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Showing posts with label 2017. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2017. Show all posts

Monday, April 2, 2018

Be not become (#LifeLessons from #SocialMedia) #FlashFiction #AprilA2Z





Disha had a long day at the bank today. March was full of overload. 

In an attempt to start on a new series of accounts next morning she had missed her chartered bus and was now on board a crowded DTC bus full of tired office-goers mostly like her.

As soon as she was lucky to grab a ladies’ seat, her phone pinged, Sudhir from the head office. They had been chatting on Whatsapp for a month now.

“So what’s up babe!”

“Tired, driving back to home.”

After a long pause -“J right behind you, last seat in the bus.”


Sunday, April 1, 2018

Appearances are Deceptive (#LifeLessons from #SocialMedia) #FlashFiction #AprilA2Z





Sia had “met” Sid on a facebook group for singles, the profile was sketchy, no personal pictures but he explained it was because of his Army job and his rather messy on going divorce. 

The Whatsapp picture too was hazy and made him look like easily about 20 years older than her.

They chatted more and more intensely. Finally they met and to Sia’s surprise it was a handsome 40 years old, sober and sensible man, not the sex-obsessed freak oldie she had imagined him to be. The Whatsapp DP was definitely photoshopped. She had passed his test.


Here is a list of all my A to Z challenge 2018 posts

Thursday, March 15, 2018

Wound




he examines the burn
only the visible
severity of a pain

gentle dressing
is not life's choice
for me

with a scalpel
without anesthesia
life opens 
the wounds

and forgets
the sutures later on !

Sunday, March 11, 2018

Candy Shop



standing outside 
life's candy shop
I count my pennies

the shiny price tags
all beyond me
peace, love, success
in their shiny jars

like nasty kids
sticking out their tongues
they silently smirk and 
say L-O-S-E-R

I can't surely afford
what I want
and would never want
what my pennies can buy

so I turn around
and throw the pennies
above my head
making a wish

that some other kid
might pick them up
and have her dream
fulfilled !


Saturday, March 3, 2018

the last time...




Do you remember the last time....







  • you were a child and sat in a parent's lap
  • you believed in superheroes and magic
  • you hid a candy to have it later
  • you looked in the mirror and cried
  • you put a coin in a piggy bank
  • you held a deceased parent's shriveled hand
  • you put your tired head on a friend's shoulder
  • you felt the warmth of a loved one next to you
  • you saw someone smile and it melted your heart
  • you saw a sunset and it didn't make you sad
  • you read an obituary and said a prayer
  • you saw a couple in love and smiled
  • you brushed your fingertips on a baby's cheek
  • you let a cup of tea get cold waiting for someone
the beauty and cruelty 
of every last time is
that you don't know it's the last

the last time !


Thursday, February 22, 2018

Rigor Mortis Revisited




Science says
brain shall live
ten minutes
after death

before the memory center

the last one to die
flashes a slideshow
of life gone by

so lets pick the slides



  • my father's snowboots
  • Shimla's cedars whistling
  • little fingers dipped in paint
  • a dark lonely corridor
  • the smell of books
  • first blood in panties
  • the rush of a love letter
  • first dead body
  • waves and sand
  • scars and bruises
  • cobbled streets of Brugge
  • touch of a surgical blade
  • a Sufi shrine
  • a little Buddha
  • two small feet kicking
  • Ardas in a Gurdwara
  • papers and destiny
  • Screens and calls
  • blinking cursor



the last moment of my
Rigor Mortis love

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

Scatter

Disperse neuron by neuron
back into the cosmos
let them be obsessed
with their self-created I's

pore by pore dilute yourself
be soluble in your lover
Scatter like stardust in a galaxy
not like shards of a broken mirror

have the courage to be vulnerable
break like a wave at the shore
in his skin, his eyes and his soul
like dew dissipates on petals


Monday, February 19, 2018

The Body of a Woman





I tell my toes to let go
of the circles they drew in sand
across several beaches
and the soles to remember
the sinking as the waves
withdrew their love

I tell my legs to let go
all memories of the difficult walks
the calves to remember 
the fatigues of love
and the thighs the longing 
to relax and spread
without fear or shame

I tell the vagina
to let go of the cliches
and know its name
to remember the pleasures
and the pain
and own the mystery
of the feminine mytsique

I tell the belly
to let go of the hungers
of the body and soul
and remember the stretch marks
are medals of honour
from time and sometimes motherhood
very few in the world have the privilge
of being home to another

I tell the breasts
to let go of fears, of stares
and remember only the caresses
of a lover's gaze
or that fuzzy feeling
of being a woman, whenever
someone seeks your warmth and comfort

I tell the heart
to let go the beating
when life gets too much
and remember those that fight all life
also have a right to fall
to go quiet in their invisibility
and not complain at all

I tell the lips
to let go of words, mere words
and instead remember to have a voice
that will say each word
as the heart prompts 
and whenever say LOVE mean it

I tell the eyes to let go
dust and roughness of time
and wash yourself regularly
with your secret saline waterfalls
to see the smiles in other eyes
and to close the lids
self-hypnotize

I tell the mind
(if its still there)
to let go of control
and listen to these individuals 
that give it the throne
and remember that the soul must go
onward to never return.


Thursday, February 8, 2018

Eleutheromania




Guns and roses
remember the cassettes 
redundant now
like first love

flakes of snow
on closed eyelids
memories melt
courtesies go

like logs flowing down
mountainous river
with bruises of time
years flow

delirium isn't a word
detachment is a challenge
when soul is a shrine
and chants just one name
like a stuck lego

my body is a 
life sentence
do you know?

fresh diagnosis:
Eleutheromania
the patient must celebrate 
this Valentine's day
as a final let go !

Sunday, December 24, 2017

Gift

“First we feel. Then we fall.”


― James Joyce



in all cuts and fabrics
I wear only funeral blacks
in spite the pulse 
and the heart beat
there are moments 
of death, so vivid
that I fear
by this year end
my corpse will start rotting
the worms of your words
eating the core
of my heart
and then slowly
your oblivion
towards my pain
will stop hurting
time for new year gift!
dress me as a bride
and please buy me 
a lovely coffin
called love !

Tuesday, December 19, 2017

Burial

“In the dark times 
Will there also be singing? 
Yes, there will also be singing.
About the dark times.” 

― Bertolt Brecht 



My body touches
smiles, loves, hates
feels 
while the soul
drowns in
a deafening silence

no bubbles reach
the surface
no ripples

the still waters
of life
choke my lungs
no songs now
no more words

I am buried
where you can't
light candles !



Saturday, December 2, 2017

Her love was a migratory bird



She a still lake
in the middle of nowhere
He a Red Knot
flying 16,000 kilometres 
twice a year
from his "home"
called Siberia

no maps, no compass
- only soul 
his geomagnetic field
- only love
sun during the day
stars by night
leading him to her

he built a nest
in her 
and then  
she set him free
back to the sky
where he was meant to be
as she held his image
in her still womb
her love was
a migratory bird !

Saturday, November 11, 2017

Nebulous Love



like a diligent
skilled archaeologist
his hands brush the dust
of time from her skin

under her closed eyelids
dreams long abandoned
awakened by a gentle 
caress of his lips

Old songs
find their lost lyrics
Skin discovers 
 new hieroglyphics

he opens her
fold after fold
leaving a trail of desire
and love tattooed in

bodies read souls
free of space and time
like the last expert linguist 
reading a forgotten language
like nebulous bruises
from a bursting galaxy! 


Tuesday, October 31, 2017

I am a Banzai skydiver poet




I am a Banzai skydiver poet


I have thrown out the parachute first

and now in a free fall

towards

myself

poem by poem

I dismantle wisdom

I remove all the safety gear

tradition,culture hierarchy

one by one

And I dive

into the free unknown

unprotected, alone

Nude.






Friday, October 20, 2017

The Women & The Buddhas of Bamiyan



The tanks called tradition
fired and fired first
next the artillery shells 
of Culture
causing scars
with its anger

the prisoners,victims once 
turned oppressors
then carried "family "
and truckloads of
love - the deadliest 
explosive to teach
the rebels to shut up


from the holy towers
of motherhood & matrimony
the rebel "idols" detonated
the killing of her "me"
self-respect in smoke
identity in burnt gunpowder
resonated

but lo and behold
as the smoke and dust settled
it was clear 
only her legs had been crippled
there she still stood
with her head held high
on her injured shoulders

fresh dynamite called
defamation was brought
and in holes as deep 
as sexual violence
planted in her heart

the planned obliteration worked
and there it was
the hollow, where
once she was

Rubble
reduced to dust
The Bamiyan Buddha
and the broken woman's trust ! 


This poem was inspired by this article : http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-31813681




Thursday, October 5, 2017

Confession of a Liar



#KazuoIshiguro

Time is itself trapped
in hours and minutes
seconds are lost firsts

the faces trapped
in the images
now even eyes lie
souls are on sale

wounds with no cure
become habits
and push the breath
in and out of my lungs

this life sentence
 house arrest in my body
I am lying when I say
'Never let me go'
Today I confess
I'm alive, is a lie.


Thursday, September 28, 2017

Namelessness of the one with a thousand names


“Few tasks are more like the torture of Sisyphus than housework, with its endless repetition: the clean becomes soiled, the soiled is made clean, over and over, day after day.”

― Simone de Beauvoir



I wash everything
I scrub it clean
along with the vessels
the vegetables
my consciousness
of any sense of me

I peel the skin
delicately
potatoes can also
look like hearts
to mad women
like me

Time looks like
a fine stainless steel grater
I grate my ego
fine, finer
so that all
my questions die

your love sharp
like a shining knife
I chop, chop,chop
my self in to
smaller pieces
so that of my "I"
remains no sign

Now I knead
mix it, dissolve it
add more water
that will bind it fast
to make a stiff dough
of tradition
against which I punch
my knuckles
till they hurt,never bleed

the oil heats like
my simmering soul
In the wok of your
grand celebration

I deep fry
the remains of 
my hard work, pride
self-worth and name

The festive feast 
for your Devi
Venerate, celebrate her
who isn't nameless like me but  
who has a thousand names* !


* Durga- the Hindu deity is believed to have a thousand names




Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Why Complain?





There is an iron mold
hard, stiff and cold

they all have to fit in
goddess, bitch, 
wife or whore

each in their own frame
and why complain?

they have the pedestals
the whore-houses
homes and tombs

what good is empowerment
 without a man
work for him ,birth progeny
provide pleasure
take his name
why complain?

Feminism is only
for the mad single women
who waste their lives
asking questions
in vain
you the good women
must be seen not heard
you the "devi"
the maa and the behan**
why complain?



*mother, ** sister but here used together to indicate sexist abuses in Hindi

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Yes I have a Vagina ! #KanganaRanaut #AIB






Recently AIB launched a parody video featuring Kangana Ranaut is not only probably her personal stance about sexism and nepotism in Bollywood but to extend the metaphor is also a reflection of the conventional cliches that dictate most of Indian men-women relationships at large as well.

She outdoes her Aap ki Adalat interview here taking a satirical and musical dig at what is wrong with the Indian ideal male hood.
At the onset the heroine is asked- Who are you? , a question that haunts most women in a traditional setup where largely still even their last names are not a choice but denote them “belonging” to father/husband’s family. At best they only get recognized as “love interest” of the hero in films and as wife/girlfriend/spouse of a certain so and so.


The lady being a physicist/scientist or any other professional is of little interest and while her opinion is dismissed as just a “cute” whim the same opinion from a male is THE WORD, and widely accepted as intelligent speak.


Women must be seen not heard is still like the default brief in Indian patriarchal psyche whether it’s the hero, director( symbolically other men/women in authority) , just titillate and look good, no need to use your mind or voice. As one of her female co-star says in the video, “….don't say anything just smile and dance.”


The woman asserts- I have self-respect, yes like most “modern” women would and not just remained confined to “smoke a cigarette and abuse brand of modern womanhood”, and that becomes the point of conflict in most relationships.

In a satirical vein the lady touches lots of raw veins that still hurt a lot of women in real life too – social approval for older man/younger woman relationship (even if it’s almost pedophilia kind of an age difference) but older woman/younger man and she becomes the cradle snatcher. Older heroines pushed to the margin selling detergents/soaps just like women are after marriage/motherhood while men can still be Casanovas and male leads.


The lady also talks about cleavage being used to sell products, no carbs to have perfect bodies to be objectified because we have a vagina.


The glass ceiling in getting better opportunities, in getting better pay for same work, in men having entitlement to call the shots is not just a Bollywood thing but an everyday reality for most women. 


Their work pre-defined to reduce themselves to being showpieces and remaining lesser than and/or dependent on men , though symbolically putting the name first in the casting or “giving” them progressive roles in homes and outside seems to be the favor men are doing.

The mansplaining throughout is so real in everyday situations and relationships and the last nail is how when a woman speaks she is not even “allowed” to own her bad-ass card but labelled as playing the victim card.


More voice to every girl who doesn't mince her words !! 
Yes We have a Vagina !!

Friday, September 8, 2017

Warrior Women





The fragile-brave woman
who refuses
to kill
an unborn girl
and stands by 
her daughters
through every storm

the little girl
who insists
"education"
in the face of
a terror regime
and a gun to her head

the young woman
who speaks
periods, breasts
and abuse
without the shackle of 
honor, 
fear or shame

the survivor
who battles a 
crime
violence or a
fatal disease
but doesn't compromise
her mind,voice or name

the old woman
who lets go
of centuries of do's & don'ts 
and stands with the girls
against the men

warriors all
in words, thoughts
and essence !
All Warrior Women !





This post is for a Blogathon titled WARRIOR WOMEN here @ Women's Web

When a Greek pirate ship sails in to loot the wealth of the Cholas, it is brutally defeated by the navy and forced to pay a compensation. A payment that includes a twelve-year-old girl, Aremis. Check out this new historical novel Empire (
http://bit.ly/DeviEmpire) with a warrior woman, Aremis at the heart of the novel.

Keywords

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The Human Bean Cafe, Ontario

The Human Bean Cafe, Ontario
my work on display there !!!!!