Category Archives: Fiction

Yamuna

I walked past you today

Oh, pregnant river

 

You were in the earth

Where I used to tread

 

Sinuously swirling

You called out to me

 

Enchanted I stopped

To take a look

 

Swollen, full

You almost seduced me

 

In the yonder

I saw your mate

 

I decided to hurry

Past you

 

But you linger on

In my memory

 

Oh wretched one

I know your games

 

I belong to you

I know that, don’t you

 

But I am not ready

To be a part of you

 

One fine day

When the sun will shine

 

I will tread gently

On your loving waters

 

Unafraid that your hungry belly

Will consume me

 

You dangerous one

You will want to drown me

 

But I will be ready

To swim instead

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Enraged and Powerless

Updated: A friend and I have started an online campaign, a petition for harsher punishment and stricter laws. I  would be grateful if you could add your signature to the campaign.

http://www.avaaz.org/en/petition/Harsh_Punishment_for_Perpetrators_of_the_Delhi_Gangrape_Victim_Incident/?fXnzNdb&pv=1

—————

Rage against this heinous crime is not enough. Action is required. Voices need to come in unity. They need to be loud and strong. They need to say that this is not acceptable. That the perpetrators need to be bought to justice. That men need to be sensitized. That women are not objects of gratification. That they don’t need to be shown there place in the society – subversive, powerless, pawns in a game of power. That a woman walking down a street, using public or private transport is not fair game for any man. That the first thought a woman shouldn’t have when she looks at a man, while she is walking down a street, is he going to rape me?

The ‘issue’, now reaching endemic proportions, needs a strong lobby which helps change the law, creating such fear that a man would think twice before doing this to a woman. We need the Supreme Court to take suo moto action and order current court cases of rape victims be expedited. We need to make the people understand that these women are ‘survivors’.

The fact that we only talk about the crime and not the psychological and physical scars which it leaves behinds for the survivors forever shield us from its sheer devastating effect on a woman.

I hope one day, we will say – enough is enough. We will demand answers. We will demand safety. We will not be powerless. We will not hear – it’s her fault.

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Life in My Hands

Sometimes I wonder
What the lines
On my hands mean

They hide my past
And tell my future

They tell stories
Which I wouldn’t
Want to reveal

They tell of
Struggles and misfortunes
Which are yet to befall

And may be love and life
Which will be well lived

At times they just
Seem like random lines
Drawn on the whim of God

Squiggles, curves, crosses
Faint and sometimes dark

And yet they are meant
To tell a story
Which is uniquely mine

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Untitled

The colour of sunflower

Turning into the blue

Of the sea

 

The vast open sky

Suddenly turning asphalt

 

Grumbling like an

Empty stomach

 

I can hear you

Coming my way

Before I can feel

 

Soaked in the water

Of your mighty vastness

 

In the zephyr

Beneath your wings

 

You can destroy me

If you want

With your ferocity

 

But then I will

be free

 

Feeling you in my

Skin and my soul

 

——————

 

Poem inspired by the Delhi weather as scorching heat suddenly gave way to rains.

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Filed under Fiction, Me

The Girl

The hospital was surrounded by lush green trees. On closer examination, she found out that they were Mango and Guava trees. It was the beginning of summer and the small green mangoes hung from the branches, waiting to ripen, waiting to fall down.

As she walked down the dusty brown path, the building started to emerge from behind the trees. It was a dilapidated single story white building. Unsure, she walked inside.

The doctor took her palms in his hand. He joined them together, examined them separately, followed the lines on her hand and shook his head.

“There is pain. I can see it,” said he.

She nodded her head.

“Hmm. It’s in the sole of your foot. Right under your big toe. ”

She nodded faintly again.

“Its travelling up your legs.” He pinched her calf to indicate its trajectory. Suddenly, she realized that there was a dull pain which she hadn’t noticed before.

He asked her to come again the next day.

But she lay in her bed, for the first time, acknowledging the pain, feeling it, feeling alive because of it.

Tears suddenly sprung in her eyes. The reason unfathomable.

She woke up one day, listening to the birds chirping. She decided to take a walk in the garden. But the pain in her foot, in her calf, in her thighs, made it very hard to walk. She said aloud, albeit to herself, “It looks like I am dragging my feet.” And then she smiled as she pondered over the duality of what she had spoken.

She decided that she would visit the doctor again. But the hot summer sun deterred her.

Weeks and months passed as she listlessly lived through the motions of life. The grey clouds and dampness of monsoon worsened her condition. The pain was now embedded in her body, between muscle and tissue, fat and skin, between the organs which breathe life and pump blood, in spaces which she didn’t know.

The early October nip in the air, woke her up from a deep slumber. The pain had spread to her gazelle like neck, delicate shoulders and even lined the contours of her face. She made her way to the hospital. The lush green trees were now shedding their leaves, green turning red and yellow, branches dancing naked in the cool wind.

She stood transfixed by the motion, by the gentle falling of leaves. She felt she was dancing with them, swaying with them, touching the earth and settling into stillness.

A figure in white was moving towards her. She smiled. A momentary freedom from pain. And then blackness enveloped her, like a blanket of night.

The doctor sighed as he wrote the report.

Cause of Death: Sadness.

——-

* This piece of fiction is protected under creative commons copyright.

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