Wednesday, 27 November 2013

FOR SALE: a ring, a car and a bride.

Growing up with the Disney princesses, marriages were always the beginning of “happily ever after”s. But then, somewhere on my way to reality, I lost my glass shoe and the speed-dial for the fairy god mothers. ever since, pumpkins remained pumpkins and rats , rats!
I’m twenty two, single, just started my career (not the dream one, the make-shift one) and a single girl child. I’ve been raised by a very strong man with modern and liberal views- my dad and a mother who is epitome of everything homely, warm and lovely.
Whenever they restricted me from something which was too common among the people my age, I would spend hours sulking and revolting. But when I decided to stroll around a bit on their shoes, I wobbled a lot and then tumbled down. The unwritten clichés of the society gave me shoe-bites .
With their best efforts, they brought up a daughter who would be independent and would have her views and opinions on whatever which crosses her path. At the same time, they needed a gentle, compliant , and modest daughter , whom they could marry off to the perfect boy from the perfect family, which they would find out for her.
Species with all the aforesaid traits are not a rarity, but on the flipside, I could only take in the first part of it, and that is not a rarity either. Unlike the first category, this on-your-face-smartness shown by the female gender of homo-sapien  species, in certain parts of India , is frowned upon. Other side effects include, dark circles underneath mommy’s eyes and extra tension lines on daddy’s brows; especially when the rest of the population is conspiring with the universe to get their daughter married off before she turns into an old hag( read: 27 years or more).
And what do they do? THEY PUT UP ADS!! On newspapers, on internet and in addition to that, they make sure they spread the word around. THEY PUT HER UP FOR SALE. Attaching snaps of her showing off her healthy body with “assets” in place , then a close up of her face ( carefully photoshopped to the fairest shade possible).They list all her degrees, qualities and as if this is not humiliating enough, they give away free goodies..! Their hard earned money (converted into the yucky-yellow-metal or maybe into a car), so than an idiot, who managed to earn a post graduate degree and a decent job, but who couldn’t find a girl or stand up for the girl he found would take their daughter off.
This is too harsh and unfair point of view- I am aware of that, but I penned this down and has put it up because I strongly believe that my point of view is not as unfair and harsh as this practice. I do not deny the fact that a remarkable percentage of my country has found happiness in arranged marriages. I accept them as greater human beings than I can ever be, because they have successfully done something I cannot even possibly imagine.
What if someone-a woman- chooses to stay unmarried after maybe a 27 or 28 years of age? To begin with, why do you- a person who is not her best friend , immediate family or even a second cousin- have a problem with her? “SINGLE” is not a bad word for a woman . it might be the state in which that person has found happiness. She might be in a perfectly happy relationship with herself; she might just be afraid to tag another person along to alter or put a question on her sense of security or independence . It doesn’t essentially mean she die a virgin or an old maid. She might tumble into someone who will lead her to her “happily ever after”.
If single women are put under such scrutiny by the society, what chance does a divorcee stand ?why is a divorced woman a humiliation to the family? Is it because she was brave enough to let go of someone or an unhappy relationship and had the courage to be alone in the big bad world? And I bet, u might have heard women blaming other women in broken relationships for “not being able to keep her man” when the case is clearly his infidelity .
I do not advocate divorces for the drop of a hat, and “adjustments” is not a bad word either. It becomes bad when your life becomes a series of adjustments. What is the point of proving your worth to someone who is so blind to see it?? Why be a guard dog to his ego  when you could walk away with your self respect? Women, your worth is no more measured by the years you suffered in silence. Being your on fairy-god-mother is the only way out. If anyone tries to cut your wings, they should be turned into pumpkins.

As I read this out to my dad, I could see a confused smile on his face which read, “Errr… is this little girl going to give me a hard time?” and amma knitted her brows and glared at my dad which meant nothing other than “Whatever she writes, I will start a groom hunt when she is twenty four.” My best friend ,Fatima asked half-smiling “So…not getting married huh..feminist??”.

These are questions beyond my dream-filled twenty two year old brain. I might fall in love. I might get married. But for now,  I’m a wide-eyed woman who has an opinion on anything, who calls a spade a spade, who enjoy being a notorious spendthrift . I refuse to be labeled. I am alone. I am uncertain and afraid. And, I have found happiness in this confusion.

- The unlabelled happy woman.
Art work by a dear friend Ar.Sherina Siraj :)

Tuesday, 19 February 2013

GODESS OF SMALL THINGS


My love for the "GOD OF SMALL THINGS" is kind of well known among my friends..but there is a godess of small things in my house..my little furball with the ever waggy tail...

Few years back,when she was around 3-4 years,she had a cat-friend...we used to call that cat "peekkiri poocha" ..it came 2 see jaani evry morning by 11am..huddled on top of the compound walll..at a safe distance from jaani...and they used to sit there face to face peacefully...

Then there was a crow..whom i christened as "friendy kaakka" who had dis strange habit of picking up raw fish from the fisherwoman and offering it to jaani...she ofcourse ignored the fish..(she's very fussy..dat gal! ) but she waited for friendy kaakka to come evryday..

last week when i came home...amma was going on about how she is friends with a lizard..(whom i named lizzie) and oh my god..dis li'll 7 year old daschund of mine actually struck a cordial chord with a lizard..!!

may be next time i come home,it might be an ant whom i have to name...i dont mind as long as im amused by how she connects with all living organisms around her..my darling GODESS OF SMALL THINGS..!

Friday, 1 February 2013

THE GUAVA TREE



The guava tree, if one
Could remember,
Always  came with
Four skinny legs
Hanging down like
Limp tentacles

A pair, fair with
Silver anklets and
The other, dark
With painted toes

Old times,

When dreams sprang
Like tender leaves
From the tree
Soft, waxy ,fresh-green.

When all the cuisines
Of the world,
Shrank into a ball
Of soft sweet pink pulp
In a lush green coat!
When the seven
Wonders of the world,
Took the shape
Of an arm-stretched
Guava tree.

When life was
Tied around a tree, and
Went round and round
Around it, carefree and wide-eyed,
Bare-foot and sun-tanned.

Now,

When I look down,
My feet are sunk deep ,
Into the discomforts
Of a stiletto.
Just one pair of stiff legs.

I look around.
I see walls.
I walk to the window,
                                                                        Sipping the tasteless fine-blend.


                                                                       I push it open, to see
                                                                       A million more walls
                                                                       Frowning back at me.
                                                                       Shutting me out.

Sunday, 13 January 2013

JUST LETTING YOU KNOW..




Know it
That the veil
You put around me ,
Does not stop the sun's rays.
That all those birds you caged,
Never forget how to fly.
That the flowers you plucked,
Never froze its fragrance.

Know it ,
That my paint boxes you threw away,
Never stopped painting frescos
On my minds ceiling.
That my words you burnt,
Never stopped being poetry
On my dream's wall.
That my dreams ,you squashed and flushed away,
Never ceased to take wings
And fly..

FALL OF THE QUEEN



Into the abyss, she fell.
The first among the six to fall.
The death knell inside her
Failed to pale her mocha skin.
Magnificence-burnt out of it
Like a fired coal.
Her droplets of sweat
Sent out the scent
Of a thousand lotus blooms


Out of her lungs,
Rushed the air of life.
A scream might capture it back,
But no-
The queen closed her eyes,
She did not want to see
Her husbands-five in number-
Treading their way to heaven.
She let her heart flip a beat
She searched,through
The pleasant patches of her mind


The holy fire from where
She rose-clinging to
Her brother’s  finger
Indeed a cynosure-she was
Proclaimed to be the queen
To be remembered,
Till the end of time.

Her butter-lipped friend,who was,
As black as she was,
With peacock feathered brow
With words of a god and
Smile of a lover
Who listened and reasoned
Jeered and praised.

The sight of the swayamvar
Where kings-noble and novel
Mighty and majestic
Came with eager eyes
On the prize,
To make her-the lustrours
Black diamond of their crowns

Her palace..
With crystal stairs and lotus ponds
Windows  which  opened
To ever  fragrant gardens
Her palace,
Where the sun rose to see
Her kohl-lined eyes open.
Where the birds sang to see
The light of her smile.


Cold chillness speared
Into her being
She could hear Bheema’s lament
“why her, brother?”
“she loved only one..
More than everyone-Arjun.”
This one-the queen laughed-is
Always full of half truths!!
“I have only loved a single soul
But it was not that warrior prince!
How could i?when I never
Got enough of myself?”
The queen’s eyes shone,
From behind her lids,
For one last time.




Saturday, 12 January 2013

BLUE




The heights above and
The depths beneath
Roofing and flooring,
The chaos amidst.
Tranquil  and thoughtful,
Silent and strong.

THE JOURNEY



Life is a wagon
Slithering through two
Long rails-dreams and reality.
Too close, yet
Never do they meet.
One futile without the other.
Yet, they never
Stop to make peace.

They unfurl in front
Of you, beyond that
Whisper of fog-far away
Hiding swirls and snares
And what not on
Its never ending path.

Fate runs the wagon
Smirking at its
Clamour  and cries,
Tensions and tears,
Never glancing back at
That rare happy moment.

A lifetime torn
In between two worlds
Speeding past
In search of a point
Where they meet.

And just when that veil
Of fog falls, there,
At that point, a bit away,
You see them crossing.
Joining and smiling at you.

When you are about
To get there-
Fate pedeals the brake,
The wagon,
Comes to a screeching halt.

Then your soul-like smoke-
Rises up, wanders to that point,
And dwells there
Mocking at your
Famished self, laughing
At the mad race,
Which you are just done with.

ARE YOU AN ATHEIST


I've been asked this question for the second time this week. from two entirely different people from different age groups. "ARE YOU AN ATHEIST? "
Both the times ,the question came out of the blue, without me stating anything remotely related to atheism. But both the times, it made me think of what I believe in , have I ever tries tying my faith to anything supernatural or out of my reach ??

Well twenty-one years is not a long enough time to come to a conclusion as to what to be believed or what not to b believed
But I believe and I strongly believe in a POWER of CONNECTION (that is what I choose 2 call it) ; a really strong one which makes Jaani ( my 6 year old dachshund) wag her tail at me whenever I come home..the way we can read each others emotions from our eyes. I believe in the genuine worries of a mother who thinks her daughter is too rebellious for her own good . I believe in  the pride of a father who raised a confidant daughter. I believe in d purity of five-year-old Ibrahim's mind which found out that leaves talk in their secret language when it rains. I believe in Karthika's hugs and Farhana's dreams..I believe in their belief !

I believe there is a power of dedication in all works of art be it my amma's cooking , Neruda's poems, the innocence of Arundhati Roy's Esthappen and Rahel, the wide eyes of Disney's cartoons, Sabyachachi's sarees or Rahman's music...

But being born to non-practicing  Hindu parents -who'd be happy see me choose any religion, and raised in a Christian school for 14 years, where they taught me what is more important is being a strong individual who respects other's belief,  yet stand up for what they believe in..(my college however works on a different principle , but I never bothered to take a bit of it inside my head)  and being best friends with maybe d boldest Muslim girl ,I don't chain myself to any religious beliefs . I don't pray in front of a beautifully sculptures or stone idols or to any symbol or to any direction..BUT I respect everyone who believes in it and does it...and that exactly is my PRAYER.

Well...what is my label now? Atheist ?  Agnonist ? May be a humanist ( with a slight feministic inclination) or perhaps a religiously-unlabeled happy woman !! :-)

HOW I MEND A HEART-BREAK


These shreds of papers, these were
Your sound, your smell and your smiles
-Oh, darling loser-
The remains of my memories of you,
All scattered in shreds!
It does not deserve to be
Spun in my beautiful words
These do not deserve an urn
Neither an empty coffee-can
No..not even that garbage bin.

I set them on fire.
Like you did to me-turning
My breath into sighs-
The flames burnt away
The heart-break, which
Chocolates had earlier mellowed.
I pretty my eyes with kaajal
And off I go, shopping
For unwanted shoes.
Now that, will sweep away
The ashes left over..!

ESCAPADE




Make me a wind
Let me break the shackles
Let me fly
Away from you,
Away from the concrete jungle.

Let me soar past those men
Leaving behind all my sins
Leaving behind, the smiles,the sorrows
Leaving behind my head,
I'm tired of reasoning.

Let me carry my words
A drop or two of my paints
A this and that of my music.
The rest all left behind.
Memories poured into the empty
Darkness of the prevailing night.

Then I fly
I fly and fly
Caressing the leaves
Kissing the flowers.
And when I'm out of breath,
I climb on the softest cloud
And away I sail..
Till I reach that clearing
Amidst the pine trees.

I lay there on my bed of lush
Green shoots n velvety violets.
And then the music I carried,
Sings for me
I paint my world by sunshine
And spin my words by moonlight !

LAMENT OF THE PHOENIX



Why again? Why again?
Time and again , I have
Risen from my ashes..
And watching me ,you,
My sad little human, you’re
Fooled to think ,this
Is a blessed rebirth!

Know you what it is to
Burn your own being?

With it, I wish I could
Burn away my sorrows
Sins of the past million births
Tears, which welled up when
All my little ones flew off.

I wish I could burn away
All those lonely years
The age old thoughts ,from
The day, when time was born.



I wish I could burn away
The memories of those
Splendid falls and caverns
For there is nothing new
For me to see !

I wish I could burn away
All my songs, for there is
nothing new for me to sing!

And now, look at you
My little human,
You take birth with a
Promised closure.
You don’t know when, but you
 are given one-nevertheless.

And I, born before time
Lives on and on
Again and again
Singing this lone lament



I tell you-what you call
Eternity ,is nothing, but
An unwanted existence.



RED


Red was the color of the warmth around me
Which I thought, was my world.
Red was the happy spot between my mother's brows
Which smiled when she laughed.
Red was the trickle of pain ,
On my stone jabbed knee.

Red was the box pleated skirt,
Which dragged me to school.
Red was the beet-root curry ,which
Made me want to run back home.
Red were the friendship bands.
Red were the rakhis tied.
Red were those painful stains,
Month after month!
Red was the blush on my cheek
When he smiled.
Red were the roses he gave.
Red was the feeling when he left.

Red was the gulmohar on the college ground.
Red was the color of their flag.
"Red" was the name of the book she read.
Red was the bench we sat on,
Talking about it.
Red were the party lights,
Red were the streaks on
My dense black  mane.
Red were the Bloody-Mary's
Red were our 'high' eyes..

Red was the swollen love bite
Which he left on my neck .
Red was the mehendi on my palm
Red was the sindoor
On my hair-line !
Red was the pain
Red was the love.

Red was the blood smeared over
My baby, when I saw her first.
Red were the rashes on her bum.
Red was the candy she loved
Red was my lipstick which
She chose to mess with..
Red was the pillow I wept into
When she left to chase her dreams.


Red was the blood on the windscreen
After the crash.
Red was the walking stick I was given
On my comeback..
Red were a few of the pills I had to take.
Red was the fear
Every time I struggled to breathe.
Red rimmed were his glasses,from
Behind which,
His eyes kissed me
For the last time..

And now ,Red is the flame
Which is licking my being.