Gayathri Jayakumar's Blog, page 5

What my mother thinks of me... words from my heart

 Too many deaths have closely lined up in our family taking away within a short time span many people dear and near to me. Beginning with my grandfather who was healthy as a horse, all of a sudden drastically losing his health, suffering greatly in bed and finally thinning away into a mere shadow and wrinkles with no voice. Then a series of deaths followed all claiming different reasons from memory loss to cancer. Hopefully though, many reached the verge and returned taking only minimal damages after cancer tried to claim them. One of them being my mother, I am grateful they survived. Now time has taken its toll and the lot has fallen for my grandmother. Everyone has been waiting by her bed, wetting her lips with holy waters expecting her to pass away the next minute. My mother wails every morning as if grandmother is dead, but by noon my grandmother starts drinking spoonfuls of glucose water little by little. Looking at her feeble body and tired limbs I feel confident that as soon as she takes enough elements to help her raise herself she’ll walk. Her body still feels fine to walk on earth a few more years. I feel it every time I touch her. I feel her struggle to live every time I stare into her eyes. But alas! My mother doesn’t think so. I know she’s stressed, but she has to see what the soul is trying to do. The body might reject, but the soul still tries to hold on, hesitating to leave. My mother considers me indifferent to relationships. But the truth is when she cries out in public, I melt inside. I did cry when grandfather died and when my aunt passed away before I could get a glimpse of her. I do it inside me, I let it flow out throw words, I write, I type as tears feel insignificant a tribute to such wondrous souls. I fight with my mother because I see clearly that the body is asking for more nutrients. My mother sees this as my stubbornness or even as a showcasing of fake emotions. I worry; my grandmother was the woman who took me in her arms a few moments after I was born. She never let lose my fingers from then on. Twenty two years we spent together, me and her, side by side, much closer than mother. I realize what her body craves for, I hear her soul. My mother curses me crying every morning saying that grandmother will die that day. She wants to know why I don’t love grandmother. She wants to know what more could my grandmother do to make me love her now. It’s been three weeks and everyday mother cries waiting for grandmother’s death and instead of crying I sit by her side feeding her with tender coconut water which is her favorite. And my mother says that I act like a four year old child trying to make people do what I want, but I can see what my grandmother wants. I wonder why my mother can’t see me as an individual capable of taking decisions, taking the right decisions. Every noon grandmother’s body drops into a low temperature almost as cold as ice. I stay by her side rubbing her hands and feet and by night after continuous spoonfuls of tender coconut water she smiles at everyone around. And still my mother says that I am stubborn that I want to kill grandmother. I write because I fail when I speak. My mother is louder and more aggressive than me. The truth is, I can’t accept anyone’s death. Grandfather and aunt still lives for me. I’m not sure if I am mentally ill, but I’m sure I do not know any witchcraft because I still see them, I feel them. In dreams I see them, they speak to me. They don’t tell me the future, or explain to me the past, but as in all my dreams I keep on running I run past them every time and they speak to me casually. My world retains them, both physically and spiritually. I do not feel their absence. I sometimes turn around hearing them call out to me. I hear them pass comments and I turn around to find no one. Yet I am sure it was their sound. I still think of them as if they are alive. I go to their houses but there I realize they have gone. Their voices play in my head as if a tape recorded is replaying the recorded sounds. They fill my memories and dreams, not nightmares though.
I do not know why my mother thinks that I’m indifferent to relations, as far as I know they are ignorant of my love, my deep affection towards them. I don’t understand why mother thinks that my heart is barren. Every time I feel a soul, I see a living being alone, or suffering I feel with them. I’ve taken upon myself the pain of the people I know. Feel for a suffering animal or bird, I feel for humanity, then why not my loved ones? What I feel for the people I love is extreme. I may not cry out in open, and at times I may, but I do express myself through actions. I am concerned for the people I know. I don’t care how bad or cruel people or animals are, I do care if they are in trouble. Yet again, it is not because I don’t love them, it is because they are ignorant to my feelings, my love my care. 

My book Blossoms in the Mist will be launched the coming friday

Book Review: Antique Magic by Eileen Harris

Book Blurb:
Antique dealer Alicia Trent is hired to appraise a huge collection of treasures hoarded by a woman who has recently died in the town where Alicia grew up.
The huge old house poses mystery after mystery from the moment she arrives, but the stakes become deadly when murder is added to the mix. The question then becomes, can she stay alive long enough to unmask the killer?


Book Excerpt:
Without consciously making a decision to do so, I grabbed my robe and headed for the door. If the thief was in the house, it might be my chance to identify him or her. One last glance at the globe showed the black was now mixed with a lot of orange. It looked like a Halloween decoration.
I turned off the light in the room, then quietly unlocked and opened my door. A flashlight would be a big help, but mine was packed in my suitcase. This was the first time I’d needed it. I eased out into the dark hall. A nightlight plugged in at the top of the stairs made a dim glow and I started in that direction. Moving slowly, I listened intently for any unusual noise. Everything seemed quiet and peaceful. I didn’t think anyone had stayed overnight in the house except Naomi and me. The stairs were solid and didn’t make a sound as I crept down. Time moved in slow motion and it seemed to take forever to reach the bottom. Once there, I began making my way to the living room. We always turned off the electronic security on that door at night since there were no potential buyers coming in and out after five. Even though I still hadn’t seen anything suspicious, somehow the atmosphere seemed wrong. Danger seemed to lurk in every dark corner. I was anxious to make sure the items displayed for viewing hadn’t been disturbed. Moving into the room and closing the door seemed to take forever. I couldn’t wait to get the light turned on. At first glance everything looked fine. Walking around the items for a closer look, I still didn’t see any evidence of tampering. Maybe I was overreacting and chasing ghosts. I decided to return to my room, but instead I veered into the study for a quick look. I wasn’t quite ready to admit my fears were just my nerves playing tricks. This time I hadn’t done the smart thing and called for Dan. He had to be tired of my crying wolf and not finding any evidence. I’d need a darn good reason before choosing to disrupt the entire household again.
At first the study also seemed undisturbed, but as my eyes adjusted, my heart skipped a beat. Someone had pushed the button that moved the desk aside. The light on the stairs leading down into the passageway had been turned on. Someone had entered the house, but I couldn’t call Dan from here and didn’t want to lose the chance to discover the identity of the intruder. All of a sudden my policy of not crying wolf didn’t seem so wise. I picked up a large letter opener from the desk and started down the stairs. The cloying feeling of danger increased with each step. The second bookcase on the left hand side of the hall was moved aside, revealing a passage I hadn’t known existed. The walls in this new passage were lined with artwork. Creeping silently along, I noticed that the art consisted of a variety of styles. At a quick glance I saw pen-and-ink, charcoals, watercolors and oils. I wouldn’t know what all was there until I had time to investigate. Right now my attention was focused on finding out who was down here and why. The passage climbed steadily upward. There didn’t seem to be any side doors, at least none that were obvious, until the end of the passage. Here one door opened to the right. By now my sense of direction had become confused and I wasn’t sure what part of the house this passage ran through, but it might be somewhere on the second floor.
  ---------------------------------------------------------------------



Review:

Antiques are always those remnants of the past, pulled out of its time, well-preserved to adorn the future. It holds the stories of ages, the ghosts of the past and acts as a proof to the past, lost cultures and wisdom. Alicia Trent runs an antique shop and is assigned the duty of pricing up the antique collection of late Mrs. Hall for sale. A mansion, oddly green for its dry desert terrain holds in it a treasure trove of antiques from all around the world. It is only likely that when one gets into sorting a house cramped up with antiques that we stumble upon a few valuables. But what Alicia here stumbles upon is her own life, her future, her past unknowingly and mysteriously tied up with late Mrs. Hall. It is mysterious because her acquaintance with Mrs. Hall was far back in the past and that too only once, for a very short span of time. With hints surfacing that Mrs. Hall’s death was a well planned murder, and the murderer hot on Alicia’s trails, Alicia is left with only a calculated time span to process out the clues left out for her by Mrs. Hall, before her death. Alicia has just walked into a death trap in a mansion where secret passages and a tinge of Wiccan magic stifles our mind. Almost positively I simply wished that I walk into such a house, every inch packed with antiques and the walls resonant with magic (although I really do not wish it is a death trap for me).  Splendidly laid out and efficiently executed, this book is what I have been waiting for a long time since I read Michael Scott. Eileen Harris, though chooses her heroine as an antique seller, I am extremely happy that she does not over do the book with details of every bit and scrap like Dan Brown; though I would have seriously wished for a bit history going into the antiques. The ending did seem a bit abrupt, but if lengthened a bit more the book would have been overloaded with mystery and magic. I give this book four and half stars out of five. A worthy book I would say; an amazing read. This book gives you the perfect amount of pulse-raisers and just enough goose bumps to make it spooky. One thing is sure for the time that I have become a fan of Eileen Harris eager to wolf down her other books. Antique Magic, is a sure-to-please-anyone type of book that I would never hesitate to recommend to everyone. You have to read it if you like magic.. that’s as clear as I can ever get on the book.  


-----------------------------------------------------------
 

About the Author:
From living off the grid in the Arizona desert, Eileen has moved to the woods of upstate New York. She has authored a standalone adventure novel called Desert Shadow. She is also the author of Alicia Trent Series. The Black Cane : Dowager Diaries Book 1 is her latest release.







Buy Links: Wings e Press  I  Amazon  I  Barnes & Noble

  Stalk The Author Blog  I  Facebook  I Goodreads I  Amazon  

“Stop!!”, said life, “I’m tired of chasing you. “Well th...

“Stop!!”, said life, “I’m tired of chasing you. “Well then don’t”, I said, “we can always run along, side by side”. “No”, said life, “don’t be such a fool… do you know where this path runs to?”, and I halted, unable to decide and life overtook me for the very first time. I didn’t know where the path ran, but when I halted, I realized that I couldn’t move. “I’ll just run ahead and make sure everything’s fine”, life shouted back as it ran.  I tried to move, but I couldn’t and I looked around for help. Many hands showed up, taught me to walk, taught me to slow down and by the time life was back I was already lost in the crowd of helping hands.  They got hold of life, drew a path and tied life with a loop to guide it the way they thought right. “Good”, I thought, now life will not run away without my consent”. I walked the paved path; hands guided me, thrashed me often and silenced me. I longed to walk alone now, out of the paved path. But hands guided me back forcing my feet to walk. I wanted to run, but they held me back and when I looked at life it looked back at me in tears. I glanced around and found a throbbing heart, a heart that longed to be free. A thought…. I had to make a new path, for me and the heart, but to cut through this path is a great task and I dared and my life smiled at me. Hands… they haunted me now, in wakefulness and sleep, in thoughts and nightmares. Ensnaring tangles and reddened eyes, gnawing at me like hungry beasts. I looked at life and it struggled to break free of the loop that tightened on its throat. The heart tried to help and freed  life, but alas too late to fall prey to the hands.  They slashed at me, shredding me into pieces, and life was strangled right before my eyes. They slashed and stabbed, and I looked around for help again and I saw hands working deep at plucking away the heart. Many hands stood watching helpless while others worked me into shreds, and life lay limp on my path. They left when they were tired and my bruised, battered self crawled up to life. Life lay groaning unable to move. I heard the heart cry…” Stand”, it said,” I’ll walk by your side. Stand before the hands return. I’ll walk, a shadow by your side, unseen by the hands, now walk”. I stood up, but my legs wouldn’t hold. The shadow held me before I fell. “You fool, don’t stay, walk YOUR path, now walk before the hands return”. I stood again, now propped by the heart and took into my arms life that slithered in agony at my feet. I walked, limping, and dragging myself, weighed down by the bruises and the wounded life. “Walk”, whispered again the heart and stood strong for me to walk with life. I walked away into my own path and walked as fast as my feet could walk. I walked until my feet felt strong and then with life in hand I broke into a sprint, the heart following close by, unseen. I ran, fast and far. I saw the hands, yes they ran behind, I dared not stop and relied on the heart. At a point the hands overtook me. I stopped and life still lay wounded in my hand. A snarl, a dirty snarl, a hiss, and burning eyes, a growl and anger exploded through me and I stared back right into the eyes of the hands. For once, shaken they stepped away, I stared a bit long and they shrunk into the side. I held tight to life, walked bravely past the hands and they stared in dismay. I set life on its foot, held its hand, heart propped it too and asked it to walk. It toddled, but walked and then forgot the pain, when I ran it ran and we ran side by side, held up by the heart. I run now my path, and life runs along, hand in hand, strengthened by the heart.

Importance of Training

 My paternal home was my playground during holidays where I would chase after birds and squirrels while Grandpa, a retired headmaster, tended to his plants. That day I was busy filling his ears with all the bads I could imagine about the teachers I hated at school. Homeworks were leaching out my play hours and palms were sore due to the ‘cane thrashings’. I stopped as I saw two men assisting Grandpa to cut off branches from my favorite Guava tree. “They cannot cut my tree! That is rude”, my eyes welled up with tears which did not go unnoticed. I needed explanation and that was certain. Grandpa replied that it was necessary, which obviously did not satisfy me. This is when my father stepped in and I knew that a scientific explanation was on the way. He began that when the unwanted branches are chopped off the tree can concentrate on the main branches that give us fruits. And that by chopping off wandering branches the threat of the branches touching the electrical lines are checked. “Huh! But doesn’t the tree know that it’ll get an electric shock!” .I thought of how stupid the tree was.“No it doesn’t know, we have to take care of it, just like we elders look after you”, Grandpa put on his serious tone.“Did you always look after the tree Grandpa?”“Indeed I did, I even trained it to suit our needs”, Grandpa smiled.“You are mocking me”, my face fell.“Oh no child, I did indeed. The ‘Y’ shaped branches you always climb upon, I trained it so. I cut off other branches that came up while the tree was small. I protected those two branches and tied it apart to yield the shape. The lower strong branches were encouraged and either tied up or bent or twisted to finally shape strong branches for you to climb on or tie swings. Promising branches were well maintained and fruits protected for you.” He handed me a ripe guava that had fallen off.“This is exactly what they do to you at school child”, he concluded.“No! They don’t give me ripe guavas at school! They give me homeworks and beatings and scolding”, I protested.“They are chopping off your wandering branches, to keep you away from electrical lines of life that can give you dangerous shocks”.My cheeks puffed up, “But I have no branches”.“They are chopping off your bad habits and laziness. They are shaping you into a better person. They are training you to develop your talents and skills like the strong branches. They are prompting you to work harder to achieve your goals. They are training you to focus, to understand and analyse things better so that you would be a stronger, well-shaped, well behaving young soul.”“Just like you taught the tree to be big, strong, beautiful, useful and selfless””, I quipped.“Yes dear child exactly like that. But I didn’t teach the tree little one, I trained it”, his eyes twinkled.A realization had dawned. From then on I somehow endured my schooldays and terrifying teachers. Every time I got upset remembered the tree that was trained by getting chopped, bended, tied, twisted and finally turned out to be a favorite of all. As I think back, it does connect that the ‘homeworks’ and tasks which I used to call ‘hardworks’ , and the punishments and scoldings are like chopping and bending the tree.
It took me longer to understand the difference Grandpa meant about ‘teaching’ and ‘training’. You cannot lecture or instruct a tree about bending itself and not growing in the wrong direction. He was right, the tree was made to grow the hard way for the desired outcome. Training was hence teaching by making us do things, to learn through experience (experiential learning). It involves active participation and when the active participation is not received, punishments get its try. Training shapes an individual. The training that we receive at our institutions builds up our character, our confidence, our knowledge, enhances our skills and talents, filters our qualities and sifts our morale. These trainings often don’t affect us in a day, but it gradually chisels and moulds us. It never hinders our growing, but adds to both our exterior and interior selves the beauty and the utility the generation desires, may it be personal or official.Being a trainer and being a trainee differs greatly. A trainer needs to identify the ups and downs of each trainee and train accordingly. In an army camp the trainer has to identify first who is good at shooting and who is a good acrobat. The one good at shooting should be trained at being a good acrobat too and the trainer should ensure that the acrobat be trained well at shooting targets too .Only then can a competent army be ready for real life combats. The same applies in every field. Like cutting off the unwanted branches and protecting and strengthening required branches of the tree, negatives and positives of the trainees are to be rightly identified by the trainer and be pruned or encouraged accordingly. The job is not a piece of cake.A trainee should participate actively and put in all the effort to keep in pace with the trainer. It is necessary here that the trainee expresses completely rather than holding off so that the trainer can analyze and help the person.Training prepares us mentally and physically through active involvement for upcoming battles, both personal and official.

There are many occasions in life when nothing “seems” rig...

There are many occasions in life when nothing “seems” right and so, when everything turns out right our mind becomes instantly deeply irritated as we think into our past to realize that something
grave is following. This is no intuition but mere experience or more correctly, beliefs. We have tuned our into such a frequency that it is always in a balanced state fluctuating between the satisfied and unsatisfied, never tempted to go in a straight line. This is exactly why we can’t attain that moment of spiritual bliss. It is because we ourselves torn between duties and desires. They can never make a perfect mixture. I guess that’s the law. Because, every time we want to bask in our desires fulfilling them, there comes the call of duty. Duty comes piercing deep into that bubble of desires. But the bubble doesn’t pop, that is the toughest part. It sticks on to the tip of duty and so nothing seems to satisfy us, but we painfully note that we lack what we want in spite of carrying out duty at the best of our capacity. It is as if our world of desires and real life is of two dimensions into which we keep jumping from time to time. We cannot predict when. We just know when we are in the reality; because then, we go mad and are completely unsatisfied. It is this world of desires and reality that spirituality says should be avoided. When one enables his mind to travel straight, without fluctuating into these two worlds and diverting the mind to run straight through the very very narrow pathway between the two worlds shall one attain that perfect peace of mind, or moksha.

Blog of a Forbidden Dreamer: Is having Great grand children the sole goal of on...

Blog of a Forbidden Dreamer: Is having Great grand children the sole goal of on...:   Last day i chanced to hear two women conversing about an old lady on her death bed. The dialogue was a very sincere relief of one of the ...

Is having Great grand children the sole goal of one's life??

 Last day i chanced to hear two women conversing about an old lady on her death bed. The dialogue was a very sincere relief of one of the women that the old lady had nothing to worry about since she had even great grand children and that now she can die peacefully. I was literally shocked... Is having great grand children the only  goal in the world? If you have great grand children don't you have to worry about anything else? no more desires and dreams?? Does that mean that all of our life spend in toil was just to reproduce and nothing else!! such a blunder. How can life and happiness be calculated by the number of generation you have seen or created and the number of progeny!! It may contribute to some part of happiness and satisfaction but not all of it for sure. No one wants to bury their dreams and desires to think of reproducing. But i have to agree that majority of women still face this torture of the society; "born to give birth" i guess. 

BRAXTON A. COSBY - PROTOSTAR BOOK 1 THE STAR-CROSSED SAGA

Review:

“Amor Vincit Omnia” (Love conquers all); there could be no perfect example for the saying other than Braxton Cosby’s book, “Protostar”. Essentially a science fiction with the usual space and alien stuff, but the writer knows very well to create something entirely different and new. The hunt for the Star-Child is on and a ship lands on the Earth with the Prince of Fabricius, the bounty hunter from a distant galaxy. For a person from a place that values emotions the least, Prince William is new to the emotions he experiences here on Earth. Each time William feels emotionally brittle towards the Star child, Sidney, he is brought back on track by the menacing interference of his ship’s artificial intelligence, IMPI that is determined to make a grant success of the mission. With more bounty hunters on the trail of the Star child and William seriously affected by the emotion of love, the book takes its readers into new levels of confusions and adventures. Sidney who is still in the shadows regarding the truth of her existence is yet to find out and harness her powers; till then she is just another teenage girl, defenseless and hunted.  .The pen pictures are simply fantastic and narration, as smooth as silk. There is a connection that the reader feels with the characters as we identify many of the emotions as real as ourselves. The writer provides a firm grounding leaving the readers no lose ends for assaults on the plot. There is but one thing that I found quite confusing. The connection between this space saga and the Greek Mythology leaves me not fully convinced.  All the rest makes good sense in the story-point-of-view. The images, beautifully picturized, the dialogues, as lively as it can be and of course the romance sweeping through the pages is simply magical. There is also this allusion that I found on perusing the book; the star children are all supposed to be girls as per presented hints and this gives a particular respect and potential to the feminine considering the rest of the women characters as well. The hidden powers of the star child shows up only at instances of peril and agitation, all the other while they are as silly and feminine like any other girl; which gives a certain hint that every woman has in her a hidden potential.   ‘Protostar, The Star-Crossed Saga Book one’  is the very thrilling, adventurous science fiction I would rate with a “four star” out of five and the cliff hanger is too painful to bear! My curiosity-meter is ticking at point high and am desperately waiting to dig into its second part.
“What is time but another moment lost” – Braxton Cosby.

After reading this book I am pretty sure that I contradict the author on this statement of his. My time was definitely not a lost moment reading his book.

BLOG BLURB  : 

 On the brink of Civil War, the Torrian Alliance continues with its mission to obliterate Star-children across the universe in order to suppress an intergalactic evil. Following the recommendations of his Council, King Gregorio Derry has agreed to send his only son William, on a mission to restore honor to his family. What starts out routine, becomes a lot more complicated as an inopportune crash landing delays the assassination. During this time, William begins to form a 'connection' with Sydney that challenges his inner being. But this conflict is the least of his problems, as a conspiracy back on his home planet Fabricius threatens the lives of those he loves and his father's royal legacy. Along with that, he must unravel a hidden threat here on Earth that seeks to secure a vested interest that threatens both his and Sydney's safety. Will William be able to complete his mission or will he choose love, sacrificing everything he stands for?

Find out More at the   Website
ProtoStar is the Readers Favorite Book of the Year Award Winner for the Romance: Fantasy-Sci-Fi category.



AUTHOR : 



Braxton A. Cosby is a dreamer with a passion for inspiring others to love, in spite of circumstance and convenience. Braxton creates stories in his mind that he desires to put on paper and share with the entire world. His calling to pen a young-adult series that is smart, witty, and thought provoking, has challenged readers to answer the question: What would you choose, love or irrevocable duty? Braxton lives in Atlanta, GA, where he co-hosts a local radio show on WAOK which is a mash-up of current events and health and wellness. He also has a blog where he discusses everything from health and entertainment to spirituality and relationships.
Social sites:Twitter - @BraxtonACosbyFB - https://www.facebook.com/DrBraxtonCos...website - www.braxtoncosby.comBook website - www.theredgeminichronicles.com



Tour review schedule: 21st April  - Jenn @ Book Reviews & Giveaways22nd April - Namrata @ Red Pillows23rd April - Melissa @ Books are Love23rd April - Maniparna @ Scattered Thoughts24th April - Gayathri @ Blog of a Forbidden Dreamer25th April - Kishan @ Levying Kishan26th April - Jacquel @ She Reviews Everything26th April - Rae @ Drunk on Pop26th April - Monica26th April - Sreejitha @ A Cinderella Story

Truth on the domination of males

Centuries ago when the true flourishing of civilizations took place the world without exception believed on the power of the female that created life. The female ruled the lands and men were mere subordinates ready to engage on all menial jobs and hard nut tasks.  Males were nothing more than concubines or servants. It was a ritual in the western civilizations that the concubine of the Queen was to be killed and the flesh to be eaten raw by the queen and the priestesses, which they believed impregnated them. Gradually the male counterpart intoxicated with the possible power and of course fearing death, by years of cunning procrastination of the ritual each time reasoning the substitute of a young male in his stead rose to supreme power. Later the young male was yet again substituted by animal sacrifice. And hence ages empowered the male cunning and female was gradually suppressed into servitude, which lead to the current degradation faced by the gender.



I've often heard counters that in the wild the lion rules over the lionesses and that after every hunt the male is offered the first bite and best portions while the females restrain themselves for the male to finish up. I really don’t understand how that shows the subordination of the female. All the females of a pride together can defeat a male for sure; then why this submission? Well here are some simple facts: Every pride can have only one dominant male who will have the mating rights over all the females. Without the male the next generation is not possible. The dominant male is the victor of a dual between two full grown males and the position is always under constant threat. No female disregards the new dominant male and cheerfully participates in mating. Now to get back to the point, the only male in the pride has to be powerful, strong and healthy and should be a perfect specimen which is necessary to create a healthy, strong and powerful progeny. If the male is weak the next generation also suffers alike. To prevent this, the male has to have the best fresh portions to his fill in order to maintain his efficiency and health. Moreover, the male has to be confident in order to carry on his task well and hence the ladies give great care to how they sustain him well toned, healthy and confident.

And again I have faced counters like, then why wouldn't this apply to the birds and so on… Well, my answer is that, birds do not live like a pride or such. They do not form societies or groups. And hence can choose their own males, and no code of conduct is expected. And again you may ask, then why don’t we humans follow such a system as of in a pride? If there was such a condition in the human society more than 80% males would have been single and the rest would have been enjoying or rather burdened with multiple alliances. And if in that case again if we were given the privilege to choose our mates like the birds again at least a 60% would have been single with the rest same as above.  Remember it is only the social norms creating a difference between the human and the animal world and efficiently turning its back to the true dominating power in Nature. It’s purely intentional. There is much that the male society will lose if the truth was to be accepted wholly. There is much more than expected to lose for the males. So how about a little respect now? Or at least try to understand the situation and stop believing that male is everything. It is just a belief.