Wednesday, 25 January 2012

The girl child

I was always fascinated with martyr,victim patterns that women in our country often hold.Personally,I never had a boyfriend and I prefer not to have one.I believe my worth is much more to what a man would offer to give me.Its not that I was never in love,just that I have grown up and I am unable to deal with the cave man attitude.Recently  a newspaper quoted"let us agree to go beyond billboard exhortations'to love the girl child',an article that dealt with the decline in the child sex ratio from 927 in 2001 to 914 as per every 1,000 males last year,in 2011 that further stigmatises the sexual discrimination in our society.This should come as an alarm to us.The so called modernisation is still,however strenthening the patriarchal prejudices that predominate this country.Our different ways of putting across our policies are insufficient and are unable to go deep into the racist,sexist tendencies of India.I am still naive to talk about politics but what I understand is that there is alot of work to be done here and the cultural factor has to be looked into.Its something that goes deeper than just education.It has to be instilled in the society.I understand that there are acts that criminalise foeticide,or gender determination and there are acts that regulate the right to medical termination of pregnanacy.But my point here is What is beyond this problem?Is it in our history?Is it in our ancestors?Is it still in our blood?I believe women are responsible to answer these questions too.What are you doing to save your mother,daughter,sister or friend?Are you educating them?Even at the basic level?Alot of people work for the benefit of the society but is it really progressing?
I have had a secured childhood.But I have come across women who are unable to stand firm.As a result the bask in the mask of the new age woman but are lost and threatened inside.Threatened of being used,molested and lashed upon by the petty mindset that our society still dwells upon.As a woman it is my duty to respect other women and to bring awareness to those who are not there as yet.I have the privelige to be strong because of my family.I have the privilege to say I am proud of being a woman.I have the privilege to be honest with myself and I want others to be alike.Be it a man or a woman.I want a safe society for all.
We are the generation that has taken over now.The generation of ipads.The generation of equality.But does it really exist in your head?Are you treating people with respect?I believe this respect comes from within.I believe this is what makes a man.
I have nipped many a men in the bud for their indecent ways and peculiar mindset.I want a man who stands strong of being the other half of me.Call me traditional,old fashioned whatever.
Its not arrogance.Its not just pride for myself,but everyone around me.Its confidence.
If today I bring a man home,it affects me,it affects everyone around me.Its not just my life.I believe there are so many depended on me,some way or the other and I want them to look upto me.
For now as the newspaper article read"As for the core content of messeges,a lot can be said,but for now let us agree to go beyond billboard exhortations 'to love the girl child'.And recognize that the girl will grow upto be a woman one day"

One that pervades my senses

The supple land evaporates,
in the crimson red aroma
I diffuse into the sun
golden polished
juicing a lime for breakfast
When I shudder with the alarm
the scrupulous temper of the sky
My porcelain vase falls out of place,
my hands shaking,stifle the liquid
that snuff out the spark into pieces

I gather them around
hurriedly blood stained

My window flip flops when I touch it red
and lock it up
for water sparkles up and again
the vagueness of dirty rain comes up
the roses in the green washed in mud

Emulsified and ashamed
when I begin to walk out to them
I feel the pain in my fingers
thorned with agitation
wet and lonely I stand there
looking into my palms
the criss crosses,the wrinkles
that years had met
and I had yet to become
what had become of me

I break down
along with the skies
that pervade my impulses
I sit in the ground
and absorb the lost

Yet to make some coffee
to sedate my senses once again

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

My shadow

I see a teardrop
and my shadow runs past
through varied hues of a rainbow
laughing and rolling in the darkness
as I switch on the brightness
it clings to me
surprises me of its assiduous tastes
and I smile at my follies
while I take a leap into the garden
connecting to the elements of nature

When you belong to me

Supple are those days touched with
the brightness of rays
and yearning for more
to adore the tenderness of the waking hours
that I caught in my arms,
with a pinch of vermilion held against my forehead

I still strive to be
to understand the nameless hours
as suasive when they are
I cant believe what I touch feel and see

I would curl my body,
touch my head to yours
and speak to you
my hearts desire
and sleep amidst
roses and petals
where we would suck the honey off
and dress in the charm of gold
when you belong to me

Friday, 20 January 2012

A bad romance

Often in the vastness of the dark,I am lost deciphering the myriad signs and figures of the clouds,the blinking stars,the moon.I look for a messenger through them.Some energy.That would pass through me,follow me everywhere for a bad romance.
Humans are contemptible.Even me,I am in subtle ways.I want to learn the language that is not heard.Not spoken but feared,heard only in the mysteries of the night.I want to celebrate the night and the day,the masculine and the femine,the hot and the cold and sing glorious songs of praise to them,so they would reveal to me their secrets of power.Yes I am in love with the nature now.I want to play with the elements of life and death.I want to have a bad romance again this time.So I would turn into what I want to in time.
Power comes to those who choose not to harm.But they who revel in their rival's self destruction.
I choose power.I choose to play the game.

Sunday, 15 January 2012

I breathe rain

She smelled the absurdity of moist land and vapour that  touched her nostrils everytime she breathed rain.She was born in a local nursing home in the suburbs of Calcutta while it was raining and it was like rain had betrothed her since the day."Jhor escheche,jhor escheche"(Its a storm).She watched her mother and maid rush through the verandah collecting clothes and quilts."Bador meye.Dekhche maa khete khete morche."(look at you.cant you see I am working alone)She got up to aid the others when she saw him.He looked at her.It was always his intense yet short gaze that made her feel delicate and warm.She had known him since she was a child.And now after sixteen years of existence,it tickled her stomach.The thought of him.Something she owned and she hid it from herself.She felt shy.She was reminiscing her childhood when her mother yelled at her and slammed the door shut.
She met him occasionally.They cuddled and kissed.It only went upto the extent of necking.She was still on her guard at all times.Maybe that was the reason he still wanted her.Maybe she was the reason she felt proud.He went on to go to London.She stayed in India.They kept in touch.They talked alot.They fell in love.
He came back after five years.Almost a Londoner.They got married.She moved away from India.
London was dry and dirty.Loneliness had begun to take a grip on her.She was half delirious all the time.Eventually he started avoiding her.She discovered he had other girlfriends and was away most of the time.When at home he would often get physical.
One cold morning, she was at the pharmist when she almost fell down the staircase.She lost control and sat on a bench.When suddenly a man,a little younger than she was probably,came upto her and said"Miss are you allright?"
She looked at him in surprise"O yeah.I have just had a bad day"and forced a smile.
There was something so sympathetic and soft about his gaze.She wanted to cry.
He sat beside her,gave her a hankerchief and said"You are bleeding miss"
She finally saw the blood and burst into sobs.
"hey hey its okay.Its okay.Where do you live?"
"Across the street"
"Come I will help you"
He tried to help her to stand on her feet,when she couldnt.He moved her skirt a bit upwards and there was some bruises she got there.He half carried her.To her apartment.
At her place she offered him some coffee.He didnt say a no.He was twenty seven and an artist.His father was an Indian who married and English.But divorced.So he had to live with a step mom alot of his life.There was something so beautiful and boyish about him.It was like she wanted to mother him.She met him again.That night while talking alot she put her hands between his knees,he forced himself upon her.He unclothed her upper body and felt her breasts with his mouth.She let him be while she quickly moved her hands to hold the nape of his dark neck.After an intense session he pressed her legs against her body and told her he had had enough of her.A while later she gazed up at the ceiling with tears in her eyes.She touched his hair and wondered if he would still see her.In the morning she woke up alone on her bed with a note on the pillow.It was a number.She called up.It was him.She was glad he had a thrilled voice."hey meet me at my apartment tonight"
She said it wasn't possible since her husband would be home.That night he stayed outside her house.She could see him.Something inside her froze.
They would meet everyday and everyday they would make love.Her husband got suspicious.He got even violent when she decided to leave him.The matter took two years to solve and she finally married for the second time.
On the day of her marriage they went skinny dipping.She felt his hands.His lips and the subtle flow of water around the hinges of her body.She could taste the aroma of salt in her stomach when she finally breathed water again.

Thursday, 12 January 2012

A fluid that maims

A narrow serpentile fluid that maims,
the twitching between rugged rocks,
I come to touch the escaping ground,
standing still beneath my breasts,
a mother that whispers those careless smiles
to a owner of those hapless beguiles
Twisting and slapping against him,
the one who mocks to protect in time
they come to reveal a small,beautiful
subtle to my poverty enclosed
I sweep my feet
against the in betweens
against the hinges of their's
to find a haphazard
to find a nervous moist
pleasure that breathes to feel inside

Sunday, 8 January 2012

Of kisses and follies

I just recuperated from an illness.An illness where I was unusually in love and the object of my obsession was following me around with stealthy tricks to track me down to my heart's core.It went to the extent that I started believing that every man's actions was related to my story.I loved being loved even if it wasn't true.Being chased can be so much fun.It can be so much pain.
This magesterial feeling of being posessed.It gives you a sense of assertion.The feeling of being connected to someone you have not met in years.Never talked to.Just like loving a foreigner.I have a had a history of running away from relationships from the people I thought I was attracted to.The people who were wrong.Maybe I am scared of the truth.Maybe I am scared of myself.Maybe I am scared of being myself.
Now I am back to the monotone of real successes than imaginary.Dreams can be so much fun.You get to be witty,smart,successful,child like and all the people are under your command.
I wish I could die for once,like shave my head,get a tattoo or pose nude.I wish I could get infamous and have nothing to lose.I wish I could touch the sky.I wish I could work in different languages.I wish I could read the future.Looking not just ahead.But looking any way I want to.Twisting time itself.
And still stay untouched.Untouched of being human.Untouched of the ground beneath my feet.Untouched of kisses and follies.

Saturday, 7 January 2012


Deliquescent in my core,
your ecstacies,
vibrant and ambiguous your games,
I crave to put you in a room
and lock you up again
just if the perenial dose of laughter
evade the drowsy bed
I feel in the head
your villanous touch
I scream for you
... behind my locked doors
desperate of desire
and a monotone of patience
I try to live for you
till you feel the insides of my fantasies
till you feel the susceptible on my face
in my arms
flooded with my tears
and pleasure
for I seek to be mothered
for I seek to feel
just for you and no one else

Monday, 2 January 2012

Of smiles and colors


Supine and playful,
reorients back,
mumbling an embarassing epitaph
to secrecy
a laudable pride
a distinguished ignorance,

They blabber the power,
dirty presumptions,
hopeless hapless
breathing haughtily
enduring and signing
those messy scriptures
till patience cries

or antique?
pestilence absurd
is all that would dry
in the sunshine
till mind is
too fragile
heartless innocence
fateless minds

recoursed in struggle
a fugitive denied

supine and agonised
till perfervid
dies in a disfigured mask
of shame
and limpid souls
toughen in importunate patterns of demise

still supine
still playful,
dreading a secret lost
they have yet to surmise