacha shot in ViennaImage of changing leaves cc.Anita Bacha shot in Japan Garden,ViennaImage of autumn tree cc. Anita Bacha shot in Japanese Garden, Vienna.
Autumn leaves trellis in Vienna , Austria 🇦🇹 cc Anita BachaAutumn leaves trellis in Vienna, Austria 🇦🇹 cc. Anita BachaAutumn leaves trellis in Vienna, Austria 🇦🇹 cc Anita Bacha.
Anita Bacha 