And one fine day
When you look no more
You'll find someone
Who feels like home
You'll stop dissing love
You'll stop feeling sore
You'll walk into their arms
And they'll heal your soul.
Tuesday, May 21, 2019
Wednesday, May 15, 2019
Respite
Why do we go into deep slumbers every night -
Is it in hope, that tomorrow will bring light?
Is it to keep - today's worries out of sight?
Or is it to rest now and prep for another fight?
To let me garner strength, for success stories to write?
To let me keep at it, as victory is at sight?
To let me think of love, and let our romance delight?
Or simply build dream castles, and marvel at towering heights!
To let me rest my wings, under dark, marvelous skies -
To let them offer peace, to let them offer respite!
Tomorrow I leave early, for the horizon awaits my flight
I slip into slumbers deep, as triumph today I didn't,
but tomorrow I just might!
but tomorrow I just might!
Tuesday, May 7, 2019
What are we
What are we,
but memories and breath?
Memories etched in those minds -
who'd cry at our funeral pyres!
And breath that keeps us alive -
in between sobs and some smiles.
What are we, but lives -
Awaiting our turns, at death?
but memories and breath?
Memories etched in those minds -
who'd cry at our funeral pyres!
And breath that keeps us alive -
in between sobs and some smiles.
What are we, but lives -
Awaiting our turns, at death?
Saturday, May 4, 2019
Period
She sat wondering why she was dying now.
Now, when her father was hospitalized.
His arm was broken.
There was a fracture on his skull.
Looked like he'd lose one eye as well.
He had survived a murder attempt.
Her mother was also away.
Couldn't reach her or meet her.
Not even by phone.
Apparently all those privileges are denied, when you are in jail.
For attempting to murder your husband.
But her mother tried to kill him to make her survive.
Now, all that was in vain.
She was dying.
She did not deserve to die though. She was so young.
"I'm not even 12! Why me? Why now?"
She was sure it was cancer. In her tummy.
She was in pain for a day before. And now, she was bleeding from below.
She continued to stare into the bloody closet.
Her mother had been arrested the previous day. Along with her - her only child. The policemen were grilling her to see if she'd break down and give in - for conspiring with her mother, for the attempt on her father's life.
That's when Aunty, her mother's friend, walked in with a lawyer. And money. Apparently it was a serious offence. Trying to murder someone. That too a man. The victim being a policeman did not help.
Her mother couldn't be let go on bail. But she was allowed to walk out with the duo. Aunty magnanimously offered to take her home. She was thankful that she didn't have to spend the night under the prying eyes of the officers at the police station. She was always scared of policemen.
She was surprised at how calm Aunty's home was. Uncle was also very nice. He was not drunk at night nor was he screaming at Aunty. They had dinner together and uncle even offered a prayer! He hugged his 2 boys before they went to bed. He did not threaten to kill them, when Aunty went to sleep.
Her stomach pain started soon. She somehow managed to sleep through it. But she woke up feeling wet. She was so ashamed that she wet the bed and rushed into the bathroom to change before anyone else knew.
She did not expect to see blood.
She was wondering if she should tell Aunty or just accept her slow death.
The knock on the door brought her back to her senses. Aunty stood there. With her bed sheets rolled into a bundle, in her hands. She offered her some kind of a white tissue and asked, 'Is this your first period?'
What ensued, she couldn't follow. Aunty asked her if she was in pain. She said this was normal. She was a woman now. It was a good and joyous occasion (how can anything that's got to do with pain and blood be joyful?).
The toughest part was the napkin. Walking around with it was a nightmare. She soiled herself no matter what. Disposing the napkins was worse. She just couldn't get to roll it right. The newspaper always tore. She touched the blood.
She just wanted to puke.
She wanted to rewind the past 2 days. She wanted to go home to her spot near the bed. Where she spent countless nights under the blanket, trying to silence the horrific screams and sound of thrashings.
A year later, the murder attempt was forgotten. The crime already forgiven by the court of law. It was an attempt in retaliation to save one's own life. The verdict was in favor of her mother. Soon, her parents chose to be together again. Her father vowed to change his ways. And never drink. Nor abuse his wife. Her mother agreed to move in, back with him. For the sake of her daughter. For at her wedding, whenever it happened, only her father could give her away.
Her period kept coming. Every month. And she hated it. As she had only bad memories about it. Womanhood had chosen to come her way, when she had absolutely no one, to fall back on. She felt it deprived more of her, than it gave her.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
She had outgrown her blanket. It couldn't keep the sounds of the thrashings away any more. And they were also adamant. They kept coming at her with vengeance.
Like her period.
Now, when her father was hospitalized.
His arm was broken.
There was a fracture on his skull.
Looked like he'd lose one eye as well.
He had survived a murder attempt.
Her mother was also away.
Couldn't reach her or meet her.
Not even by phone.
Apparently all those privileges are denied, when you are in jail.
For attempting to murder your husband.
But her mother tried to kill him to make her survive.
Now, all that was in vain.
She was dying.
She did not deserve to die though. She was so young.
"I'm not even 12! Why me? Why now?"
She was sure it was cancer. In her tummy.
She was in pain for a day before. And now, she was bleeding from below.
She continued to stare into the bloody closet.
Her mother had been arrested the previous day. Along with her - her only child. The policemen were grilling her to see if she'd break down and give in - for conspiring with her mother, for the attempt on her father's life.
That's when Aunty, her mother's friend, walked in with a lawyer. And money. Apparently it was a serious offence. Trying to murder someone. That too a man. The victim being a policeman did not help.
Her mother couldn't be let go on bail. But she was allowed to walk out with the duo. Aunty magnanimously offered to take her home. She was thankful that she didn't have to spend the night under the prying eyes of the officers at the police station. She was always scared of policemen.
She was surprised at how calm Aunty's home was. Uncle was also very nice. He was not drunk at night nor was he screaming at Aunty. They had dinner together and uncle even offered a prayer! He hugged his 2 boys before they went to bed. He did not threaten to kill them, when Aunty went to sleep.
Her stomach pain started soon. She somehow managed to sleep through it. But she woke up feeling wet. She was so ashamed that she wet the bed and rushed into the bathroom to change before anyone else knew.
She did not expect to see blood.
She was wondering if she should tell Aunty or just accept her slow death.
The knock on the door brought her back to her senses. Aunty stood there. With her bed sheets rolled into a bundle, in her hands. She offered her some kind of a white tissue and asked, 'Is this your first period?'
What ensued, she couldn't follow. Aunty asked her if she was in pain. She said this was normal. She was a woman now. It was a good and joyous occasion (how can anything that's got to do with pain and blood be joyful?).
The toughest part was the napkin. Walking around with it was a nightmare. She soiled herself no matter what. Disposing the napkins was worse. She just couldn't get to roll it right. The newspaper always tore. She touched the blood.
She just wanted to puke.
She wanted to rewind the past 2 days. She wanted to go home to her spot near the bed. Where she spent countless nights under the blanket, trying to silence the horrific screams and sound of thrashings.
A year later, the murder attempt was forgotten. The crime already forgiven by the court of law. It was an attempt in retaliation to save one's own life. The verdict was in favor of her mother. Soon, her parents chose to be together again. Her father vowed to change his ways. And never drink. Nor abuse his wife. Her mother agreed to move in, back with him. For the sake of her daughter. For at her wedding, whenever it happened, only her father could give her away.
Her period kept coming. Every month. And she hated it. As she had only bad memories about it. Womanhood had chosen to come her way, when she had absolutely no one, to fall back on. She felt it deprived more of her, than it gave her.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
She had outgrown her blanket. It couldn't keep the sounds of the thrashings away any more. And they were also adamant. They kept coming at her with vengeance.
Like her period.
Saturday, April 27, 2019
Lotus
She was a care-free child. When you are born as the sixth one, among eleven children, you just grow into being one.
You cannot sulk or demand. You are part of a crowd. First, you are taken care of, by your elder siblings. And then, you assume the role of a mother to your younger siblings. That you, yourself, might hardly be three did not matter. That was how it was done, those days. Parents conjugate. And in parenting, children partake.
She was nicknamed the Arachar, or the Hang-woman, because once she took the cattle to feed. There were pastures and forests, near home. Also, buying feed for cattle was unheard of, those days. She tied one of the goats, closer to a cliff. The over-enthusiastic animal, must have been seduced by some greenery on the other side and took a jump. Only to get the noose tightened around its neck and prematurely end its life, hanging off the cliff, like a convict sentenced to death by hanging. It was an amateurish mistake. But the name stuck on for the rest of her life.
She was also known as the 'Kannakku-pillai', as she was good with Maths and Finance. As she turned a teenager, she also turned to be her father's close confidante.
She grew into a beautiful woman. Her wheat-ish skin, long face, slender body and thick black tresses brought home alliances from many prospective grooms. Her father chose a government servant - someone who was employed as a Teacher in a distant land. He had a permanent job - unlike many of her sisters' husbands. That meant a permanent income. And food on her plate until he retired. And just like that one day, she was married and gone. Taken 400 kms away from home.
Years moved on. Her husband turned out to be a drunk. And her mother-in-law needed someone to blame. 2 children came along, somehow.
Her husband would go to work every morning, dressed impeccably, not a hair out of place, not a crease on his stiffly-ironed shirt, nor a speck of dirt on his neatly brushed sandals. But he came home drunk every night, and turned into a demon who hated his wife and children the most. Only his mother could approach him, who gladly ensured that his wife or children would never occupy that spot.
She was an amazing cook. Whatever she touched, she turned into the most delicious meal. Sometimes she wondered if she was still a wife, only because her food impressed.
At times, when the thrashings became unbearable at night, she would pack her few sarees into her small suitcase and walk into the darkness, carrying her two children. Their solace was a huge jack-fruit tree at the corner of their plot. Its long, protruding roots were like beds and also made for a good hiding place.
As daylight came, she would sneak back in, with the children sleeping on her. She'd go about her chores like an obedient wife - pressing her husband's clothes as he needed to look spotless while taking classes, and also packing his lunch, as he wouldn't touch what his mother cooked.
But, she always wrote happy letters to all, back home. Not because she wanted to cover up. She was genuinely happy. Women those days, did not know other ways. They thought this is how life is meant to be. Men drink. Women adjust. She also knew she could not go back to her old parents. She did not know where to go looking for a job. She did not know any other way of living. But to depend on a man - who never acknowledged her, or appreciated her. She had to bring up her 2 children.
She remained true to her name - the Lotus. She overcame all hardships and kept her head high above murky waters. No one could see her stalks, which were rooted well below in the stinky mud. Like the Lotus, she bloomed every morning. Beautifully.
She never possessed anything of value - a bangle made in gold was a beautiful dream. Asking the husband to spare a few rupees to gift her parents, was shameful. A vacation with her children and husband, was ridiculed as being an over ambitious ask. And the request for tiled house, instead of a leaky thatched one - was nipped in the bud.
The only thing she was religiously granted was the opportunity to run out in fear almost every night hugging her only 3 possessions, and the graciousness to walk back in the next morning, without any questions asked. It was as if she were a tape recorder stuck on loop. This was her life for over 25 years.
Until one day, her husband died. She was well into her fifties by then. But her responsibilities were far from over.
She saw that her children completed their education, and found jobs. Got them married. Worked along with them, to help built their tiled houses. Rejoiced in the birth of her grand children.
Everyone said she was lucky, as her hardships had paid off. Her children adored her. She was an old woman now. Over sixty. She could finally rest.
But destiny had something else in store.
She had been having pain in her abdomen for a while now. It never took priority - because all women are used to ranking the comforts of their children, grand children, friends, immediate kin, neighbors, other relatives first, before they even think of themselves. Her mother had passed a few years ago. She was well into her eighties. She knew that she'd also live a long life. It was in her genes.
But one day, when the pain was unbearable, she knew some thing was wrong deep inside. She decided to get herself scanned.
She hadn't inherited any wealth from her mother. But she inherited uterus cancer from her, in her sixties. She beat her mother at it, by a good twenty years.
Reluctantly, she started treatment. Chemotherapy and radiation kept the growth in check. At the cancer Institute, she'd keep herself entertained counting the innumerable queues of patients ahead of her, waiting to be called. She'd come back home crest fallen - not for what she was going through. But empathising with other cancer patients - 3 month old babies, girls who had turned teens or men who had just landed their first jobs. She'd criticize how fate was cruel to them. Wonder out loud what they had done to go through so much pain.
Over a decade passed. The scans were phased out, from every month to every six months, from every year to once in 2 years. Her fragile body seemed to have beat the odds. Everyone thought that the Aarachar had indeed managed to hang the disease to death, before it could.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday, she was detected with a relapse. The cancer had spread to other parts of the body. To what extent, no one knows yet.
She was seen last packing her suitcase, with her new sarees.
I'm sure she'll sneak back in, right into our lives blooming like a Lotus.
Beating cancer, like she'd beat life so far.
My dear Aunty, I know you will!
You cannot sulk or demand. You are part of a crowd. First, you are taken care of, by your elder siblings. And then, you assume the role of a mother to your younger siblings. That you, yourself, might hardly be three did not matter. That was how it was done, those days. Parents conjugate. And in parenting, children partake.
She was nicknamed the Arachar, or the Hang-woman, because once she took the cattle to feed. There were pastures and forests, near home. Also, buying feed for cattle was unheard of, those days. She tied one of the goats, closer to a cliff. The over-enthusiastic animal, must have been seduced by some greenery on the other side and took a jump. Only to get the noose tightened around its neck and prematurely end its life, hanging off the cliff, like a convict sentenced to death by hanging. It was an amateurish mistake. But the name stuck on for the rest of her life.
She was also known as the 'Kannakku-pillai', as she was good with Maths and Finance. As she turned a teenager, she also turned to be her father's close confidante.
She grew into a beautiful woman. Her wheat-ish skin, long face, slender body and thick black tresses brought home alliances from many prospective grooms. Her father chose a government servant - someone who was employed as a Teacher in a distant land. He had a permanent job - unlike many of her sisters' husbands. That meant a permanent income. And food on her plate until he retired. And just like that one day, she was married and gone. Taken 400 kms away from home.
Years moved on. Her husband turned out to be a drunk. And her mother-in-law needed someone to blame. 2 children came along, somehow.
Her husband would go to work every morning, dressed impeccably, not a hair out of place, not a crease on his stiffly-ironed shirt, nor a speck of dirt on his neatly brushed sandals. But he came home drunk every night, and turned into a demon who hated his wife and children the most. Only his mother could approach him, who gladly ensured that his wife or children would never occupy that spot.
She was an amazing cook. Whatever she touched, she turned into the most delicious meal. Sometimes she wondered if she was still a wife, only because her food impressed.
As daylight came, she would sneak back in, with the children sleeping on her. She'd go about her chores like an obedient wife - pressing her husband's clothes as he needed to look spotless while taking classes, and also packing his lunch, as he wouldn't touch what his mother cooked.
But, she always wrote happy letters to all, back home. Not because she wanted to cover up. She was genuinely happy. Women those days, did not know other ways. They thought this is how life is meant to be. Men drink. Women adjust. She also knew she could not go back to her old parents. She did not know where to go looking for a job. She did not know any other way of living. But to depend on a man - who never acknowledged her, or appreciated her. She had to bring up her 2 children.
She remained true to her name - the Lotus. She overcame all hardships and kept her head high above murky waters. No one could see her stalks, which were rooted well below in the stinky mud. Like the Lotus, she bloomed every morning. Beautifully.
She never possessed anything of value - a bangle made in gold was a beautiful dream. Asking the husband to spare a few rupees to gift her parents, was shameful. A vacation with her children and husband, was ridiculed as being an over ambitious ask. And the request for tiled house, instead of a leaky thatched one - was nipped in the bud.
The only thing she was religiously granted was the opportunity to run out in fear almost every night hugging her only 3 possessions, and the graciousness to walk back in the next morning, without any questions asked. It was as if she were a tape recorder stuck on loop. This was her life for over 25 years.
Until one day, her husband died. She was well into her fifties by then. But her responsibilities were far from over.
She saw that her children completed their education, and found jobs. Got them married. Worked along with them, to help built their tiled houses. Rejoiced in the birth of her grand children.
Everyone said she was lucky, as her hardships had paid off. Her children adored her. She was an old woman now. Over sixty. She could finally rest.
But destiny had something else in store.
She had been having pain in her abdomen for a while now. It never took priority - because all women are used to ranking the comforts of their children, grand children, friends, immediate kin, neighbors, other relatives first, before they even think of themselves. Her mother had passed a few years ago. She was well into her eighties. She knew that she'd also live a long life. It was in her genes.
But one day, when the pain was unbearable, she knew some thing was wrong deep inside. She decided to get herself scanned.
She hadn't inherited any wealth from her mother. But she inherited uterus cancer from her, in her sixties. She beat her mother at it, by a good twenty years.
Reluctantly, she started treatment. Chemotherapy and radiation kept the growth in check. At the cancer Institute, she'd keep herself entertained counting the innumerable queues of patients ahead of her, waiting to be called. She'd come back home crest fallen - not for what she was going through. But empathising with other cancer patients - 3 month old babies, girls who had turned teens or men who had just landed their first jobs. She'd criticize how fate was cruel to them. Wonder out loud what they had done to go through so much pain.
Over a decade passed. The scans were phased out, from every month to every six months, from every year to once in 2 years. Her fragile body seemed to have beat the odds. Everyone thought that the Aarachar had indeed managed to hang the disease to death, before it could.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday, she was detected with a relapse. The cancer had spread to other parts of the body. To what extent, no one knows yet.
She was seen last packing her suitcase, with her new sarees.
I'm sure she'll sneak back in, right into our lives blooming like a Lotus.
Beating cancer, like she'd beat life so far.
My dear Aunty, I know you will!
Thursday, April 4, 2019
Another Day
Oh! It's a lovely day!
Sorrow - keep going another way...
As I'm keeping everything else at bay -
And choosing only happiness today...
So, please, oh please! Let me stay...
You can come by later, I pray...
If you still wish to join me anyway
Come jump in, let's play!
Sorrow - keep going another way...
As I'm keeping everything else at bay -
And choosing only happiness today...
So, please, oh please! Let me stay...
You can come by later, I pray...
If you still wish to join me anyway
Come jump in, let's play!
Wednesday, April 3, 2019
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