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.

"Bharat ka rehne wala hoon, Bharat ki baat sunata hoon"

My first overseas trip and that too to the land of dreams, the U. S. of A! California made up in their lifestyle for what they lacked in landscape. I had gone to attend a couple of workshops and a symposium. I met a lot of people, made friends with quite a few and had a great time. Not surprisingly, everyone was very surprised that I was an Indian. “You don’t look or sound like an Indian!” had become part of my conversation with everyone. And quite graciously I did my part to educate many about the north-eastern region of our country.

Bar hopping in the downtown area was one activity I indulged in thoroughly. One such evening after dinner and a few rounds of fancy cocktails, we decided to finish off with a tequila shot each. I ended up doing three shots! But that’s another story. Where we had our shots was a nice small bar with groovy music and some clear space by the tables which served as the dance floor. We ran into another group of people from the symposium, awesome people from different South American countries and one Indian guy, led by one of our hosts, a friendly latina working in the host university. We drank, danced and had a lot of fun. We talked to each other about science, America and our native countries. 

Just then I overheard one of the Brazilian guys saying to the Indian, “She is also from India but she doesn’t look like an Indian at all!”. To that my countryman said, “Oh! She must be a Tibetan or a Nepali”.  I hadn’t expected that coming from a man who’s traveled all the way to the USA to pursue the highest degree in academics. As an alien in a different country, my us-against-the-world camaraderie with every other Indian I came across lay in irretrievable pieces on the dance floor. What had become a mundane occurrence in the streets of Delhi, to which I had grown insensitive pinched a lot inside that American bar. 

My initial shock of disappointment was overcome by a wave of anger but before I even reacted amusement washed over me at the fact that he looked ridiculously stupid! I went back to my dancing and my pleasant English company. I couldn't help wondering if another century or more of British rule could have knocked some sense into the racially exclusive and culturally bigoted Indian psyche and had they knocked up a lot more, we could have been one big happy family of bastard children of political harlots!

The Bus Diaries III

I was going to work. I boarded the usual bus and sat down in one of the seats reserved for women. It was pretty crowded, as usual. The bus moved along at an idyllic pace that day (quite unusual) and everyone settled in their positions. It was a spring morning but the days were getting hotter by the day. Thankfully, the woman by my side stood some comfortable inches away.

There was a young girl sitting in the seat just in front of mine. Two men were standing near her. The younger one of them was standing uncomfortably close to the girl, who fidgeted in her seat visibly uneasy with the proximity of a man’s crotch near her face. He bumped into her shoulder, again and again. Even a blind could tell she wanted some space and a little respect.

The other man, who was older, and I witnessed what was unfolding in front of us. I looked at him and then at the younger man. Then something happened. After a few seconds the older man stepped in, moved to his side forcing the younger man to step away from the girl. Not a word spoken.

I felt like clapping and giving him a thumb-up. I thought, “We need more of such people.” I felt delighted and gave him a smile. He made my day!

I so wish my story had ended at the last sentence. But it continued. The girl stood up and escorted by her protective father and savior, got off at the next bus stop. I was almost disappointed.

I still wish my story had ended four sentences ago.

The Bus Diaries II

Today, in the morning I got onto a crowded bus to come to work. Taking advantage of the crowd, a man behind me touched my buttocks.

An indescribable mixture of anger, disgust, hatred and shock came over me and I asked, “Haath kahaan jaa raha hai tera?” Feigning innocence, he refused he did anything wrong. I said I could call the police and then no one would reach anywhere on time today. He mocked at me asking me to go ahead. His thick face with cheeks hanging heavy on either side, he contorted his thick lips, which looked like the labia of a whore’s cunt. And for the first time in my life I shouted “chuttiya” in public. I didn’t intend to call the police, though I could have, because I was going to work and I wanted to reach there on time. Just like anyone else.   

Today, in the morning I got onto a crowded bus to come to work. Just like everyone else. But a man behind me touched my buttocks.

And I wonder why. 

Topsy Turvy Land

A failed state. This is how Manipur was described in an article in a leading newspaper in English. Every inch of the two centre pages screamed how all is lost in the land of doom. I believed it. For the articles came at a weak moment of anguish when the economic blockade crossed its 100th day.

Cross the thousands of kilometres to the state and one feels the grim picture painted in one's mind is true indeed. The dusty roads and the faded buildings do nothing to cheer you up. Spend a few days in the lull and you see how life actually is. In the face of all the hardship, people actually live it up! Long term solutions to the problems marring the state might take a very long time to come, but for every sticky situation, the people seem to find a way out.

One of the favourite problems people like to cite everytime is the inefficient supply of electricity. Ever since I can remember, people have set their daily routines around the loadshedding schedule of the electricity department. It first started with electricity cut every 4th day. Then the cut became more frequent- every 3rd day and now it's every 2nd day. And on the days people get electricity, the duration is so short that we joke about it saying, one day is mei mutpa numit ( the day when there's no light) and the other is mei muthatpa numit ( the day when they don't supply light). I remember studying by the candle light, petromax or kerosene lamp as a kid. May be it did some good as I could study with absolute concentration as there used to be nothing to see in the dark around to distract me. Few families did use generators but it was never economically feasible for everyone.

Then came the irrepressible wave of invertor usage. The bigger the batteries, the better it was. One could forget eating his or her lunch but never to charge the batteries. Before people understood its working, inverters used to be switched on and off manually. They got wiser very soon and made the switching automatic. The batteries got upgraded to bigger ones. But the scarcity was still acute. There were times when one could never charge the batteries enough to get through one night till dinner was over.

People got wiser still. First came the CFLs instead of the regular bulbs and tubelights, to illuminate homes longer for the available amount of eletricity. Then came the LEDs and solar chargers. Now, you go to any household and you will see several of these. Here I would like to take a few words to thank the traders of the international market in the border town of Moreh for the regular supply of the needed articles. Every home has gone solar and hence green! Traffic lights too are solar powered. The changes I mention here are not those welcomed by the few aware citizens, but waves of masses adapting to newer technologies, compelled by needs, to make lives slightly more livable. Indeed, necessity can make things happen which years of awareness campaigns on efficient usage of electricity failed to do.

People must be commended for their undaunted spirit to survive. When the loadshedding started, our greatest woe was ice-cream disappeared from the local stores except for very few in the main market. But now, all a kid needs to do is find an ice cream vendor with a generator! My brother and his friends would many a times pool in their saved pocket money to buy a litre of petrol to run the generator so that they can watch their favorite animated series. As he puts it, the people of Manipur  will, after some years, mutate and be able to see in the dark. I say, amen.

The Abyss

 I fetched water from deep oceans blue,

All my strength’s worth and more

Poured into the Well. Oh! Silly me.

The precious jewels I dug in caves dark as night

I threw them all in, yellow ones first

Then in went the reds.

I picked the white,

Each cut reflecting brilliance on my face,

In it went. It fell and fell.

It only fell.

Not an echo of a wall struck.

Not even the sound of a splash.

Only hollowness, it traversed.

In went the sleepless nights

Tears cried on the lonely pillow.

Angry words died in the bottomless pit too.

Hopes of It overflowing thrown in bales

Wreathed in the songstress’ odes.

The Pit never fills.

Withered flowers, ashes of poems burnt,

The warm breath on shivering nights,

Remembrances of the fondest kind.

Take them, please. Take all of them.

As an abyss must. And barter, if you want.

Pay not in kind, if you wish not.

Do so in dreams I dreamt,

And in seconds and sighs and drops of tears.

The Bus Diaries I

When, as a hungry-for-adventure undergraduate student, I came to Delhi, one of the first things which I found praiseworthy of the city was its efficient and well connected bus service run by the Delhi Transport Corporation( DTC).One can go to almost every nook and corner of the state by bus, which I found pretty amazing.

This is one of (hopefully) many posts which will be coming up on my experiences as a commuter on the buses and roads of Delhi, to and from my lab. I thought I suffer enough already and every day, so why not use the torture as a food for thought. Yes. That's constructive. I always used to enjoy my bus ride before I lost it all in the humdrum of everyday grind and of late, the one and half hour I spend to and fro apiece, was becoming a little taxing. It prompted me to think about applying for a hostel room in the University Hostel for women, which I didn't want to. I had almost lost my sense of humour. So, this is an attempt at rejuvinating my spirits. Here, I'll recount funny and not-so-funny anecdotes which I become involved in or become a spectator to, during my daily bus rides.

Let me start with some incidents which happened earlier as today's travel was so mundane. Once, I was returning to my hostel in North Delhi from a lab. in Okhla in the late afternoon in the summer of 2008. I had got a summer fellowship from the Indian Academy of Science and was doing my summer internship in that lab. That meant it was summer vacation and I was not home.

On my way back, this guy came to where I was sitting.He asked me if he could sit there if I didn't mind. I thought "Sit wherever you like" but said, "Oh yes". He gave a congenial smile, which I returned. He told me he had just come to Delhi and joined an office that day itself. I found him bothersome at first, because in Delhi talking to strangers is not always a good experience. He said he was from Rajasthan. I don't remember his name. He asked me what I did. I said I was doing my masters, to which he said I looked "like a baby". This was a really amusing way of putting what had become a common comment on my looks.

We travelled together for a very short duration but he did leave an impression on my impressionable mind. He said, "We met by chance today and we will meet again if destined, it would be nice if our paths crossed again. Aise hi toh log milte hain (that's exactly how people meet)." I've not met him again. Perhaps, he came for a fleeting moment carrying a message to remind me of the small world we live in with the multitude of people, carrying with themselves stories to pass on to someone who'ld listen and hopefully understand. Its interesting how it added to a feeling I had grown up with all along, that I'm a traveller at heart, a wanderer. And it seemed the journey had just started.