Between Her and Me

Out-of-tune

Making a mound of clothes and bags

With books I ought to read ,

I turned my back to it

And surrendered, yet again,

To the pleasures I can't deny.

I close my ears,

No, I don't want to hear

My nagging voice-small but

Pinching to the core.

I know what I am doing

No, I don't want to know

With my nose deep into

The yellowed pages

In an attempt to sip

A gulp of the mastery

Ah! the tantalising taste.

My left hand blinkers my vision

I don't want to see the mirror

It mocks me, imitating my actions

With back turned

To the mound of clothes and bags

With books I ought to read.

A finger on the right

Steadily following the dancers

Moving to the tunes of distant lands

Dancers in black,

Charming me to the distant lands.

My little voice sings along

Out of tune, about mounds of clothes

And bags with books.

Don't stop dancing as yet dears

Let me have another sip.

The manna tastes different now

It has turned rancid now.

My back to my love

My mistress unhappy,

A sacrilege to them

Or myself- I might never know

I might never want to know.

Delhi Summer Blues

Feeling hot, hot, hot!!!

A Reminder on Earth's Day!

Happy Earth's Day to all!


Yes, I am from the jungles, born in Nature's lap. Trees and flowers in the garden were the first friends I knew. The smell of freshly cut grass to me is more appealing than your room freshner. When I wanted solitude, I went to the bank of the pond, to look at ripples scattering the hundreds of thoughts in my mind till I finally could feel the rhythm. Nothing set off butterflies in my stomach like the sight of crimson skies in the west did, with the breeze on my face, bringing with it the fragrance of the eucalyptus. Sound of the raindrops on the tin roof, eating mangoes right off the trees, counting stars at night in a blanket of fragrance from the frangipanis and the jasmines and many more such beautiful things: all I owe to this bountiful Earth.

Too dramatic! But the point is: today is Earth's day and I have decided to start another series of posts on how to care for our planet. I have so far resisted writing the overly science-y stuff on Environmental science, conservation and Ecology laden with jargons. What we really need are pointers on what are the things each one of us can actually do in our everyday lives, without feeling like giving away a limb and some fingers! (Though personally, I think even that could be done if that was what was required of us!). The reason? Well, most people I know are quite environment conscious but have no clue how they could contribute individually without being a scientist or an activist.

Before I start, I would also like to acknowledge the book which gave me the idea: 365 ways to save the Earth by Philippe Bourseiller. I came across this stunning book in our university library when I was doing my M.Sc. and was captivated by the beautiful photographs and bowled over by the simple ways enumerated in it, in which we can make a positive difference to our planet. I shall pick those pointers from the book, which are applicable in our everyday lives here in India, particularly Delhi and Imphal, my hometown (with due acknowledgement of course!); while also adding others which are relevant locally. 

So, let me start with the one about which I have the least to say:

1: Join a library instead of buying books.

This one will be really difficult for all the book lovers out there, including myself. But I promise to genuinely put an effort. I have started it already. I had thought of buying this book but now I will go to the library instead! 

Tectonic revenge on the statue of unity!

Built on shaky grounds
Your statue, tallest in the world
Of lifeless concrete.
They might agree but I don't.
Enlisting peoples with guns and might
Do not a nation make.
I won't join the chorus
When the country sing 
Paeans to the iron man.
I shall laugh and blow
The snot from my sinuses
When Nature takes her course
Taking you down in one shift
Of the tectonic plates
As if in one amorous turn
The whore of GB road
Shook you off like a used condom
From her stained shamed sheets.
You deserve no more than a blowjob
From the castrated eunuch monarch
Who wrote off lives and dreams
Of a throbbing populace
Leaving behind throngs of patriarchs
Moral guardians of an assumed identity
Bastards born out of wedlock
When the thugs left their impregnated
Wide-eyed whores in charge
Of sissies who know no more
Than singing in temples
Or shooting down their kins
With bullets or words
It matters not when bloodshed
Leaves astray amputated spirits
In piles on heaps of dung
In some cesspool where
The dogs and starved bastards
Fight over pieces of shit
Dragging sanity down into the whirlpool
Of the stinking sludge of pandemonium.

I hate you, AG!

You can Howl,
You can growl
All you want, I don't care
All you need, seriously, I don't care!

Your jazz is jarring,
The thought of you irritating!
You left me in a haze,
Leaving me in a daze.

You can howl for Solomon
Or cry for Ineton
You can grovel all you want
For me you're an infidel cunt!

All I wanted was to know you
And if all went well, befriend you
But you left me wanting to cry
Go fuck yourself, just try!

To you, with love

Let me kiss you once more

As in the days of yore

The crimson of your face

I might never match

But let me try.

Let me catch the golden sighs

And the sweet moans.

Let me plant a kiss on your brow

The flicker of your lash-

Is it pink,

Or a hue uncertain?

Here, place your palm on my bosom warm,

Let me set you ablaze- a fiery red,

Mellowed down to a shimmer,

Amber, the orange will last longer.

Let me drench you in my love, my love,

Mix this violet and blue

And a happy yellow too, before it dries 

A rainbow for you dear, all seven colours true.

Something's missing,

Please don't cry,

I stole an indigo from the sky

For a glimpse of your smile.

Let me satiate you with a green

Which shade will you have?

Emeralds and bowers in spring

Pale before the colour I can feel.

Ah! Here it is

Green of the ocean deep

Unfathomable as my feelings deep

A brush here and a touch there and a final kiss.

I'll come back again my love,

Your picture in my heart I bear

I'll hang it on my wall, dear

To remind me of the love we made

I'll surely come back for more dear.

Untitled

The cold wind creeping upto me,

The eerie sound of the bark flaking away,

Coming on fast like an approaching train.
One day the circumference will be covered,

Leaving me naked, unprotected.

No, I'm not ready yet,

The wind pierces my soft skin,

The sun charrs my innocence.

I still need the warm, woody blanket, the fragrant viel of Love.

How I want to hold on to you!

But with no arms, I'm helpless.

Look! I'm perspiring- the agonising shivers it sends through me.

Each passing second thumping on my chest like a dagger.

See I'm bleeding,

With each piece forced away from me.Can't You see?

Let me die with my bark,

Or I'll bleed to death anyway.

Don't you want to see for yourself, asks the Voice,

How the morning breeze feels like in early spring?

The summer heat which tests every drop of patience you can muster,

The freshness of monsoon drizzling over you, promising a new shoot,

The cozy warmth of closeness in the winter, pray, don't you want to feel?

The care of the old will never fade.

Look on your body, each departing fibre has left an impression,

You are, but a mould of the old Cast.

A living testimony of the cocoon that once was.

Don't dissappoint the imago, whimpering like a losing soul!

Yeah! The imago has to complete the circle.

But the young bark? What about it?

It'll stay moist- delicate and tender,

Lest the trickle of sweet scent should dry up,

And leave me thirsty till I die, thirsty for more.

Love's Labor Lost?

Two war-worn soldiers, exhausted

With bloodshot eyes for lack of sleep

Hands trembling from finger-pointing and trigger-pressing.

They meet at a tavern where the wounded lick their wounds.

They recognise each other from afar,

Uniforms shouting out what they stand for, or what they stood for?

A wry smile, only the defeated could empathise.

A sip of liquor is all they need

To open the dam and flood out pent-up emotions.

Words of emptiness and causes lost

Of being tired and carrying on,

And of giving up and forgiving the giving up.

“I don’t hate you”, said one to the other.

Said the other, “Neither do I”.

“I want freedom”; of soul, and spirit and indigenous shit

Freedom to create one’s own hell-hole, one’s own mess.

Why! It’s liberating to pee on one’s own walls,

Defecate wherever one wants to, fill the nostrils with stench

Of one’s own making. Keep the fire burning. Revolution on a pyre

Of yellowed pages, history, identity, humanity and much more.

“I want freedom too”. To live, breathe, create. To be.

Without asserting, shouting, fighting or victimizing.

Born an animal, an animal I want to be.

Who are we fighting and what for?

A space our own, miles of fields and forest cover,

Or a patch, six feet or lesser still, over layers

Of wisdom, into dirt this cacophony.

Where trees fruit to die giving way to new rush of lives,

Moving on where old roots don’t suffocate, inhibit, amputate

Where change is without regret, unapologetic. Evolution.

In the melee I want to thrive, sweat and deserve this breath.

This futility. Demanding what’s no one’s to give. What’s ours to begin with.

Freedom? First a look into the mirror, a cold, long, stare into the deep.

 To accept, scrutinize, criticize, circumcise the shitty fuss.

 Staring down the barrel, laughing at oneself, begin!

8th March, 2015

The eighth of March comes every year. Every year I get reminded of the post I never wanted to write. How clichéd it is: a woman writing about women on International Women’s day! Yet, here I write, only, I remind you, to get it over with.

I have been accused by men of being a feminist on many occasions, for example that instance when I insisted one person’s effort (mine) was enough to take down the 100g or so poster off the stand ( No, thank you. But please ask again when I have a boulder to move or a body to bury!). I might be guilty as charged but I vehemently refuse to be labelled a feminist if it’s the men-hating, bra-burning, armpit-hair-flaunting kind that you are emphasizing.

That I am not, for the simple reason that I love being a woman without playing the victim card. I like looking good and dressing well for the sake of it. I like smelling good and maintaining hygiene. And to the accusers: have you stopped for once and mulled over the fact that, what you perceive as feminism on my part could, in reality, be a manifestation of your own chauvinism?

I love men. I appreciate their sensitivity when they open/hold doors, pull chairs and walk slowly when I’m in heels or their generosity when they offer to pay for meals (though not every time for sheer practicality because if I like you I’ll ask you out a lot!). I get thoroughly impressed when a man offers his seat in a bus without being asked. I marvel at their evolved need to protect. I enjoy their attention, care and love. However, when situation demands, I can easily play my part and switch roles too. I can back up my end of the game. I have the heart and means to return these favors and more when called for/not. All that, without the slightest bit of resentment or judgement.

Everyone talks about gender equality. An evolutionary biologist might have a different take. Sexes exist to ensure genetic variation resulting in better adapted progenies in the event of changed environmental conditions. Men were hunters and protectors and women, nurturers. Mankind evolved and societies changed. Today, these roles are no longer so well defined but the imprints of gender-based roles or the tendency towards them still manifest.  Hence, I’m more inclined towards gender justice. It seems to be a more evolved goal to strive for. But the prerequisite requirement is not easy to attain on the part of both men and women: to relinquish our complexes, whether superiority or inferiority.

I simply refuse to assert or demand respect or equality. Let there be only skills, abilities and opportunities together with compassion and sensitivity and nothing else. No feeling ashamed or shaming. Let there be empathy and not sympathy, more efficient management and usage of resources without squabbles on who does what. No patriarchy, or matriarchy for that matter, let the wiser prevail over a situation. No prejudices, only reason. No dependents and providers, only partners. Let there be objectivity and elimination of denigrated idiosyncrasies; more dialogue and understanding.

Too much to ask for? All I am saying is, my dear man, I promise to open the door when you have a big bag of groceries just for the same reason you held that very door open without letting it swing at my face, without much ado! Happy women’s day! 

His Mistress' Love

You, the fickle mistress,
My life, this life.
Tantalising me
With your whims.
Fuck! The intrigue.

In my grip this moment,
Not, the next.
I own you, or so I think,
Or so I want to believe.

I own you in this flesh and blood,
These muscles and sinews,
This beating heart.
Or not. You slip away.
In moments, seconds and the
Ticking of the second's hand.

You slippery whore!
In my grasp I dream,
I awake with your train in my hand,
Only the end. It slips too.

I feel you in the lover's kisses,
The touch that sends shivers
Rising in tides, come crashing down too
Into drops, a thousand and one.

Everything, yet nothing.
This mighty spirit claws into this flesh.
I rule you. I command you.
Or not! That mocking laughter I can't control.

I let you slip, exasperated.
I chase you. I beg you.
I serenade and seduce you.
Only in death will I own you.
Or not.