Heart Beat

Mend a broken heart;

Stuck it in a box,
Clamped it shut.
Sat on it till
The screams waned, but,
Unforeseen,
In one moment
The clamp came undone.

Nursing the agony,
Pieced it together,
Glued as one.
A stubborn little crack,
Vainly was I filling
When it shattered again.

Amend a broken heart;

I sat by it,
Cried memories,
And smiled regrets.
It laughed and laughed,
At my helpless sighs,
Frozen tears.

As with a friend,
Tried logic,
Reminded the betrayal,
Scolded at the unworthy hurt,
Useless questions.
Ignore, ignore
I whispered-
His name,
In the lub-dubs
That grew louder.

With patches of pain,
Stitched up what was left.
The last pull of
My last stitch,
The needle of anger-
It pricked my soul.

I dropped my heart.

The scattered beats,
The million resonances,
I gathered with trembling hands.
Among the remnants
Of divine hate,
Set fire to it.

And as the last embers dimmed,
I felt my heart beat.
My heart beats.

Cease

I cease to be,
I cease to be her,
Who I was
And will be!

I cease to be the rain,
The sunshine,
The rising moon,
And the eternal tear drop.

I cease to be love,
Hatred and regret,
Calming whispers,
The ferocious tempest.

I cease to be the saint,
The healer and the demon,
I cease, I cease.
I cease to be.

I cease to be everything,
But I!

On a Women's Day.

It is yet another Women’s Day. The centennial actually. How wonderful! A day signifying all the glory and ‘empowerment’ of women. It is today that my attention turned to some incidents in no way connected, yet somehow entwined. First off, in 82 years of the ‘prestigious’ Academy Awards’ history, a woman won in the Best Director category. I was musing over the hurdles she might’ve faced as a woman and whether a Kathryn Bigelow would’ve emerged from the Indian soil, who stays in India and takes films of political importance. Right at that moment, I got a text message from my best friend wishing me a happy woman’s day. Suddenly I’m lost. Not because I’m not happy that somebody remembers that 3 billion people in this world exist, but because they need a day to be reminded so. My housekeeper cum cook asks me what she should make for breakfast and again, my randomly coherent brain leaps in her direction. She woke up as usual. She works for around 18 hours a day. Does she know that gender signifies anything special in this society and that’s why her sons can berate her for not getting the lunch ready in time? Even though she is the main bread winner of her family, she is treated as a second class member. Is she aware she deserves more? Unfortunately, like most of the three billion, she is not. If there is no water in the tap, she has to wake up earlier and go to the road side tap. Easier, I think. Considering the fact that women and girls have to walk miles for two pots of water everyday. So what if her uterus tilted due to some accident and every time she has sex, it pains and her husband still uses her irrespective of her medical condition, causing her more pain? Women in Congo are raped with sticks and guns so that their insides are torn apart and their bladders burst. She has it relatively easy. Alright, so let’s leave my housekeeper there. Let’s go to another extremely poignant peace of news. At the national consultation on access to justice, relief and rehabilitation of rape victims organized by the Women and Child Development Ministry, CJI said that due respect must be given to the rape victim’s autonomy whether she could marry the rapist if so offered. I’m at a loss here to understand what this ‘autonomy’ is. It reinforces the idea that patriarchal protection of women is more important than justice as established by the law of the land. It conveys to the potential rapist that his moral obligation is diluted. He can now rape a woman on the possibility that if he becomes her husband, he gets the legal right to rape her. What kind of autonomy is that? There is no freedom in choosing to live a life in hell with someone who violated you or being support less in society. What are we telling the ordinary woman here? I’m with the UP CM here. Financial compensation for rape victims is the most plausible justice. Well, it seems crude. But let us analyze the system a bit. The major social objectives of justice in a rape case should be to empower the victim and punish the rapist. Empowerment in a society like ours doesn’t come with slogans and moral courage. It comes with equipping an ordinary woman to face the morrow with confidence. Telling the woman that there is such an option undermines the scope of law and empowerment. Take the case of Sushama Tiwari, a 25 year old UP Brahmin girl who married an Ezhava man from Kerala only to have death snatch him away after seven months of marriage in the form of the ever-so-brutal honor killing. He was killed along with his parents and two other minor family members. The perpertrators? Sushama’s brother and his four friends. Although the Bombay HC awarded death sentences to them, the SC in Dec ’09 changed it into 25 years life imprisonment. Well, I know it feels like I’m on a roll here judging justice. But, like all my other rants, just bear with it. So, we would think that Sushama who escaped by a hair while pregnant and who is tired after all this struggling, would stop. No. She is at loggerheads with the SC, condemning its verdict. The society would think- ‘Say; the girl wants her brother to die too? What kind of a woman is she?’ And I would say- the right kind. The kind that awoke to this mad world and decided that she wants to change her bit of it through her convictions. Now, what gives her this courage? Is it love? Is it education? I’m not sure. I feel the latter is the firm base beneath her. Education gives the woman better odds of finding herself and standing up to what she believes. As I’m writing this, I cannot but wonder what the use of my intellectual enema is. The poor Mr Hamid Ansari was practically dragged away from his podium because the democracy in India cannot see eye to eye in one of the most historic Bills till date. The Women’s Bill is causing such a furore and for all the wrong reasons. Yes, I do agree that reservation should be there within the reservation. I do agree that UPA is trying to make this their NREGA in the next elections. But, Acts can always be amended. That’s why Parliament exists. Instead of waiting for some more years for such a bill to be tabled again (after the usual numerous commissions and reports), logic is in passing it now with precise debates and considerations and amending it later. But, it is not the objective of the fuss, is it? It is not an amendment that matters, it is the bill itself. So, yes, hundred years pass and another hundred will pass. May every Women’s Day be this eventful, because it seems man sees not the bosom but the heart and woman sees not the womb but the head only one day of the year. The question remains though…. When the planet is all sucked dry by us and we return to the cave, will the only reason woman gets the fair share of the meal be because she carries the child or because she gathers firewood? Madness, madness.

The choice to be.

The other day I happened to notice the matrimonial page in the newspaper in a different light. We all know that matrimonials are always based on caste and religion. The community is given in bold letters and everything else is secondary. What I observed was that this neat little package of information presented the person as a product ready to be marketed. It was a buyer seller column. With specifics ranging from caste, age and profession to requirements such as the girl should be fair, sweet and a vegetarian. I found even an absurdity where the guy was a divorcee and it was ‘mutual consent, fault not his’. It makes me wonder two things. Firstly, if we as a society give undue importance to marriage, especially as a social contract and secondly, if we are increasingly becoming resigned to the idea that marriage and family are necessities that we have to just endure, rather than want.

Let us consider the dynamics of this system. When it comes to marriage, which is an establishment to propagate the species without a fight for the female, we are still primal. Propagation of species being a collective effort, we refuse to move beyond to the point where reproduction is an individual choice. This institution also objectifies a woman. Essentially in a context where marriage is arranged, it is the leasing out of the woman’s womb that is the primary factor. In this regard, the woman seldom gets a choice. The womb being leased to the man, the progeny also becomes his property. Thus, whether material or biological, ownership is always the man’s claim. This distortion initiates other societal norms. The familial hierarchy is embedded into a unit and woven through the social fabric.

But, has it always been so? Somewhere along the line of evolution, woman’s duties got side tracked into family and reproduction. The man, who had to protect her, became the power holder, the care taker and the decision maker. As this social evolution went on, the set up of marriage was hardly questioned. There had to be families to avoid the clash for women, there had to be species propagation. But as time went by, this collective began to be opposed by the individualistic. As with any case, the moment a hierarchy is questioned or the whim of the majority is opposed, the system locks down on the heretics. The individual is not allowed to question it.

Though individual freedom to choose is somewhat more in the present context, we do not question the society for an entirely different set of reasons. With the changing socio economic landscape, man has become more material oriented. Priorities have changed from house, family and relationships to money and status. We find that the matrimonial ads we see everyday is anything but the choice of the person concerned. We are now ignorant of both the world and ourselves, by making the simple choice of indifference. And this indifference makes family life harder. If earlier, reasons for conflict were few, now they are diversifying. And since time is less, people put less effort into their relationships and end up either completely disgruntled or apathetic to their selves. It reflects on every sphere of their activity. On the other hand, two people who in the first place came together by choice will put more effort because they know how much they mean to each other. So, naturally, it seems wrong that we as a society deny the right to a person to find a mate of his choice rather than being assigned to someone. The society as a whole can function better if presented a situation where a person has the right to choose his partner and whether or not to be a parent. It puts lesser pressure on the person and gives more chances to channel his energy creatively. After all, like Oscar Wilde said, ‘Society exists only as a mental concept; in the real world there are only individuals.’

GODDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I went to a temple today. Now, you may ask me what is so special in that. And I would say that I’m not a believer. I haven’t been to a temple in years. Then the ultimate question. Why did I go? Well, it is my cousin who made me go. My little cousin for whom I’m much more than a sister. It was his birthday today and last week he had asked me whether I would take him to the nearby Hanuman temple. And I said yes. It was not because I wanted to go, but I was curious how he behaves in a temple. And he behaved like any other pious child who thinks that god watches over him and he doesn’t have to be responsible for anything. I asked him why he wanted me to go with him. He said just because he wanted me to. And I wonder, how can I get him to think? He does think. He asked me twice if there is god (once when he was three), as though his tiny brain tells him there is not. His explanation was that people tell him there are no ghosts. So, if evil doesn't exist, how can good exist? Isn't that against reason? I told him that love was god( that was the best i could do when he was three). He wasn't convinced because his heart wants to believe. And sometimes when human heart wants to believe something, it refuses to let the mind focus. This incident made me go back to my childhood days. I was never a true believer. From when I could remember, I was an agnostic. I would continuously question the validity of faith and this entity we so fearfully worship. My journey to atheism was never easy. It was wrought with dynamic stages which sought to tie me down to faith. At one stage I was forced to imitate piety for the sake of my sanity. It was like poison which you choose to inhale. Consuming the whole of you slowly and not letting go. So, when I realized that I shouldn’t have let my mind slide, whatever be the reason for my weakness, I decided to pump out the poison. I still find it hard when it comes to doing certain things. But, yes, I faced my fears. I told myself that my destiny is what I make, what I choose. It is not pre determined. Now, let me assure you I believe in pre determinism, but not in the way that faith pictures it. But, the problem I faced when I deviated from faith was something far worse than I had imagined. I had always thought that not believing does not make a difference to the person. But it did. Now since I had no one to turn to, no higher power which would protect me, I had a choice to make. I could either turn a blind eye and return to faith which is what a friend of mine did (she told me she knows god doesn’t exist, but she needs someone to rely on), or I could choose to continue to be a non believer knowing that I’m the master of my soul and so I need to get my act together, always, without waiting for god to throw down a rope to get me out of the ditch. Obviously I chose the latter. It was bliss. My destiny is mine to write. There is no fate that I can’t control. There are only choices. Every choice I make triggers an event. This awareness is far above faith. The faith that I don’t have to think. Or that I don’t have to worry about future. Now, I fear for my cousin. What is he being pushed into? A labyrinth of faith and belief with no cognitive understanding. No thought. I try to tell him not to believe too much without getting to an age where he could read. Nowadays i find it harder and harder to get him to think about god because the social facilitation of mind numbing is strong. I’m not saying I want him not to believe. But I want him to be given the choice to debate. To be given the choice to reject or accept the hypotheses of god by a valid methodology. From what I have seen though, there is nothing such as skeptical truth in faith. Either you believe or you don’t. Today, his brother told me to at least put the vermilion or pretend like I’m praying. By choosing not to pray, am I sinning? I asked him later whether the sky fell down because I didn’t pray. My only hope when I said those words was that nothing bad happens then and there. For, if such an incident were to occur, no question that I’ll have to hear… see I told you so. Such is the power of blind faith. Such is the power of the fear of unknown.

Twisting a Thought

If I can take a thought,
And twist it,
Can I broil into a calamity of notions,
The simple boredom,
Of the linearity
And predictability?

Can it be churned,
To a heap of ideas,
Gasping to spring forth,
From my mind to yours?

Will you love them?
My heresy,
Semichaos of ideas,
Disarrays,
Fretting for the spaces,
Allotted,
Allocated.

Alone

I sit alone,
With this entwining darkness,
So deep hidden,
With no recognition.

I walk alone,
With the absence of the mist,
To cover the shaky legs,
Entrenched in life!

I sleep alone,
With no regrets,
My soul at bliss,
Swimming in peace!

And yet,
When I wake up,
I see the faces,
I hear the voices,
No longer alone am I,
But together on the road!

on woman part 1

So, yes, I muse again. This time I’m going to extrapolate me into society. Not as a person, but as a woman. I wondered today what is the deepest issue I’ve faced as a woman and I realized that it was simply… being me. Its not that I’m not allowed to do that. But, ironically what I thought was freedom was continuously holding me back. As a woman I’ve had to reckon many forces. The immediate environment which molded me most, the broader universe which needs me in various ways, the intellectual and emotional expectations of loved ones and of course my conflicts. A very health balance of all these has been very hard to obtain. At first, I thought I had to shun society to be me. But as I evolved, I came to realize it is not society I should shun, but rather the factors which could impede my growth. As a result of this, I found that the broader universe needed me as much as I needed it. Then there were the intellectual expectations. At one stage of my life, I was entirely focused on how to be the good everything to everyone that I lost focus on myself. And as I found myself again, I begin to wonder how an ordinary woman who is not even aware of this balancing act responds to both the internal as well as external stimuli. From when she is born, she is brought up with certain duties and expectations. When her parents ‘entrust’ her with a man, he has certain expectations. So, in this tussle, it is only natural that she forgets two very important points. How to be herself and how to fulfill her potential and duties to the wider world. Come on, if we were here just as the cosmic firewood towards heat death of the universe and these brains useless, why don’t we commit mass suicide? I believe that though we aren’t born with a predefined purpose to serve god, we choose to serve ourselves. That’s the pinnacle of evolution. These brains which have developed over these millions of years, they aren’t just there to pump out electro chemical signals which serve no use to the world. But anyway, that’s not the point here. (You know I digress when I muse.) The point here is that one half of the population is denied this choice. A choice by which we can be much more than what we even choose to be, a choice by which the world becomes more balanced in all the senses. Alright so fine, we are denied the choice. But what if one day she became aware of that choice? What is the role of the forces then? How can she balance herself? And what is the reference point? Let’s marinate in the questions for a while. Because I need to find those answers too.

on political inheritance of this world

Have you ever gotten that feeling? Where you take the newspaper in the morning and you have an overwhelming desire to kill someone. Anyone who thinks contrary to your ideology. I think I’d have killed Modi or Bush hundred times over. Or even our beloved Prime minister. But, I can’t in real, can I? Now, it is not the question of can I or should I, but that of why I should not. I should not because that is not the answer. The same reason why Rang De Basanti is an utter idiotic film in my view. It introduces you to certain problems and the solution is taking the life of a perpetrator. Somehow, it stops us from pondering why people are so. Who elects these leaders? We, the people. Yes, I’m sickened by what we have become and I desperately want to change it. But, who am I? My patrician upbringing has its own limitations. I can type up and post my thoughts on a blog. But the question is whether or not if I’m ready to stop getting just frustrated and actually do something outside my comfort zone. Yes, I know, I’m becoming deafeningly incoherent. But, bear with me. Am I ready to step up to the role I never was brought up to take, but I know in my heart that I have to? This is not a Tata tea commercial, with the guy telling us to wake up, vote, stop corruption. This is about me and several others like me who are awake, vote for the best of the worst and still get an itching feeling that what we do is not enough. I want to kill so many people. But, I shouldn’t because from a drop of blood, a thousand new will spawn. The ideal is to not spill that drop but rather to eliminate the need for spilling. Sometimes I feel that the central problem of humanity is that we have not evolved as much as we make it out to be. We haven’t out grown the primate phase where we had to use physical prowess than the mind. For everything the answer is some kind of force. We push and we persuade and we snatch. Then we blame everything on the weaker side. Ever wonder why there is a conflict? It is such a silly thing to do. I grew up thinking that from space we could see that India actually had the geopolitical boundaries. I thought it was an isolated unit. I could never understand why people would make such boundaries. What was the need? How can we own something that is not ours? If it is ours, why don’t we take proper care of it? I still can’t comprehend why this demarcation is there. This idea is reinforced by anthropology that humans migrated from Africa and developed into different races. History tells us that we never inherited the regions. (Fascists are so lucky they are blind as otherwise this disillusionment would’ve been their end.) Then why should migration be political? That’s the first reason for terrorism. Make the natural resources in any corner of the world available to anybody and the world becomes more egalitarian. Not exactly talking about globalization here. What happens when climate changes happen (natural, not human induced, that is an entirely different topic) and whole populations have to shift? Should they be taxed or be refugees because they happened to live in a particular region? I didn’t inherit my belongings from my parents, because it was never theirs. I didn’t inherit my education. It should be my right, not something that is exclusive to me because I was born into a family with the means to educate me. My only inheritance is my genes. And partly whatever life has taught me. If anything, I should say that I inherited the whole world and all its problems. Reminds me of something my dear Calvin said to Hobbes “ Can I refuse to inherit the world?’. Hobbes replies ‘I’m afraid its too late.’ Its too late. I’ve inherited. So I’ve to deal with it.

on scientific responsibility and politics

Mr Jairam Ramesh, our beloved Minister commented day before yesterday that "Scientists should not display arrogance while discussing the issue. I am trying to find a middle path, which means (between) anti-democratic nature of NGOs and arrogance of scientists,".

What I cannot understand here is that why scientists need to be humble when they are dealing with brazen politicians and diplomats who enjoy power to manipulate whatever outcome be there. I cannot understand why is that only scientists need to be modest. If a politician can tell an angry protestor that he needs mental help, a scientist can equally be abrasive, especially when in a scenario where science is being buried deep in commercialization and its economic and political impacts ignored. What science does to this world is unique. Science puts the chaos in perspective. It gives a direction for the future policies of the entire world. But, instead of honouring that commitment and taking into consideration whatever evidence science has to offer for or against an issue, in this case the introduction of Bt Brinjal into Indian agricultural machinery, we bind it inside the four walls of diplomacy and politeness. How dare you, Sir? How dare you insult the intelligence of another person because he didn’t agree with you? The scientific community often comes into criticism for its conclusions. For eg, consider the IPCC controversy over the Himalayan glaciers. Fine, they made a mistake. Instead of letting it slip, we politicize it. We say that, see… there is no problem now; our fields would be fine for ten more years. Of course, ultimately it is the head ache of the Government then, is it not? The current policy makers would be dead by then. The current political system to be blamed. Does anyone at all care about the near billion people who would find themselves pushed into oblivion? The masses make you, dear Sir. But you don’t consider the masses. That is the irony. Anyway, let us come back to the topic instead of making it another one of my random ramblings. If we, as a world do not utilise science for its merits, what is the difference between us and the lower beings? We use science for our convenience. Someone invented wheel… wonderful, now transportation is easy. Faraday told us how to channel electricity. Good, now we can enter modernity. Becquerel discovers radioactivity and suddenly we are on the track to nuclear energy. All is fine and good. But, what about the responsibility that we attribute to science? Where was that responsibility when Oppenheimer conceived the atomic bomb? Where was that responsibility when defense technology became a more important field than agricultural research? Is it science alone that is responsible? Or is it the raw human urge for power and war? And when a scientist or a group of scientists tells us something is wrong, do we ignore or heed them? When they do say something is wrong, they do it because this responsibility that we conveniently attribute to them is part of their selves. Instead of breeding more scientists who say no to every such issue (I believe science ought to say more nos than yeses when it comes to political policies. Thereby we invoke a more mature debate of why and why not.), we conform them to the existing framework of manipulation and ‘modesty’. It goes against everything science stands for. What we are doing is cultivating a brand of Galileos who relinquish the facts and bow down to the system. Naturally, it makes me wonder whether or not democracy as we see now has become another medieval church.

As for the NGO comment, dear sir, they exist because ‘GOs’ are not doing their jobs.

on being alive. part 1

What makes us alive? Or, to be more precise, what keeps us alive? Is it the heart beating or the timeless flow ever since time immemorial of the dark fluid, or the soul that we spurn out? What makes us alive? No, I am not talking about science or the philosophy of life? Rather the motivation of this meager existence. It is different- the reason I mean. It is different for each and every one of us. If you ask yourself what keeps you alive, for what you live and why, the answers, if they are found within themselves will be quite different from what you obtain from a pedestrian down the road, or the motorist parked next to you in a traffic jam. If you ask me why I live, the answer is that I do not know why- not yet at least! Then again, the purpose of this life, what is it? To carry out our carefully planned duties, chalked out in the eternal wheel of life? Look around, we are all different. The white and the black, the slim and the fat, the world full of contradictions and opposites, and yet somehow we merge. We merge into this cosmic balance as a single entity called Homo sapiens and if a rather broader perspective be taken, as life. Weird, isn’t it? Yes, weird. And to some degree, truly magnificent.

I always thought the purpose of life, was life itself, to live that is. Until of course, the time came, when I couldn’t differentiate between life and no life, or accurately speaking, to pinpoint the meaning of life. Then again, somewhere along the nuances of the day, I found out that, it is not life that matters in the end, but, what kept us alive. True, the world sees how we lived. But, the senses perceive only what we want to perceive, sifting out the entire rubbish, that doesn’t concern our questions or our self. So naturally, there should be something that drives us on, something that makes us get every dawn, put on this laborious design of routine, have the social functioning that we designed ourselves to have, and at the end of the day, to look back and weigh the odds and ends, solve all the tricky dilemmas, go to sleep, awaiting the next dawn. Yes, of course, there are times, when we revolt at the idea of tomorrow, the shallow fear of future hanging along a thread. And yet, we do get through time, again and again, sometimes crawling painfully, sometimes humming the happy tunes, and sometimes reaching out towards hope. Is it love? Perhaps! Yes, perhaps it is love that winds the key of this poor jack in the box game. Is it love? Is it? It is love. Love for something, not hatred, hatred is love, love for the rival of what we hate.

the burning fire

I watched the fire burn,
I watched the fire burn,
The last embers of my love,
Consumed in unending hate.

His love gone,
His presence away,
The fire cleansed my soul,
My heart and my essence.

The eternal damnation
Of untrue love,
The ephemeral lust
And the transient passion.

I watched the fire burn,
Dancing to my heartbeat,
I watched with joy,
The divine closure.

I feel cleansed,
His defiling sense,
No more on me.
The monstrosity of betrayal,
Arrogance of apathy,
I no more tolerate.

Free and freer,
Every moment I feel,
Yes, regret I do,
Not for loving him,
But for loving him.
But for loving him.

The future is mine,
Only mine,
I seek nothing but truth,
The truth in me.
My truth,
It is me, truth is me!
No longer him!
No longer him!

The ant

I jabbed my pencil,
Right into the middle.
The ant squirmed,
Pinned down, helpless.

I twisted the pencil,
The ant too.
Then, in the insanity,
A sane thought,
And I let go.

I watched it crawl,
Back broken.
Trying to escape,
My future wrath.

Nothing its offence,
Nothing its sin.

I regret!
For a moment,
I did what I did,
Just so I can.
Power, power,
With no justification.

To be born an ant,
The ant didn’t choose!

little drops frozen

Something happened a few weeks back. Nothing historically important that could freeze time. Yet it was very important. Two of my friends, let us call them A and B, were walking back from our University Department to the ladies hostel at around ten at night. Kindly consider that the walk is around five minutes. Talking to each other animatedly, they failed to notice a motorbike that came up behind them and the guy who was sitting behind the rider, pulled the dupatta of A. What was meant to be a ‘prank’ turned serious when she was lurched forward and ran a few moments with the bike. By then, her dupatta had come off completely and she lost her balance, causing her to fall headlong on the side of the road filled with jagged stones and rocks. All this time B was shouting for the security guard, who was talking with some other security guards so spiritedly, he didn’t hear her. The guy who pulled the dupatta fell from the bike and was dazed. But by the time something could happen, he had gotten on the bike which the rider had stopped nearby and escaped.

There are so many questions we can pose here, about the behaviour of the boys, the laxity of the guards, the situation where women cannot feel safe along even the roads they travel most, but all that is overshadowed by something else.

I could get only the second person account of the incident as I was away. My roommate told me that A was quite a sight with little stones lodged deep into the flesh of her arms and her palms, her knees badly grazed, she had trouble even getting dressed to go the hospital the next morning. I understood the severity of the wounds when I saw her a couple of weeks later. The concern to be addressed here is that her family told her not to file a complaint as it might get her stamped as ‘the girl who was attacked’. She was supposed to meet a prospective groom later that week and the family didn’t want the reputation tarnished. The girl too saw it the same way.

The second view point is B’s. She kept wishing that she had been A. She believes that it is up to the individual to take the decision. If the prospective groom finds such a tiny point that the girl dared raise her voice for justice disturbing, it is better that wedding doesn’t take place.

The last point of view is my roommate’s. She was quite angry over the fact that A wouldn’t lodge a complaint. But more than that, she was enraged with the society. She ended up saying that the lesson was that women shouldn’t go out after dark.

Let us consider A. She was shocked. Agreed. She had the option of emergency medical care. She declined. She could have registered a complaint. She did not! What drove her- a woman of 23, completing her Masters, from a good educational and financial back ground to just be the passive victim? What prompted her family to dismiss such an attack as they did?

The idea of ‘reputation’ has been so long imbedded in our moral code that anyone who tries to amend it becomes the black sheep. A did what was necessary to protect that reputation. Her family made it sure that their image is not tarnished. More than anything, they wanted a groom for A. She had to be ‘handed over’ to a man. She couldn’t be ‘damaged’ till then. Like the perfect toy for the naughty boy, she is preserved, gift wrapped, and kept on the shelf. Her self esteem is the size of the box, banging against its wall and quietly resigning to the inevitability. She has to conform to the societal norms. No other choice.

Coming to B, she will never come to terms with the fact that patriarchy subdues women to such an extent that you have to be afraid of something you did not do, something not even remotely your fault. She will rebel whenever something like this comes up. But she fails to understand what needs to be done. That is part of her conditioning. Somewhere she wants to think, she knows the society is not right, but she cannot probe deeper than the periphery. Her potential to think is cut off by the society who will mockingly call her a feminist, her religion will prevent her from admitting she could be one; her family would require her to adhere to society and religion. The burning embers will go out slowly in black fumes as her quinta essencia is smothered by rules and more rules.

But my roommate found the solution perfecta in this perfect society. Don’t go alone in the dark. Though she said it ironically, it clings to my heart. A brilliant mind, an undying spirit, but tied by the impossible impositions, negotiating her route through this murky world, thinking practical. The society has taught her to be cautious to an extent where ideology is muffled and remains unspoken, but personally practised wherever possible.

The tragedy of mores is that, the more internalization happens, the more constrained we become. We forget that we construct the society. This conscious and continuous advocating of norms and barricades leave only a few unruffled and focused. The parents of A in this case did more injustice to A than in a situation where possibly she is raped. By denying that she is an individual who has all the rights to the sanctity of her body and mind, by the doctrine that she should not report the assault to the authorities, they have vetoed her self worth for life. But, the impact goes deeper than that. By not revealing the incident, she has ensured that those roads will continue to be minimally lit, the guards will continue to enjoy their midnight conversations, and the perpetrators will have renewed confidence, but above all, the next batch of hostellers might follow the wisdom of their precedents. A will pass on this understanding of the matter she so carefully handled, to her friends in need, her children, further condemning them to a path of pseudo reputation, morality and confusion. Renegades will be hunt and damned. Heretics will be burnt and the ashes spread across the reservoir of fake and established moral policing. And still As will willingly bow their heads to be stepped on, while the others will roam around dazed, tormented and confused.

All the ‘wills’ in the preceding paragraph could be changed to ‘will nots’, if a simple action is taken by many of the As. After all, I think Darwin can be quoted rightly here, when he said- It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change. We need to change.

when right is wrong

this poem is open to interpretation. I have tried to include many themes in one poem! you can choose that you seek!

“Wrong wrong, it is all wrong!
Everything, from start to fin,
My life, the world, all so wrong!”

“Wrong? How? Pray tell me!
Perfect, absolute Avalon,
This charm of life,
This world of delight!”

“Yes, the light you do see,
The darkness ignored!
This wrath of existence,
The penury of soul!”

“You bastard of society,
Beggar by birth,
You dare assert filth?
Dare deny the light?”

“No, dare I do not,
The words tearfully spoken,
An outburst of emotion,
Painfully told,
Forgive me, forgive me!”

“Good! The orphans of paradox,
This pantomime, you strive and drive.
Perfection, perfection,
Debased shall you be,
For, in this world of rights,
When right becomes wrong,
Wrong becomes victory!”

Rain

They frighten me,

The dark clouds.

I close my eyes,

Lose myself to the thunder,

It grumbles-

Rain is imminent!

I hate the grumble,

It frightens me,

Why did Monet choose clouds?

I wonder!

About this damned rain,

Why do they sing?

I do not seek it,

I do not want it.

It will melt my heart,

I fear!

It will caress my hunger,

My soul, it will torture!

The rain, it will!

Sssshhhhh!!!

They hear me,

The clouds!

In quiet mutiny,

They stare at me!

‘No’, whispers the sudden breeze,

‘Rain will only cleanse you!’

And suddenly,

The snare drums ceased,

Commenced the guitar intro!

On my eyelid,

The first drop fell!

The rain, I knew then,

It will cleanse me!

Clouds

I raise my hand,

Spread my fingers,

Eager to snatch the clouds.

In all the world,

My favourite specter.

The white and the grey,

The silver lined,

And the thundering blacks,

I love them all.

The contours, shapes,

Sculpted smoothness,

Built on air,

Nothing more.

And I wish,

How I wish!

That we could see,

We are all like them!

The black, the white,

The differences,

All the conflicts,

Everything to water, silences!

ABANDON

Written in a state of outrage, couple of years ago, when the ‘alma mater’ was ‘my college’.

At entrance to the Biology section,
Back at my alma mater,
Covering the landing,
All dusty and dirty,
There lies a huge article,
Object to abject abandon.

I wondered at it.
Seemed a tree trunk,
Hauled for some purpose,
Discarded futile.
Our people, so warm and attentive,
Felt the need for it in future…
I had smirked.

Sometime back,
A glance I chanced.
Too white for a tree trunk.
Looking closer, a label revealed.
Bewildered I read,
Below the scientific name-‘WHALE’S JAW’!!!

In confusion my heart pounds.
Was it negligence,
Intention or decision?
On the graying tiles,
To leave such an adornment,
Let it gather dust and pity?

For a decent case or cover,
(Forget maintenance!)
Funds if we have not,
To the museum of natural history,
Donate the poor soul and…
Regretfully remind the self,
Not withstanding our ego,
That we, homosapiens,
So miniscule to nature,
As the object of discussion to us!

MEA CULPA

Well, this poem is a bit different from my usual style. But, it was required to convey the point exactly as i wanted it. It is about a woman breaking free from the patriarchal norms that were constructed to keep her bound She is talking to her oppressor, who considers the shared power solely as his!

If I am guilty,
(As you say)
Let me be hung,
Burnt at the stakes;
As a heretic!

If I am guilty,
(Do not whisper that I am!)
Tell the world my crime,
My sin be disclosed,
Reveal the charge sheet!

But, nay, that you won't!
(Oh, only whisper you can,
Voice yours weak,
When my ordained silence,
I break!
For, that is my sin!)
You can't!
The scepter so long embraced,
Power so long clutched,
Your spine rots with fear!

Aeons, you made believe,
(I see your gaze falter,
My eyes, you fail to meet!)
I hold no rights,
I have no needs, nil wants!
Desires are sin,
But YOU,
In their ravishing fulfillment,
You swim!

Eternity, I passed,
Numbed at the blood,
That flows between my legs!
My freedom, it forbids,
You told me!
And in shame, I hung my head,
Believing;
Mea Culpa,
Mea Maxima Culpa!

But, no more!
(Do you hear?)
My worth, I realize!
Yes, I do!
(LOOK at me, when I speak!)
The world awaiting me,
More fulfilling, I find productivity,
Than mere reproduction!

I know,
(Though, realize, you do not!)
Imperialism is an attitude,
On its own, it never fades,
In soul’s deepest innards,
It struggles,
Coyly cuddling thy ego,
Till cut out and burnt down!
And that I will hunt, cut and burn!
(This I promise, this I swear!)
Your seal of power,
That scepter you hold,
(Any tighter clutch,
And you will break it!)
Will soon have another hand on it!

Remembrance

Before I even begin, I have to to dedicate this poem to a friend of mine, who scribbled these lines on the paper on which I had written this poem and tossed aside somewhere. I happened to see it only weeks after she wrote it.

“Sorry that I scribbled on this. Its beautiful. I can see through the words but cannot fathom the intensity of the passion coz u R beyond comprehension. But as far as I know u, I love you & this knowledge is enough to love u & remember u. You bring spring to people around you. Its u who brings the lovely smiles on their faces. Freezing winter steals the colour (cheer) from the face. Let the winter pass by, coz it breeds loneliness which is not elegant. It brings along shivers (fears) & numbness.”

Of a day lost,

I wait and hope for,

With wishes uncovered,

And scattered under my feet.

I look out the window,

And see winter go by,

Vanishing elegant loneliness,

The skies turning bright blue.

And what? I ponder;

Spring does bring?

Have I forgotten the spring of mine?

Or hidden it in winter?

A sigh, I take.

Away from the window, I walk.

Not wishing to ponder beyond,

The incomprehensible loveliness,

Of the smiles that now I see,

For, in them,

My spring I find!

Miracle

When I was seventeen, a miracle happened in my life. Something unexpectedly expected. My aunt gave birth to her second son. One might wonder what might be so miraculous about it, considering the fact that I am the eldest in my family and have lots of younger cousins. Since I was having my vacations and since we were in a joint family system then, I spent most of my time looking after him, the one I call my ‘aniyankuttan’ or ‘aniyan’ in short, meaning little brother. I knew the moment I saw him, there was something special between us, something subtle, but present. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t disgusted by baby poop or barfs or anything. I would clean up after him without a grimace. This came as a shock to all, especially since I get extremely queasy when it comes to such things. I would put him to sleep and often he would be sleeping with me in my arms at night till my aunt came and got him. It was very weird at first when he developed affection to my breast, always turning towards them when in my arms. And it still does. He spends most of his holidays with me when I am home and still sleeps in my arms. One of his hands will always be resting on my breast.

Everything between us is magical. The first song that I sang to him was no actual lullaby. I remember how some of the lines from Darius’s Colorblind came to me. I just began humming from the middle, ‘Feeling fine, sublime, when that smile of yours creeps into my mind……. You make me colorblind’. It was exactly how I felt. Often it wasn’t necessary that he even cried for something, I would just know.

Then, my aunt moved away to another part of the city. Naturally, it was heartbreaking to see my little one break away from the herd at six months. I would wait almost clawing the walls with impatience for the weekend to come, so that I can rush to him. Sometimes, my heart would beat so fast and heavy that I know he wants to see me. When the time comes for me to leave him, he usually hides something of mine, my purse, umbrella or just hang on to my dress and wail. I can never forget those wails. It was as if they made my heart stop.

I just know when his heart beats for me, even in my sleep. There was an incident that made everyone realize that our connection was very strong. I had taken a very strong analgesic for my head ache once. Afraid that it wouldn’t be enough, I took another. This made me sleep through better part of the day and through the night. My parents were worried I would have to be taken to hospital. The next morning, according to my aunt, he just sat up on the bed, jumped out and began to change his dress. When asked why, he said that I wasn’t well and he wanted to come and see me. He didn’t know about the pain killers. There is no answer to why we love each other like this. We just do.

The funniest part is, I get blamed for all the naughtiness in him, through these five years. His famous excuse is, ‘Sruthi chechi does it, why can’t I?’. Somehow, I am fine with it. I know it is just not the naughty things I taught him. Even when he could barely understand English, I would look right into his eyes and say, ‘I love you’. One day, while being cuddled by his mother, he looked at her and said those words. (Yes, yes, I do admit that it is not the only thing he learnt from me. The other day he called me a stupid. I asked him where he learnt it from. You can guess his answer. Also, sometimes he copies my ‘attitude responses’!).

Or the time he asked me why I always take his photos and why his picture is the wallpaper in my mobile phone. I said the truth that the only reason I wanted a camera on my phone was to take his photos. He asked me if I loved him that much, I said yes. He looked at me like he was going to choke and silently climbed onto me and held me tight. I would never forget that look on his face then. He expects me to be there for him, even when he is in a very bad mood, crying and wailing and kicking me, yelling at me to go away (those are the times when I remind myself his nails ought to be trimmed, my whole face would be scratched); I would calmly tell him alright and prepare to leave. But somehow, I never get around to the door. He would just pull me near him and cry in my arms. I know whatever he is, whatever he becomes; I will contribute a major part of it.

He has taught me a lot and still does. He has taught me what it takes to raise a child, to control your temper, and especially that yelling never works with children (I often punish him with silence. Deafening silence.). He has taught me that love is not only about cuddling and laughing together, but also about standing in front of the class teacher while she says how naughty he has been and how he is not paying any attention in class and then try to make him read the bed time story word by word till he screams. It is also about finding out that he draws better than he reads or that instead of squashing a flower like most naughty children do (he is naughty), he would admire its beauty. It is also about holding him tight, getting soaked by the waves on the beach (since he wants to enjoy the most even though he is scared of the waves) and realizing that the only reason he is enjoying is because he trusts me and that the only reason I am calculating the effect of each oncoming wave is because I am responsible for him. It is also about holding him up so he can see the snakes in the cages better and standing in front of each cage till he gets answers to all his questions, and my arm hurts but the pain just vanishes when he laughs with delight. It is also about not being able to take a bath without him banging on the door asking me to finish soon and waiting outside till I do. It is also about the adamant stand that at five years old he won’t eat by himself if I am there, I have to feed him. It is also about realizing that he never forgot the first lullaby I sang to him (I still sing Colorblind at times to him.). Most of all, it is about love. Unconditional and pure love. The love that I see on his face when he sees me. The love that he understood when I said that I love him, long before he properly understood either English or Malayalam. Love that I know will not die.

And that love, for me is a miracle.

The Best

They watch me cry,

And I cry on,

Why? They ask me!

All the answers,

Choke on a sob!

I tell them, I have failed.

Utterly, miserably,

Failed!

Failed at my resolution,

To be the best.

The glorious best,

The best as a parent!

And so, I say,

I cry!

Bewildered, bemused,

Confused and baffled,

They stand!

Tell me I haven’t failed!

The triumphs, the successes,

The victories and the conquests,

Of my children,

Aloud they count!

Careers, wealth and all that matter,

They cite!

Yes…all that matter!

All that matters is life.

And I taught them no life.

Ruefully I smile,

Efforts best of mine put,

For them, in them!

Food, shelter, cloth,

Toys, entertainment,

Education…the best, always the best!

For the best, I bid.

The highest grades,

Topmost ranks,

Trophies unparalleled!

But, I forgot…

To teach them, show them,

Love, humanity!

In my mind’s great rat race,

I forgot nurture,

Forgot friendship,

Sharing and caring!

To love other children,

Children of other parents!

To appreciate their triumphs,

Over my little nuggets,

I was unwilling!

Instead I simmered,

Simmered with jealousy,

Hitting the race a notch higher.

Into my children too,

The simmer, I poured!

Forgot my duties,

To society, to mankind!

To the institutions that moulded me!

Denied justice,

To all else other than me!

And so, my children,

I cry!

I see you,

Groom your children,

To what I was made up,

To what I tutored you;

Apostles of propriety,

Models of political correctness,

Keepers of social stature,

Guardians of hypocrisy!

But, nothing more…

Nothing more!

And with that, my children,

In other hearts,

You cease to exist!

They smile!

Pat my shoulder, walk away,

Whispering to themselves,

‘Senile! That is all!

Our parent, our duty!’

And with that,

In your hearts,

I cease to exist,

Labeled a ‘duty’!

Nothing more, nothing more!

And so, I cry!

Remember me not! ( A stupid, small poem, but i liked it)

Remember me not,

By the reckless words,

Seemingly unleashed!

Remember me not,

By the tantrums I threw,

For the pettiest of motives,

So trivial!!

Remember me not,

Remember me not,

By what I told you I was,

For I am not that!!!

Remember by the sparkle in my eyes,

The careless caresses, unseen, yet understood!

Remember me for the moments you saw me,

not wished to see!!!

And u will see me, as I am!!!

Weddings (thse might be simple words when read, but it a lot more to my friends and me)

Weddings used to make me sick. For me as a girl, the major part of the wedding would be spent trying to get away from ‘aunties’ who ask why am I not wearing enough gold or try and wheedle out family information out of me.( Later of course, I grew up not even caring to answer them, just smile. Or maybe I should try what a friend did. When asked why she doesn’t wear any gold, she retorted that it is because her parents didn’t have enough money.) So, I would be quietly sitting somewhere, not intruding in anything, watching all the rituals, counting the minutes and rolling my eyes when somebody sniffed or cried.

But, then my perception began to change, I began to and still see weddings as a new beginning rather than the ‘going away’ process. I was happy for the couple, sad for the parents who were throwing away such money on a one time affair.

But, a couple of months back, Achu got married. She is a very close friend of mine. She got married with all the pompousness of a typical upper middle class Hindu malayalee wedding! She blushed and looked and was happy like a bride should be. And, standing there, looking at the whole process, I felt nothing but happiness, but, I had to leave early to catch my train back to my university since I had an exam the next day. So, I said goodbye, and the groom, now the husband, came to say goodbye to us two best friends of hers who were leaving. And after the jokes and all (we knew him before, so it was ok!), I just said, ‘Take good care of her, ok?’. And he just laughed and joked about it.

But, the moment I said it, I knew I was choking, I couldn’t breathe. It was a new beginning, a time to celebrate, according to my theory, then why was I sad? Why am I choked up now, remembering the episode? Let that question marinate for sometime.

And then, after a peaceful period, the next one, Suja got married. I was prepared for it, telling Nisha it will be fine, she will be happy, though she will go away to the USA after a few months, it is for the best, etc. And I was happy the day before. We spent the night with Suja, talking about the big day. But, again, I was not ready for the tears that came to my eyes when the thaali (or in hindi, the mangalsutra) was tied. I laughed to her about it and she told me she had expected atleast a complete break down from me. Well yeah, she would expect it. Whenever I get angry at her for something, she just smiles at me till I stop shouting and break out laughing. She knows the power she has over me. Again, I had to leave early for an exam (I do have to tell Nisha not to get married on a Sunday and especially not before an exam!) and this time, I was a bit relieved I wasn’t there when she left with the groom. Perhaps I may not have been so stoic there as I wish I could be.

And now, another close friend (not Nisha) is getting married. And I tell her that she shouldn’t expect any mushy stuff from me. We also talk about the adjustment issues, we speculate over the future, another great friend cries over the idea that she wouldn’t see the ‘old you’ anymore after the wedding, you know… the whole girly girly stuff! And even as I tell her that I won’t cry or anything, I can sense something creeping up in me, something unknown, something that makes me do these things I don’t want to. And I realize what it is. It is just love. I love them so much, I am happy for the whole new beginning, and it is this happiness, the anxiety of how they would fair in their new lives, the sadness that I cannot perceive my friend as she was before – a single human being, and feeling like some body is ripping a part right out of my heart and taking it away on a platter that makes me so weirdly sad.

And I decide that I should let that sadness be there, after all, it is a part of my happiness.