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

NAVRATRI SNAPSHOTS 2015



•  A 40 years old, mother of two teenagers is distributing ice-cream sticks on the road near her apartment complex to street children. Some of them pre-teen and teenage boys, soon she is being pulled and groped and loud whistles and leering and she runs back inside the gated residential complex. The misguided kids enjoy the free ice-cream, aunty goes back to her condo, runs a hot bath and all that remains of the incident are the wrappers piled on the footpath.
  When we let go of any incidents as minor incidents of street harassment, don’t we pave way for far more dire incidents?
  What makes our boys believe they are entitled to rowdy behaviour ?Is our "Charity" misguided?

•  I am watching news, my little one who is unaware of the technical gross details of sexual violence and RAPE, knows the word and knows that it is a cruel and bad thing to do to anyone. She stops colouring and after overhearing bits and pieces of a debate over the rape of two minors, she asks, "Mumma why do people hate and hurt little girls , so much? " I have no convincing answers.

• In a neighbourhood Kirtan, almost every other song or line has the word "laal" (red), traditionally the colour for married women ( Saubhagyavatis), those singing these lines loudest are widowed mothers, sisters and wives , sitting in a corner away from the deity, the inauspicious women.

• Not far from the Indian capital two little children are charred to death because they were not fortunate enough to be born upper caste, we look away and feel we have done our bit for the future kids of this country by distributing a few plates of poori-halwa.

•P : Mumma we Indians are generally brown you said , because of our genes and race and ,and climate.

Me: Yes dear.

P: Then why are all the goddesses fair, other than Kaali?

Me: ahmm....

P: and why don't they make Kaali beautiful? If a woman becomes angry does she become ugly?

I have taken some time from her to answer these difficult questions.

Festival Musings : The prayer might not influence God,but it changes the one who prays.

• What we give is always less than what we get from life. ALWAYS.
• Being a good human being is the essence, the rest are all decoration in every religion.
• Rituals should share the joy not highlight the differences.

Years ago in a small village in Himachal year after year I would celebrate Shivratri the way it is done in the hills. Each family is Parvati's house and each year the Neelkanth, Ishaan, SHIVA comes to them as a groom.

No fancy lights, no artificial decoration.
home cooked delicacies
shared goodies and love.
singing ,dancing in mud kitchens kept warm and dimly lighted by a fire.

SIMPLICITY the order of the day.

Now just another day.

 

Diwali once more

His eyes shine like that of a hungry kitten as the headlights of the car reflects in them. He is 6 or 7 eldest of 4 siblings and its a cold winter night in the North. Its Diwali today, his mother and youngest sister are shivering in high fever in their dimly lit hut in the slums. His father is missing with his drinking pals.  The other two are with him on the other side of the road rummaging the garbage through their freezing hands to find a coin that people may have thrown during the rituals or a big unused cracker that they could  sell. The headlights are too close but he has just spotted a ten rupee coin. He bends forward but is slightly late to bend back. His suffering is over.


The heavy embroidered saree is in place. the long artificial plait swings as she moves to the beat of the drum and sings aloud as if enjoying the attention from the neighbouring balconies and windows. The negotiations are louder than the songs, the juniors follow her lead in singing and negotiating. The servant serves them some juice in those separate glasses kept for the workers. The drummer stuffs the sweets and clothes into the bag. The lady of the house tells them to do their thing outside and not come in. The head eunuch blesses the new couple "May you have a son  soon !"


It is so easy and convenient to take two polarised views about Diwali

1. We work hard all year why shouldn't we celebrate, spend money, burst crackers, exchange gifts?
2. green Diwali, austere Diwali, socially aware Diwali

Ask the Margins
dear Power Center
your debates are useless
they change NOTHING.

Diwali once more.
 

Diwali Depression

Smile at the lights
try to measure
the nothingness
in the gaps
in between

the flickers of opulence
trying hard to light up
the dark long
nights of sadness.

KYUN BURA NA MANO,AGAR HOLI HAI !

Almost two decades ago I was about 11 or 12 and for no apparent reason averse to Holi. Although living in pristine Shimla of the eighties I did enjoy playing in snow every winter with friends of both genders but Holi never inspired me enough.

It was Holi again and I was locked in my room all day,all the neighborhood girls did the same,only boys did venture out to throw colored water balloons and shout BURA NA MANO HOLI HAI ! ( don't mind,its holi !)

As is still the norm in most places,by evening the color games had halted and most families had settled down to spend a holiday evening together.Every evening I used to walk about 100 meters from my house to fetch milk for the next morning and because every thing looked sober now I walked to the booth as usual.On my way back about 50 meters away from my house in the narrow gali ,this man who ran a pan-bidi shop in the neighborhood sprang out suddenly from a corner and looked every bit inebriated.I stepped back to give him way,when he was about an arms length away from me he suddenly took out a handful of gulaal from his pocket and just because he was a couple of feet taller than me rubbed it in my hair very harshly shouting HAPPY HOLI.

I dropped the milk packets and ran home,mom kept asking me what happened and when I couldn't say what exactly happened she presumed some friend from the neighborhood had played a prank.

My evening stroll after that day did not happen for many years till I was older,stronger and probably more mature to handle a similar situation,if need be.I told mom what had exactly happened only a couple of days later and she did take it up with that man only to get a denial from his side,saying he never remembered doing any of that.

Many years later I realized that was my first brush with crude public harassment,maybe it could have happened to anyone who is physically weaker in any given situation,but when you are a woman in India numerous incidents of the same nature later make you conclude that maybe it happens more to girls and women and especially on festivals like HOLI.

The trauma of such incidents does not go away easily and I now realize keeping women indoors and SAFE is no solution.Why have we become so twisted that a festival has to be loud,noisy,drunk and ostentatious to be celebrated?

So whether its Holi or whatever do not take the argument that all is good in the name of  a festival.

SAVE HOLI

FESTIVAL

Lights ,delicacies
songs and dance
prayers and wishes
on a calendar date

but its only when
the heart glows
the spirit dances to the
mysterious rhythms of life
the soul celebrates
its secret festival !

LIGHT

The light is often within
whether its a humble diya
an imported candle
a Chinese string of mini bulbs
or the human heart


it takes a small
spark somewhere
a meeting of the
negative and positive 
to ignite and illuminate


so then the light within
is the only light
that can dispel the darkness


HAPPY FESTIVAL OF LIGHTS !

FESTIVAL

It is that time
of the year again
its raining opulence
stinking affluence


the markets 
doing brisk business
homes and people
putting up new make-up
to cover 
last year's scars.


the toxic mithai
and the anti-crackers campaign
coexisting
in the rants and raves
section of the
supermarkets erstwhile
known as a festival


a capricious thorn
of guilt making
some uneasy
while others 
taking the placebo
of overlooking
the obvious disparity
of happiness.


The old lady deepavali
envies the Belgian chocolates
and the designer candles
the young diwali 
too drunk for comprehending
the beauty of an earthen lamp
or homemade burfi
clearly in a hangover.


the lights will be beautiful
but will the happiness
be unplagiarized ?