All posts by Moushmi Radhanpara

I wish I could be more specific about myself but I cannot. If only I knew myself I would be able to tell someone who actually I am. I am a person yet in search of oneself, and I truly hope and pray that I fathom myself before the eternity.

Fallen To This New Level!

 

I have fallen to this new stature

Cause, I have sat and done

Absolutely nothing despite being all alone.

 

I sat and stared

Stared at the dark wall,

Giving away ramifications of my past.

 

I sat; sat and stared at

I don’t know what,

Giving away only darkness.

 

I looked on at the wall

Thinking and rethinking

About I don’t even know what.

 

I have fallen to a new level

Cause I didn’t even realize

When the time ticked by

And it was no more the day,

I started thinking on.

 

I have fallen to this new level

Where I don’t even understand anything,

Where I have stopped feeling some things.

 

I sit and stare and think

Trying hard, very hard,

to only cry a very bit.

 

But I fathom,

I have fallen to a very new level

Where even crying seems to have

Gone away with a new fling

Drying my soul, not letting it brim.

 

I have fallen to this new depth this time

Cause I don’t even realize where I am.

Or how to climb up,

Or swim away.

Cause this time I don’t even reckon myself.

Cause this time, I don’t feel anything.

I sit and stare and think and the time keeps ticking

Trying to realize what I am even thinking,

But all I gather is I am at a new depth,

And now it is difficult to even keep climbing.

Difficult to even keep swimming.

 

I have fallen

And I keep falling,

I have drowned,

And I keep drowning.

I find a new level of

Nothingness,

Meaninglessness.

And I question myself

Where am I?

 

*

Never been good with poems, never been a poet. This is just a vain attempt as always, and as all my previous attempts to try and write in as limited words as possible, and to express as far and as truthfully I can.

The Next Morning!

I was glaring at the TV in the dark, my vision unclear, blurred, I hardly knew what channel was switched on and I couldn’t possibly care less. I kept it on, on bearable volume only to feel myself accompanied.

 

I was slouched beside my study table, beside which the balcony door stood ajar, supported by the wall behind. There was the novel kept in front of me, that I was reading but I hardly remembered what was it about. All I could see were the tree leaves wavering outside, and all I could think of was, … wait, I could hardly think straight. No I could think of nothing, simply nothing.

 

I shifted in my seat, making myself more uncomfortable, instead of providing a little comfort. My leg was twisted and I could feel the slightest of pain then. But I did not twitch. I enjoyed the pain for a while, then when I was comfortable again, I simply did it again, bring the pain back, just for the sake of doing it, this time with my hands, and my fingers. My finger nails, digging down in my palms, and yet I could feel nothing; nope, not in a slightest. I guess all the drinks were playing their game then, making me numb. I smiled, and why? I had no idea about that.

 

My phone started buzzing, vibrating, and it was irritating me, the noise, the feeling. I fumbled to take it out of my pocket and cancelled the call. It was my friend. I knew what she would say, “You can talk to me” and I also knew that if I “talked” she would put on her earphones and all the while keep texting or playing some game and in the end she would very easily divert the topic, make it all about herself, and cut the call. I didn’t need that then!! No!!

 

It started vibrating again. My head was so full, it ached so much that I gripped my hair into my hands trying to just tear the pain apart. I just increased my pain. Furiously, I picked up the phone, mumbled something, which I really did not give a thought on and cut the call.

 

I sat there till late in the night. I don’t remember the time; I don’t even remember what exactly I was doing till then, what was I thinking about. All I remember is slowly walking or rather dragging myself towards my bed, and falling off to a deep sleep with the TV turned on.

 

And so I woke up the next morning with the same things I had gone to sleep with, a numbing pain, a throbbing head, and a dizzy mind, and yeah, not to forget the TV turned on.

Today’s Realisation!!

We have come to live in such a society, among such people that you don’t expect people to really care these days. And when someone shows or even tries to show that he or she cares, it is so surprising that we need a moment to sit back and think about what just happened.

I have come to believe and assume that people in general really are selfish and mean, and also so very self obsessed, but once in a while I do come across so polite and selfless people that I have to sit back and think what and how it just happened? It takes me back, with so much surprise that all my mind asks is, “How was this person so nice? And more importantly, Why?”

It doesn’t matter if the person is helpful of not, all it matters is the intention of that person. Most people have just forgot to be simply nice.

I Cannot Breathe.

 

Open the door

Open the windows.

Let the thinnest air in,

For I cannot breathe in.

 

Let me feel the breeze

Let me cherish the wind.

Allow me to swallow the air,

For I cannot breathe in.

 

Unclasp your fingers from

Around my neck.

Loosen your hold

From around my hips,

For I cannot breathe in.

 

It is raining outside.

The clouds passing by

The lightening that just went by.

I can see the shower

Trickling down the trees.

The mud dancing down the roads.

The strong winds

Blowing away the leaves.

And yet, I cannot breathe in.

Changes.

Nothing is permanent, except change.

 

Change is the only constant.

 

Things change in life.

 

People come and go.

 

These simple words refuse to sit within my irate mind and destroy its peace. Is it so difficult to grasp these simple facts and live with it?

 

Yes, I know I am being unreasonable, I am and I can’t help it. And you know what, I want to be. For a little while I want to be this super childish person who is for once, just for a little while allowed to make all unnecessary and unreasonable demands. I don’t expect them to get fulfilled, I know they can’t, I juts want them to be there, for a while be the not so mature person.

 

I know things have to change, for good or for worse, I know these people have to go, whether I like it or not, but just for once I want to sit back and whine a little. Because however hard I pretend and try to feel that all of it doesn’t matter, in reality it does. Yes, it does matter.

 

There, I said it. It all matters, it all hurts, and I don’t like it.

 

Having said that, I also understand that I can’t control everything, neither do I want to. I also realize that I will very soon learn to have these changes in my life. I understand that I will accept these changes whole-heartedly, and very soon these things wouldn’t even matter. But until then I want to sit back, lie down, and just for once admit these feelings to myself. For once I want to let myself cry and laugh and do whatever I wish to. I will move on, I just want a little more time to adjust to this change.

 

 

Re-visiting; Re-reading.

I read this following poem time and again, very often, so often that by now I have most of the lines by heart and yet I do not get enough of it.

How can I? Because every time I read this, it gives me, well I won’t say new insight but the very same old feelings that I live with. The feelings are always there, they are ever present, only they come out or I let them come out not too often. These are the feelings I live with, most women live with.

Though there are some days when they flow so rapidly that I fail to control them, or give them a direction and on those days, I read, I read anything, and everything, I read poems, novels, stories, plays. I read this poem all over again.

Today is one such day, and I will share this once again. Because, I am flowing, I am hurting, I am smiling, because it’s all mine, because I am I.

An Introduction. 

I don’t know politics but I know the names
Of those in power, and can repeat them like
Days of week, or names of months, beginning with Nehru.
I am Indian, very brown, born inMalabar,
I speak three languages, write in
Two, dream in one.
Don’t write in English, they said, English is
Not your mother-tongue. Why not leave
Me alone, critics, friends, visiting cousins,
Every one of you? Why not let me speak in
Any language I like? The language I speak,
Becomes mine, its distortions, its queernesses
All mine, mine alone.
It is half English, halfIndian, funny perhaps, but it is honest,
It is as human as I am human, don’t
You see? It voices my joys, my longings, my
Hopes, and it is useful to me as cawing
Is to crows or roaring to the lions, it
Is human speech, the speech of the mind that is
Here and not there, a mind that sees and hears and
Is aware. Not the deaf, blind speech
Of trees in storm or of monsoon clouds or of rain or the
Incoherent mutterings of the blazing
Funeral pyre. I was child, and later they
Told me I grew, for I became tall, my limbs
Swelled and one or two places sprouted hair.
WhenI asked for love, not knowing what else to ask
For, he drew a youth of sixteen into the
Bedroom and closed the door, He did not beat me
But my sad woman-body felt so beaten.
The weight of my breasts and womb crushed me.
I shrank Pitifully.
Then … I wore a shirt and my
Brother’s trousers, cut my hair short and ignored
My womanliness. Dress in sarees, be girl
Be wife, they said. Be embroiderer, be cook,
Be a quarreller with servants. Fit in. Oh,
Belong, cried the categorizers. Don’t sit
On walls or peep in through our lace-draped windows.
Be Amy, or be Kamala. Or, better
Still, be Madhavikutty. It is time to
Choose a name, a role. Don’t play pretending games.
Don’t play at schizophrenia or be a
Nympho. Don’t cry embarrassingly loud when
Jilted in love … I met a man, loved him. Call
Him not by any name, he is every man
Who wants. a woman, just as I am every
Woman who seeks love. In him . . . the hungry haste
Of rivers, in me . . . the oceans’ tireless
Waiting. Who are you, I ask each and everyone,
The answer is, it is I. Anywhere and,
Everywhere, I see the one who calls himself I
In this world, he is tightly packed like the
Sword in its sheath. It is I who drink lonely
Drinks at twelve, midnight, in hotels of strange towns,
It is I who laugh, it is I who make love
And then, feel shame, it is I who lie dying
With a rattle in my throat. I am sinner,
I am saint. I am the beloved and the
Betrayed. I have no joys that are not yours, no
Aches which are not yours. I too call myself I.

Kamala Das. 

You are a Reader.

Today I have another reader realization, Bare with me..

 

You know you are a reader, you are certain that it is the only pleasure in your life, that it is the only solution to all your problems, that reading is the only source to digress yourself from all those problems, that reading is the only way to maintain sanity and that it is the only way to run away from reality.

 

So you think that you are a reader.

 

At least I thought so, or rather I think so, every time I see a book and find my mouth drooping at the magical words.

 

Until recently when I literally dozed off early in the morning, a book in my hand, and woke up after two hours only to realize that I was already running late for the day.

 

How come I dozed off? Well, as it happens, I am up for reading anything any place by anyone only till I am willing to do it, which is of my own accord. But as soon as someone pressurizes me for it, my mind stops working and I go numb. In this case, I am being pressurized by the so called ‘College people, here the examiners’.

 

My exams are coming up and I don’t understand why that this time I have to really try hard to even study what I like. My papers consists everything that I like, at least mostly what I like. I have to read theories, novels, stories and poems for them and yet here I am, trying to not nod off while preparing for them. Seriously, what is wrong with me? Had I heard of something from someplace else, I would definitely go and hunt down every little information about it and read it even in the middle of the night. But since it is in my syllabus all I am thinking about is that I have to study it, prepare an answer and then just write it down in my exam. I absolutely understand that this is wrong, the entire concept is wrong, this way I don’t understand anything and will be blindly following the teaching method usually applied. I have never been this, but I don’t know what is wrong. I am concentrating only on the fact that I have ‘exams.’

 

I’ll give you an instance, if I had come across the word ‘Marxism’ some place else then I was sure to Google every detail about it and read it till I understood it, but now that it is in my syllabus, I am almost day dreaming about sipping a drink near the ocean under the warm sun after my exams.

 

And I called myself a reader? I guess the problem is that not only I have to read it but understand it, retain it and prepare for the ‘exams’.

 

Okay, enough with the word ‘exams’ today, I guess I’ll go and pick up some long forgotten book which I might have read so many times, only to remind myself that I am a reader. 😀