Tag Archives: NaPoWriMo

His torturous existence.

I am a woman

And by default I have a best friend.

I met ‘him’ at a tender age,

When I was 14

And for everyone I knew

I was already late.

When the first time I called my friend ‘him’

I was frowned upon.

“It is she, my dear! It is only your chance.”

But I didn’t want that chance, you know.

Who would want a friend

Who comes unannounced

At all the wrong times

When you plan to go for a swim

Or have a dance show

Or better yet

When you already have 10 different aches,

Who would want a friend that will just add another set of pains?

But there I was, at 14

And just because I ticked the box ‘Female’

I had a best friend,

Who would be with me till times inane.

And so I complied,

Now, if I have to have him inside my body every month

Why not make the best of it?

So, every month I would cry

When he would enter me

And I’d simply shy

Wouldn’t know how to walk-

Did he make everyone this uncomfortable?

Or was I the only one who would feel as a

Combustible?

So I would sit and complain,

I can’t go out

I am not well

And I just want to sit and read and eat and sleep and rest-

My excuses were never enough,

For I was a woman

And people were after equality

So it didn’t matter

And so I had to plaster a smile

Even when my cramps would let in no air.

As time went by,

My best friend became consistent,

Ever month, after almost 35 days

He’d visit me

And make me want to become a man.

“Why did he not have any pain?” I’d wonder.

But then if ‘he’ was the one giving me so much pain

How could he himself accustom to such cruel gain.

I call him

And every man, and woman would cringe-

But come on, it has to be a ‘him’

Who else would think of harassing a woman

The likes of this-

If it weren’t for a ‘him’?

It can only be a him

Who gives me such a headache,

Who makes me a throbbing backache?

Who makes my walking difficult,

With his unwanted intrusion,

Who makes my stomach bloat

Who takes away from my own body, my very own blood,

Who makes me consistently wet

And pains me with his very existence!

Of course it has to be a ‘him’-

Its name itself involves ‘Men-‘

Of course it has to be a him-

Ladies, at least must agree,

But then we live in a conventional society

Where talking about being wet is grimaced upon,

Let alone the talk of staining your pants,

Shhhhhhhh—-

You are making it very clear, woman

Stop talking!

We are at the point where we fight for equality

And you saying these things

Isn’t helping

You are a woman

And you just have to live with your best friend.

And so I tell myself

I am a woman,

As if I didn’t know so far

And since I am a woman

I will just have to live with it.

As if I could literally do anything about it!

And so I make sure that I carry ‘things’ with myself

Everywhere,

Carefully hiding it from the men’s stare.

God forbid they know

What we go through.

Let alone ‘him’ being the only reason we go through.

Then comes the choice of colors of my dresses

Where I will make sure to avoid

The white and lights

When I will somehow know

That ‘he’ is going to visit me.

And then suddenly I will have to cancel all the fun plans

Only because I am not up for it,

And my mood is so unreliable

That I will hate even myself

But I still go and work just as such

For I am a woman,

And that is just a part of me.

That ‘him’ is just a part of me.

And just suddenly, because I am the one inviting problems,

I will have the unknowing urge to visit a temple,

Why?

I am not even that religious

But just because I am not “allowed”

I want to go in-

And I will somehow land up at my relatives place

Where again I am not ‘allowed’ to

Sit on the sofa

On the bed

Or eat just as naturally.

For I am dirty on those days

And I just don’t love it.

But then again I am a woman,

And that is how I am ‘suppose’ to be.

My friend will come and visit

That is by default-

In my system-

And I will have to just live with it.

I don’t have a choice.

‘He’ is just a part of me.

And just like all other men

He is just another sour ache on my body,

My mind

Straining my life with his very existence.

 

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Cacoethes.

Todays evening sun

Reminds me of him…

A ‘Him’- lonely, vibrant and distant.

When I bask myself in its glory

To brighten my inner joys,

To enliven my hurting hunger.

I draw him to me, in

The dusk of my glooming room

And sit atop

Mouth on mouth,

Body on body,

Craving, thirsting-

The mundane murmers soaring, sigh

The rumblings

The thrusting

The grieving agony-

The passion, the breathing

Slowly moving.

And then the night steals him,

The romantic notions of sun,

The patronising night, and his stealth.

And all I am left with,

Is a gentle throbbing,

A longing lust,

And my eyes dreaming.

Ps: Please don’t give up on me. I’ll catch up with you guys very soon.

Delusional Happiness.

A car accident-

A bump on the head, inside,

“Thankfully, she is all right” The doctor sighed,

But from inside the room she cried_

Crying and cursing her fate,

The only time she sheds tears when she lost some weight.

Treacherous Love.

He promised me he’d forever be mine

Giving me no reason to think, to my face he’d lie,

He sealed his promise with a chaste kiss

Deceiving me into believing for an eternal bliss.

 

He didn’t leave me of his own accord

Only- death did us sorrowfully apart,

But in him, I lost my partner in crime

And with him, I lost my reason to smile.

 

Now, when old age has befriended me

With ‘lack’ of all kinds seeping in,

Teeth, taste, ability to walk; hear

Wanting, patiently for my heart to tear.

 

Time and loneliness has started eating me alive

With my body withered, no one cares for my hidden vice,

And despite the lineage of children and grandchildren

No one deciphers the secluded nausea, building in.

 

A Scarlet Woman.

With hidden aches

With pasted smiles

She pretends to shy.

 

With muffled gags

With screaming moans

She feigns to have her mind blown.

 

Biting the bullet

Her body, sold-

She attempts at being dignified

Rendering herself to be bold!

 

A Raving Reminiscence.

The lane is empty

Except for the kacchi kairi

Kacchi kairi strewn across on both sides.

“What is kacchi kairi?” he asks.

I turn to him, and give him an imploring look-

See for yourself.

“All I see is beaten, tattered, useless raw mangoes.”

I give him that look again.

I smile.

I keep walking, walking

On that lane which is delusory,

Empty, except for kacchi kairi.

The trees tower over us

The greenery overpowering us, shadowing us

From the clouds.

The faint drizzle seething into our veins

The pungent raw smell

Overwhelming my memories from which I have abstained.

The lane desolate, leaves scattered about,

Kacchi kairi’s standing orthodoxly, waiting

For my retrieval into the fond memories

Buried deep, somewhere inside.

And in a trance I was transported eons back

Playing- carefree-

Callous- teasing-

Happy!

The sweet sour memory of eating that kacchi kairi,

The soft tiniest bite

Sour juices flowing

Eyes barely opening

And yet I would take bite after

Bite.

That sweet-sour memory of kacchi kairi.

“So what’s new in that? You still eat kacchi kairi.”

“I know”, I sigh!

Its different I want to cry.

But I give him that smile.

It’s just not the same kacchi kairi!

“So what, now you want that same raw mangoes that you ate

As a child? Don’t you think that’s rather impractical?”

The rage that gnaws at me is minutely conquered

By the insanity that he thinks I live in.

I don’t answer.

I just give him that look,

And he gives me that look

When he thinks that I want to make him understand

Without the words,

And he thinks I don’t know that he does understand,

He just enjoys his taunts more

But I know

And he knows.

And we draw each other together,

Closer.

And we walk that deserted lane,

Where there is nothing

The lane is empty,

Except for the kacchi kairi.

Kacchi kairi strewn across on both sides.

 

My Very Own Peccadillo.

I don’t know love

I don’t know how it is to be loved

But I know how to love

Day in and day out-

Giving my all.

I am a woman, pining for love

Waiting to be touched;

To be held in your arms, to be

Kissed.

The soft murmur of your eyes-

The hoarse voice; I am only waiting.

I don’t know love

I don’t know how it is to be loved

For I am full of distortions

Queerness, you may say.

But everything I own is mine

And mine alone.

I am whole and yet incomplete

For I don’t know love.

I am a pleaser-

A sinner.

I am my own beloved

I am the betrayed.

I have joys, I have aches.

But they are all mine,

Mine alone.

I am I.

For I don’t know love

I don’t know what it is to be loved

But I know how to love______