To Lazarus

I couldn’t have been more infinitely depressed, 

until I talked to her who saw death at its very best. 

Its true you know, 

about what they say, 

don’t talk of what you haven’t seen, 

although you will anyway. 

 

But until then, 

enjoy the hands, 

which so carefully fed you, 

and wiped your tears. 

Know that until death shall take them, 

they are yours to call, 

and say hello. 

 

For once they leave, 

this shore and drift, 

across many seas and oceans, 

with hungry waves, 

you will know loss, 

you will know nothing, 

you will not talk, 

for you will gulp down all that you preached, 

all that you said, 

about your knowledge, 

of knowing that you prepared yourself, 

for what you define, 

as nothing…

 

Wait till it strikes. 

Wait till it slithers its nasty head, 

into your very heart. 

Wait till it extinguishes your hope, 

 

But worst of all, 

wait till Lazarus gets you when, 

your lonely in your pitched up tent, 

far away from humankind, 

no woman to call your own, 

no one to kiss and hold. 

 

Wait until you die alone. 

No grave to call your own. 

Lessons

I will remember today.
a day when what I have learnt ,
has made its way,
into my pores.

You taught me well,
with your funny cap,
and violent eyes,
you showed me how,
to play at high stakes,
but you also taught me,
how to win,
and defeat emotion,
like lions do, in a whim.

As for you dear boil,
there was much toil,
but you too taught me,
that intelligence,
can be but a silver foil.
You also taught me,
that I am but a mistress to you,
rape was but a method,
you employed.

But then there was you,
with your futuristic views,
You spoke of stories,
well heard and practiced,
You taught me patience,
and a lesson on stories.
Oh you were good in bed too,
although I was but a tool.

As for you, sly thing,
I couldn’t care less,
Your cheating on me,
left me little in distress,
I wonder why I ever cried,
for gutter water amidst wine.

Oh but before the grave cold,
I knew ice in some water,
A man of values and of,
apparent morals.
He was of good faith,
he did love me so,
but I messed up,
once too often so.

However let’s talk of things I learnt.

I have learnt,
that love can be true
yet fall apart.
I learnt that emotions,
can go terribly wrong.
I learnt not to test,
a man who loves you.
I also learnt that true love,
is false for if it were,
you wouldn’t call me,
a hoar when you met me now.

I don’t know what,
I’m about to learn,
but I know I can sustain,
the Antarctic now,
even if it means dying soon.

For my body has been numbed,
by the pricks of many needles,
I know from not where I bleed now.

I wish I could say,
I want to love,
and be devoted to one some day.

I wish I knew I’ll be a bride,
and have a photograph some day.
But talking of impossibilities,
Will blind me further anyway.

I’m dying anyway,
there’s nothing more to say.

Gangrene

Sleep comes easily these days,

And inspite of a ticking mind, 

a blackout occurs more often, 

then conversation. 

 

Gangrene seems to have set into, 

the very core of my functioning, 

into a belief system, 

I once so heavily relied on. 

 

Yet I know, this rot will do me good, 

for it will eat away at falsehoods.

But let’s not forget that gangrene, 

can be greedy and eat away at much more….. 

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Sabzi or M.B.A

Let me assume, I am back in 10th grade. I have a mother who is positively distressed about my academic achievements. My dad insists that the only way I will attain success, is by choosing the M.B.A road. My mother agrees because at some level she really wants me to be better than Puja, my mother’s grade obsessed friend’s daughter. My dad cannot understand why I want to go down the humanities road. It makes no sense to them that, I would choose a field with limited options for growth in terms of money.

Anyway, I go down that road and in 12th grade I feel stifled every time I open my physics textbook. I can’t admit I hate physics but I know that there are ‘expectations’ which if left unfulfilled would go down a very senti-si road not to mention the fact that being a girl, my choice of studying the humanities, will automatically lead to a very, ‘Iski shaadi karvani hai ab. Bahut ho gaya iska padhna. Waise bhi kuch khaas nahi padh rahi. Chalo, ghar ke kaam sekh le ladki, badi baat hai.’ train of thought. I don’t want to be married straight out of college and nor am I too keen on knowing the secret ingredients to the perfect ‘Aloo Mutter’ sabzi.

So, I partly take up the science or commerce stream because of making mommy and daddy happy and partly because I know, at some level that if I choose the other, I will still have to make mommy and daddy happy— aakhir ye bol nai sakti ke hamne mauka nai diya padhne ka! And so I struggle my way through two years of sheer misery not to mention give the much reputed C.A.T. I see myself through college with part time jobs in order to postpone marriage as much as I can. Then, like if that isn’t enough, I am asked to bell the C.A.T and make em proud. I know what belling the C.A.T would mean-more time!

So it boils down to studying more quant and more logical analysis. But the whole question does not circulate around the idea of me actually wanting to become an M.B.A but around the idea that this degree could get me places and thereby far away from mommy-daddy who otherwise will marry me off to some M.B.A since I could not fit the the bill.

So while my mother boasts on the phone to Puja’s mother, I sit quietly in my room and wonder why this degree is such a huge deal anyway. Yes, I may earn more and I may have a list of credits to my name but is that really what I want to do? And what’s the guarantee anyway? The degree is not a passport to free cash and we all know that.

This leads me to questioning the idea of the humanities stream being ‘timepass’ and in essence believed to be a ‘useless’ degree. I really wanted to study literature and wound up a mechanical robot programmed to head a specific way. My real dreams were suppressed and at the age of 35 I quit a high profile job to simply do what I really wanted to do—write.

Women must learn, not to become men but function on account of their individual choices. Becoming an M.B.A is great for people who really want to study management. And anyway the whole idea of C.A.T is not to test your memory skills but your aptitude for the field. Look around, and you will notice memory being tested not actual aptitude.

Dry Salt and Ice

In a land of peace

I see no saints.

In a land with stars

There is but grief

In democracy,

Our taps run red.

 

‘Why should, we must?’

is a regular debate.’

‘Ham hi aapke dost hai,              (we are your true friends)

Woh kutte hain, kaminey saale.’  (the rest are bastards)

 

 ‘Par hamari aapka guarantee,     (About your gurantee)

ka toh nahi pata.                           (I have not much to say)

Aaj ka toh sochiye                         (But lets think about now)

aur moth ka toh hume kya,           (and I cant say that I know death)

kisi ko nai pata.’                             (no one knows when anyway)

 

It feels like tea now;

let’s do a dance,

through the grapevines,

In our pyramids—

a startling trance.

 

For fractions are of seconds made

,A dilemma in their kind.

You hold onto hierarchies,

well, all cracked from inside—

only to balance your karma,

O it’s futile, let’s not begin again.

 

Let’s speak I say,

Let’s be the brave,

Let’s hold dry roots

and talk of change.

For we are the young

and we pave the way. 

 

Let’s not get into all the wrong,

I am nationalistic, 

I know we are one,

But why brothers rape sisters, 

is a question culturally known. 

 

Now lets stand on the streets, 

and watch the dog cry, 

for its karma has it, 

caught up in its rye.

 

A fight it is then,

bring out our swords.

A mode of entertainment,

If I may dryly quip.

 

But hey! We are one. 

Our fortress stands strong, 

Religion lives in different towers, 

but for dinner they drink blood. 

Of planet one, 

of countries each, 

we are fragmented, 

bits of steel. 

 

I wish to cause you anguish,

I wish to cause you grief,

And yes I know my constitution,

I HAVE THE RIGHT TO SPEAK.

Night Walk

To walk in the night, 

with glitter and gold;

to know free will, 

as its recklessly known

and to feel like a lion,

who is cold from inside, 

has made me realize, 

why men wish not to cry. 

 

The streets are known, 

yet the pavement is waxed, 

with the minds of us people, 

all wrinkly and worn.

 

To know I can,

with nothingness in mind, 

isn’t too bad, 

in the boundaries of will.

 

A rarity in its own…….

Black Today

I would like to begin my sentence with, ‘Today was a good day.’ However, I cannot say it for I am not quite sure whether the day in itself was bad. But a certain aspect of it sure drove me up the wall. What is it about technology that drives the un-savvy tech bound human lot into madness?( the term, ‘madness’ being relative) I woke up considerably happy in my room; I might as well think of  my physical space as one of those stores which resemble fish markets during a sale. So, once I got the pile of clothes, lying on my carpet out of the way, I made my way to my balcony and there was nothing but a bright ball of yellow staring me in my pale, vitamin D deprived face. 

I picked out something different to wear today. When you think about it, black has unfortunately been categorized into one of the many sections called, ‘Formals’. I guess most companies figured that ‘a dress code’ must be obviously boring, badly stitched and there must be a sense of uniformity for too much color seems to put the boss in distress and the chances of him/her looking up at his surroundings increase and that, I must use this jargon-OMG, cannot be allowed ( self-control being necessarily absent), for that is a factor that automatically may reduce work efficiency and thereby lower the profit margins.

But let me get back to the color ‘black’. It really isn’t always about the little black dress and the tall black heels. Black goes way deeper- a color which isn’t quite one; worn at funerals; symbolic of oppression and hey lets not forget the EMO code for, ‘I need to be pitied because my life sucks so bad. So I’ll wear black to represent the ‘darkness‘ in my life. ‘ Interestingly, the color has been transformed into a variety of symbols- each representing a history of certain experiences. 

But what has black to do with my first question. What does it have to do with my having a bad day and with the unpredictability of technology? 
Well, I guess when the screen goes black just a bit too often for comfort, the lack of colors ranging between black and white, scream out for attention.
There is nothing more frustrating then when a computer screen says, ‘ *** you’ in its little weird silent language. There is nothing more sadistic then technology telling you who the master is. And believe me on this one, no they don’t care if your life depends on them.

And so that’s my history with black today. I will most likely feel different about it tomorrow. The color or lack of it, is best left to the relativity of its association and today Black is anything but ‘sexy’ to me! 

The Inevitable

I know someday it’ll happen-
not too far away,
when ashes will
turn to dust.

You just know it;
it’s like you have a hint.
He prepares you;
I tell you;
if you listen just a bit.

Tadpoles in a Puddle

When the angry feminist cried,
they said, “so much for her”;
though really, feminist still was she.
and although this word
is used incomprehensively,
it was created by those who,
well understood her tears.

And so I sit,
on a bench with watery poo,
staring at black leaves,
plastered into the ground.
The lamp above me gleams,
a dull yellow allowing my
shadow to fall on the ground.

“Tis tis” said the sky, 
on this gloomy evening,
for man art natures enemy,
and what fun is it when you 
can’t hear the tadpoles in a puddle.