Kicking a small piece of broken earthen pot,
While playing on the roadside, hop scotch.
Or dribbling a ball and throwing it at a team mate.
Screaming as I fell, skidding on the roller skates.
Playing marbles with my kid brother, ten years old
Aiming at queen of carom board with one eye closed.
Trying my hand at basketball, hockey and table tennis.
One day, a bunch of us stormed into YMCA premises.
As there was no club exclusively for girls, back then.
Sir, we said politely you have to treat us at par with men.
Please be kind enough to give us forms for membership.
You are a sportsman, so how about some sportsmanship.
Next day, after submitting our forms, we were in the hall.
Awkwardly aiming and trying to strike a billiard’s ball.
It was so good in my country back then, now I see.
We knew no fear; felt so young, joyous and carefree.
Its still not bad, as I see my daughter go through her day.
She has lots of fun, makes choices in an assertive way.
Oh, my heart cries for the women in far off Afghanistan.
Will they ever, ever, ever again see the light of dawn...
Mamta Agarwal
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/those-were-the-days-9/
