BEAUTY

My face would never be my fortune,
my mother would say to me;
"your eyes are not pretty enough,
beauty has slipped you by".

In the scale of good looks
in my extended family,
of maternal aunts and cousins
all were rated well above me.

To be easy on the eye,
pleasing with my smile,
get ahead in life-
snare a good husband;
all the uses of beauty
would be denied to me.

As I found soon enough,
it does open up doors;
gets you a foothold on the ladder
give a leg-up to destiny. 

Later on in life's journey
much later than should've been
I had the epiphany
looks don't matter
any more than you want them to mean.

Its the inner space that counts
try to alter that;
all that can be done,
do to the best of your ability,

Reclaim the basic human traits:
kindness and empathy,
to those in distress-
a helping hand from time to time,
to those who may need.

Stoke the fires within
light up the spark in your heart;
small deeds of kindliness
will take you very far.


Flickers of the flame
of constancy and contentment,
will be cast on your face-
the consonance of what you think.

Finally at the end of the passage
when your soul is in upward flight-
evanescence will be yours;
what will be left behind-
a transcendent,
luminous,
divine humanity.

Release

With your bloodshot eyes,
the sheen of a million stars bright;
as from a fevered delirium
you had just awakened:
when you look into mine,
like epochs and millennia frozen
at one spot, in synchronous flight.

Like a prayer flag hung out,
tossed about by the raging winds
on a mountain top-
bright and cheerful at the start;
I lose all colour in the sunlight
of your presence.

Flung about, 
losing my essence
till my colours have run through 
to a pale transluscence-
there's no more left of me.

Discarded, I'm shunned;
with shame,I burn up;
mingle with smoke and dust
rise up to the heavens above,
carrying on my lips 
a prayer of release.

My Little Girl

Sometimes, every once in a while,
for a few fleeting moments
before the hubbub of everyday takes over
and all dreams are brushed aside,
I feel something roll inside me
and for a fraction of a second I'm transposed
to a time long ago.

I'd dreamed you from the start:
as a tiny mass of cells 
multiplying ferociously inside me -
 I could already see your face,
imagine the contours of your tiny body.
Holding you in my arms
dressing you in little frocks 
and letting you do all that
I wasn't allowed to do.

My precious darling,
you were not to be
I weighed the various facts
and decided to let you go.
You didn't carry enough weight
in my schemes, as they stood:
sucked you out of me, I did:
through a vacuum tube.

Can't afford you at this juncture, 
is the lie I told myself;
set myself free:
to just be me. 
Free to imagine, 
what could have been.

Now when I see little girls
holding mommies' hands, 
and prance around
doing a merry dance,
filled with regret,
I feel a distinct pang-
for what could have been.

But I willed it otherwise.
Don't live with regrets, they tell me
So this guilt, I hide
But I know, I shall pay for it 
only with my life.

Memories

The first memories, of wood smoke
Naresh cooking on firewood.
Running to the kitchen,
through the corridor;
delicious scents wafting from it
of warmth, and succour.

Winters spent in nani's home;
"puas" slow cooked to perfection.
Love ladled out in scoopfuls,
fried a crispy brown tone.

World's best "aloo matar"
with Mummy fussing over
every "poori"  turned out like a ball
fluffy n red, just as I like it.

Shift the kaladeiscope,
see what it throws :
what we choose to remember,
what we forego-
keep the joys, relish  them;
dip into them, as into a treasure trove.

Home

As the day melds into eventide
and the sun sheds its crimson cloak;
flocks of birds, in trim formations
wind their way, in the setting glow;
cattle bells tinkle in the dust storm their hooves throw;
into the comfort of all that's known-
every creature heads home.
And like a river, to the seas, flows;
Into your arms, my love, I go.

Segments

Segments of fortune,
indicators of my fate :
lines on my forehead,
and palms of my hand.

Passages of time
marked on my face
crows feet under my eyes.
laughter lines on my cheeks.

Passages of life
everywhere you see-
stretch marks on my belly
from baby carrying days.

These signs of the past
I carry on my body
Wife, mother, lover, friend
all that I've been.

Smothered in layers
by very many screens;
unheard, unseen.

Demarcated, lined
battle lines drawn;
branded cattle like,
quartered up like poultry.

Shredded, chopped up
into tiny little bits.
Split into a million parts,
blown to smithereens.

All that I was, and am
is not all there is to me.

Death

Let me be the tiniest speck
on your shoulder,
the glint that flickers in your eye.
Don't fan the flames, my love,
let em smoulder,
so I may die

Babe

Baby, chick and babe
all the names I'm called
mother, wife, girl
Speak to my heart,
lover, confidante, friend
tell of my emotions;
tenderness and sentiment,
anger and disdain.
All spoken for.

The path to my soul,
that's the one name
to me,
my mother gave.

Discovery

Your body is a pleasure land
the entire expanse of it;
every nook and crevice,
new, unchartered territory
of a journey just begun.

Wondrous expeditions unfold
and pleasure trips abound.

Your musk invades my senses,
Overflows the brim;
your fingers reach places
I didn't know exist,
as your tongue waltzes
all over my skin.

It goes on forever,
and time stands still.

Like a river in spate,
you flood me with glee,
filled with a thousand sighs
spaces between my thighs
awash with delight
I live, I breathe, I dream.

Home

When I feel the darkness
descend all around,
words sprout out of my fingers
and wriggle out of my heart,
thread their way into
the quilt I weave-
with thoughts of you
and memories of us-
which warm my nights;
like icicles hanging
from the ceiling
of an igloo.
Beyond the moment
which splits for an eternity
takes me home
to you.

Worth

I'm happy without you,
I manage quite well.
I'm not miserable anymore,
as I was once, before.
I get by without hiccups;
well, almost.
Only, once in a while
I stop
in the steady flow of my day;
not too often, no.
Just a pause every hour or so
When my breath catches in my throat.
the tears just flow;
as if to the gut
there's been a blow.
My innards wrenched out,
my soul hollow.
The shredded bits
I carry about
with me,
unworthy of you,
unworthy of me.

Who Am I ?

Your touch is so sweet
your skin honey dripping;

the trail of your tongue
on skin, corrodes my being.

As if of hemlock I had drunk
Intoxicant, that is you-
poisons me to the core
It sears holes in my soul.

You, I inhale.
Ineffable, this loss of me.

Inexplicable the release
from being me.

This me that you see
Is it really me ?

I Rise

The razor's edge I walk
thinly veiled,
it sprouts, sharp, at me
my being and my identity
slashed;
I bleed.
Pale beads of oppression
I tread
no matter how lightly
Slip, i will
Yes, I fall
You want me dead,
I refuse to die
You want me quiet,
Still I rise.

No More

I get along without you very well,
Only, my breath seems caught in my throat,
neither comes nor goes;
my heart, as if frozen
like, through sludge I move
chilled to the bone,
tissues numb-
a whole bunch of pins
stuck within me.
Let me pull the darkness over me
so I may breathe free
and sleep for all eternity.

Glass

The broken pieces of me 
Lie scattered at your feet
As you head out the door
Gather up in my palms
I scrape pieces off the floor

All the eye can see
Not a shred of me 
A million reflections of you 
Where is the girl I knew 
She who used to be me

How Feminism Ruined My Life

How Feminism Ruined My Life

A woman has her head shaved, voluntarily. No big deal, right?
Well, she was getting paid for it. Five thousand dollars, no less. Yet something in the scene, the way she winced as the razor touched her skin, the look of abject humiliation on her face  bothered me. She's a willing participant in this, I reminded myself. Yet, I couldn't help but avert my gaze from the scene. Was it the fact that a roomful of dozens of men was cheering on the spectacle, that made it doubly uncomfortable for the feminist in me?

After all, having long, lustrous locks are also a kind of boxing in, a performing to the norm, which feminists so rile against? So, ideally, the shaving off of said locks shouldn't have bothered me.

However the whole tone of the testosterone driven fest of hedonistic lifestyle sans any pretense of ethics was very uncomfortable to watch. Am not so sure anymore if it was just a bad movie or I reacted to it from the place I'm in right now.

I find what drives most people around me, most of the time, quite horrifying.The concept of contentment has become alien to people, in just a generation.The disappearance of tolerance from public life seems yet another reflection of the personal choices more and more people seem to be making these days.

Greed is good is the new slogan of the youth. I'd have no issues even with that, provided one would work hard and fulfill one's ambitions. Yet, the acceptable norm seems to be to get ahead at any cost. That should be disturbing to us as a people.

Of course my definition of what comprises a good movie is bound to differ  from yours or perhaps even my own, a few years ago.

Our perception of a work of art is determined by our state of mind. A book one had read as a child will probably not hold as much attraction as a middle aged person. That is not to say certain works of art don't have a universal appeal.

As more and more my reading and state of mind has veered towards feminism and gender equality (what does that even mean?) I find it increasingly hard to watch mainstream Hindi movies. This rules out any  TV series in Hindi at the moment. Revisiting old classics is as tough. Recently even a beloved classic like "Chashme Buddoor" had moments which made me wince. When proposing marriage, the character played by Farooque Shaikh tells Deepti naval's character that she must " obey" him because he is going to be her "lord and master"

Alright, maybe it was said half in jest, yet the point remains that it made me sit up and notice the words. That, in effect is how feminism quite ruined my life. 

PS : An old piece, lying for some reason in my drafts folder. Really why not share it? It's how I still feel a lot about most things. Of course I'm not a perfect feminist; but I try, ok? :D