Tag Archives: women issues

Her Altruistic Mien.

Poetry has been a consistent part of my life, first reading and then writing. Though if someone would have said that I could try writing poems, a year back, I would have rolled my eyes and said, “Yeah, right!” Not that I have become very confident of my pieces, but I have come as far as trying to share them and be judged.

A few days back one of my poems got published in The Indian Periodical titled The Sea and today I am back with another of my poems which has been accepted for publication in an online magazine called Merak. I am thrilled. Not that I am suddenly very confident of what I am doing with these poems, but I am happy.

I am sharing the link to the poem below. Though some of my readers would have read it as a part of NAPOWRIMO which was again an amazing ride, I will be eager to hear from you about the piece.

Her Altruistic Mien

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The Thing About Boys & Men.

I am bored. I mean not that I don’t have anything to do, but I am just bored. Bored with stressful working, with useless studying, with meeting deadlines, with assignments, with reading, with writing, practically everything. So I keep finding new things to do. Now, I haven’t been very successful with it, but I think I am obligingly eating people’s head with my tantrums. But I guess I am so bored that I get bored with that too. And hence, I keep finding things like reading short biographies of inspiring authors, what they have done, listening to music I have never heard before or going out to new places. Now, that last thing that I said is more useless than the word ‘useless’ can signify. Living in such a small city comes with its dirth of new and exciting places to go to. So, I am left to be doing only two things, reading and ranting. I could say I am just writing but I know my writing is not writing, it’s only a rant, a cribbing rant with no solutions which a set of very few loyal friends will read and tell me that it is not a rant and they liked it, but I know better than their kindness.

Just one such rant, actually, a very furious rant with a failed attempt of humor was written after an impulsive decision and was mailed without any eidting. I regretted it the minute I sent it. Honestly, I did. But very surprisingly, the local supplement of Times of India weren’t offended by my rant and they published the column all the same.

I am happy.

Today, I am not bored.

I am sharing the picture below.

Because today I am not bored.

I will rant and keep you bored.

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I’ll Be A Good Girl….

Ah! This is such a wonderful sight

Away from all heinous plight.

Amidst the bed of roses

Smelling the smell of happy doses.

 

The two girls playing

Dancing and swaying,

Happy, serene

Jovial and green.

 

I love to see them

I also want to be them,

Playing with my brothers and sister

Oh, won’t I have a brother or a sister?

 

Or, do I have someone

Already waiting for me?

A daughter or a son

Already your honeybee?

 

I will be a good girl

To you, to everyone,

Like an obedient schoolgirl

With a sweet tongue.

 

I will play and eat

Will be your only heartbeat,

I will dance and learn

And shine like a Christmas fern.

 

I want to see you

See my father,

I want to be you

Given away at age, by my father.

 

I want to live life

I want to have friends

I want to thrive

I want to go through life’s all bends.

 

But I understand

All in good time,

For now I need to be in this dreamland

Your womb being my partner in crime.

 

But it is getting dark

And I am feeling cold,

I’ll complain to grandma

Please return to our home.

 

You understand me so well

I just thought and you already did,

Walking gracefully like a belle

You succumbed to your beautiful kid.

 

But wait are you sure this is the way, mamma?

And why are you burning like a sauna?

But again who am I to judge?

3 months old, who knows not much?

 

But where is this mamma?

This is not our home.

I don’t see your comfy pajama

This is not where you roam.

 

Why are you lying in this small, rigid bed?

You need to be comfortable instead.

Who are these people in white?

Why are they shining the light so bright?

 

See, this is already hurting

You and me too.

You are twisting and squirting

They are letting the pain brew.

 

What is this?

What is happening?

What are they doing?

Why are you crying?

 

It is paining me too

Piercing me through and through,

I want to live and you are so cruel

You killed me, and my dreams accrual.

 

God!

Forbid!

Stop!

Have pity on me!

 

They are cutting me

My tiny legs and hands,

I want to flee

But the pain is killing me.

 

You killed me, mamma

How could you do this?

I am speechless

I am breathless.

 

You killed me for I was a girl

Is it so big a sin?

Then why was I called a pearl

If I was merely a skim?

 

If this world is such

Where you kill your own blood?

Then I am happy to have lived an innocent life

Without a sinful crime.

 

I have a question before I go

How does it feel to make your own kid a foe?

I know this may not be only your wish

For I have heard the constant surrounding whish.

 

But all the same I die

Without an answer for ‘why’,

I bid you adieu

And may girls never come to this life,

If everyone is like you.

****

This will be the last post for #NaPoWriMo. Somehow I ended up writing this last poem imitating the very first thing I ever wrote, like the very first time I put pen to paper, and though novice it’s always been close to my heart. I am attaching the link to the post, for I am certain I shared it in my blog at some point of time.

Were you not a girl, Mamma?

Also, my heartiest thanks for all you readers for sticking through the entire month of April, for your amazing and honest reviews, and for constantly just showering love on me and my immature poems. THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH!

 

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The Glorious Madness.

Like a cloud of fire

I soar a little higher

In the burning light

Of that sadistic sun.

Sinking-rising-

Burning the golden lightening

In the broad of daylight.

He fears not-

Throwing the silver arrows and spheres

In the dawn- quite clear

The dusk, a little dear

He springs, trying to cut my wings

Amidst the shade of rainbows- I hide

Unwanted- unbidden

Not to shed a tear

But only to gather my very madness.

He knows not what I am

A cruel, blithe spirit

Rejoicing in the love that I bore

That from my lips would flow

And so like a lonely cloud of fire

I soar a little higher

Ignoring the fountain of pain

Basking in the glory of triumphant gain.

 

I Smile.

I burn my body to ashes

But my conscience savors and yearns

I rot amidst my own ashes

But my soul transpires beyond the patriarchal tavern.

 

I burn and I smile

Beyond my submissive rage

For I have no dreams

Only a small selfish realm.

 

I burn and I smile

Even from my ashes, when he rise

Drowning me beneath my own existence

Setting my red hair- aflame.

 

I burn and I smile

From among the quivering ashes

Subsiding, submerging- dying

O God- Can I please cease the smile?

 

 

Picture Credits: coub.com

 

Deep Blue Pajamas.

 

I am not a morning person

But then again I am barely even a person,

But since I am not a morning person

And when I am forced to leave my warm smothered bed

I cringe and cry

Not wanting to rise.

I shed off all my dreams

When suddenly, my alarm screams

And as soon as my feet touch the floor,

My mother rushes in, thrashing the door.

“We have guests at our place, and I need milk!”

“So?” I want to show some fury.

I do not say a word

Instead rush to the kitchen

To get my morning drug.

“Please, you can have coffee once you come back,

I need milk and some bread before that.”

I give her a look

Morning without a coffee

Is barely morning at all

And since I am not a morning person

It makes me furious after all.

 

In a deep blue pair of pajamas

And a plane tank top

A lost rough bun, with loose strands on my careless face

I grab the keys to my vehicle

And leave, muttering under my breath

“Who goes to someone’s place at this hour?”

 

I am barely awake

What with an early morning

And no coffee-

 

 

And so I am in a hurry

More of a hurry for a cup of coffee

Than of furnishing the breakfast for our guests.

“Yeah, go on judge me” I say out aloud

To no one in particular.

And since its early morning

Not many shops have even opened

The supermarket is still closed too,

And I roam about in my effort to find some place

That will provide me with the needed!

Breakfast!

“Why can’t they just drink a coffee and be done with it instead?”

I could have made all kinds,

Even tea

All kinds.

But our guests had to have breakfast

And we had to finish all our bread the previous day.

And so I drive around in a chirpy and yet quite morning

Warm and yet a cool morning.

I remember suddenly, the bakery!

And I rush there.

There is a small grocery store beside it too

Thankfully!

Finally! Both of them have started their day

And very soon I have the needed

A carton of milk,

And a packet of bread,

And I am driving home.

 

I am not the best of drivers

Least when it comes to cars,

But I drive my Honda Dio pretty well.

Over the decade of driving two wheelers

I have had the knack of balancing and rushing

Without being a sneaker.

And so at the speed of 30-40 on a empty lane

I am driving and enjoying the beautiful morning arcane.

When finally my stubbornness is over the fact

That I had to wake up and rush about for others

It starts drizzling,

And then pouring

And then consistently raining!

Now, as usual I am again grumpy

Just when I was adjusting

All fell again crumbling.

What choice do I have

Either I get late for the entire day

Or I get drenched

And finally start my day!

I chose the latter.

 

Now, rains are not my favorite part

“What did I say?”

“I don’t like rains?”

“Are you mad?”

Now, don’t get me wrong

Rains are needed

Beautiful too-

But I am more of a reality person

And rains always have been to me burden.

What with the puddles and the potholes

The overflowing murky water

And the atmosphere, a constant rotter.

But since I am doing everything against my own will

I keep driving

I keep drenching

And begin somehow, to enjoy

The morning chill.

Who cares- about how I look

I am probably just a black and white sketchbook.

It is early in the morning

And there is no one around

For the days aborning.

And so I let myself soak,

And the cool breeze, float.

 

The rains have prevented

The one or two early risers

Leaving the day isolated and scented

With only one or two miners

 

I am driving back home,

All too careful, not to skid

When an Enfield comes and skits inches away from me.

The me, that always finds mistakes in myself

Cringes and slows down

Only to realize that the gawky man has turned around.

I am still away from home

And the street is empty-

 

I drive away.

He drives away!

 

A little while later

I notice the Royal Enfield again

And I want to take off

Just like a rocket plain.

I speed

He speeds

I have a Honda Dio

He has a Royal Enfield.

I stick to the extreme left,

Giving him the entire road,

Its raining and I don’t want to cause some explode.

And yet he drives centimeters away from me

And my heart thumps as if

He was on the verge of thrashing me.

He slows down fairly just a little ahead of me

And then I slow down too

Thinking how to flee.

I keep forgetting I am drenched,

My tank top stuck to me,

And my pajamas are defining my legs, carefree.

He is not bothered by my driving skills

But he is amazed by a woman’s drenched frills.

He finds me enticing

And he has nothing better to do

On a morning that is so surprising.

 

The clouds have grown darker

The rains heavier

And I can barely see the road’s departure,

But I have to find an exit now!

And I have to get home- NOW!!

 

And so with sheer force

I speed my vehicle

Zigzagging against the course

Noticing his face, unbelievable.

Oh, what a psychopath

He whistles at my expertise

But diverts his path

And I breathe, a sigh of relief.

 

And then I am no mood of fury,

Or any agony,

Not for the fact that I had an early morning,

Not for the uninvited guests

And not for the Royal Enfield.

It was just as normal, just as mundane-

Nothing was new

Not the woman’s bane.

It was just mandatory

Because if you are a woman

Sexuality was your only glory.

 

I sped home,

Indeed like a rocket plane

And then somehow my deep blue pants

Had turned even a deeper shade.

But I didn’t care

For nothing was new

And so I went to the kitchen

And poured the coffee, due.

 

 

The Mystical Pishogue #2

I am fierce

I am wild

I am an emblem of self-implied exile.

 

I am aggressive

I am saucy

I am an insignia of selfishly haughty.

 

I am bold

I am vain

I am an image of disdain.

 

I am dominant

I am arrogant

I am yet, a metaphor of a self-loathing Samaritan.

 

I am malicious

I am viciously uncompassionate

I am of all these, a conglomerate.

 

I am I

I am what I am

A phony fable in a flesh.

 

I am I

I am what I am

A conceited allegory in oneself.

 

Her another shade of mystery here: The Mystical Pishogue.