Friday, May 15, 2015

The female sweeper who has won in life

I went alone to a mall to watch a movie and entered too early, so I was passing my time, window-shopping, and essentially doing nothing interesting.  I went to the washroom and went inside a cubicle. Then, I happened to eavesdrop on a conversation that was to change a bit of me forever.
A female voice, was talking to another one. The conversation went like this ( it was in Hindi-Haryanvi, I am giving my translation here)

A: He left me, and now I have to put up a display of calm and composure in front of a stranger and get married to him. Parents want it, I don't. But that does not matter, does it now?

B: You still love him?

A: Of course I do. How can I stop loving him? But you don't know what he did. And what happened.
   You know why he left me? Because his parents did not find my caste suitable. We are of the same caste, but the same caste has its own variations ( she said- ab jaati me bhi aur jaatiyan hai. It struck me hard.)

B: Didn't he fight it out?

A: Ha! Fight it out? He succumbed. His father, in front of him, his mom and me, told him that my family is of the lower category, and cannot bring much dowry, and that he deserves better.

B: What did he say?

A: He kept quiet. We met after two days, and he told me to forget him. I said it will be hard, because, yes, we have had physical relationship also. But I was surprised when he said something when I brought the sex part. He said, it was you who wanted it. I was never looking for it. I wanted your happiness so I did it. I am not attached to you anyway. I loved you, but now circumstances are different. We have to stop meeting.

B: Why do you love him still?

A: I love him because I am human. Human flaw makes me love him ( she said- insaan hone ki galti se pyaar kia, I don't know if my translation does justice to this).  But now I know the condition of women in our society ( aurat ki aukat samajh me aagayi mujhe)

B: What did you tell him?

A: I told him just one thing. And he could not say anything. I told him, "The fact that you could not stand up to your parents, is not your mistake. That is how you have been brought up, and that is how you will think. But I will never forget that you once loved me, because that was the actual you ( wo tumhari asliyat thi) but this incident shows me how society eats up the individual ( samaaj aadmi ko khaa jaata hai). I gave him a hug, and blessed him for life. Tomorrow my parents have set a man up to see me. I am going to just tell him one thing- meri naukri, meri insaaniyat, mere aurat hone ka haq agar chheenna hai, to shaadi mat karo. ( if you want to rob me out of my job, my humanity and my right to be a woman, don't marry me)

Then she said something about time, and the voices dropped. I quickly came out of the cubicle and I wanted to talk to the woman, hug her, tell her that I have listened to her and she has taught me so much, I saw there was no one. I did not even see her face to recognise her somewhere and tell her how much she has won in life. A random voice, in a random Delhi Mall, helped me understand the greater reality of our country.

I wanted to leave a note saying that she is a winner, but sometimes, you have to live with regrets. That voice, is the voice of a woman, an everywoman in India. Maybe, I was never destined to see her. Maybe, these little voices, might make a huge difference in future.

Maybe, we all will win in life.

Thursday, May 14, 2015

A Hopeful Romantic

These romantic deliberations through popular images that I have delved in make me feel how reality and imageries, fantasy and abstruse actuality are constantly locking horns, dissenting against one another. Like, consider the moribund (sorry) matter of love. Love, is shown in such amazing ( *coughs* ) ways in movies that you tend to expect so much more from life than it has to offer. Maybe life has to offer more than what they show in movies, but then as Haruki Murakami said, "What you seek won't come in the form you expect." Or something like that.

Those scenes they show, when a man looks at a woman, entirely through chance and conspiracies of the universe, helping an old woman cross the road. At the same time, she looks pretty, she looks her best, her hair is falling on her face and she is doing a benevolent job with such grace. And thus he falls in love with her. 

When a man accidentally looks at a girl who is asserting her authority, her rights somewhere and there sparks a glow in his heart, that he has found a girl who knows herself, and is so confident about herself to assert herself in public, and falls in love with her. 

Or when they show a girl talking so nicely to someone subservient in the social hierarchy. Or, they show a girl who is very bubbly, cheerful, kind, amazing all at the same time. They show her as innocent, or very lively, or with composure and malleability, or amazing control on temper. Perfect. Just, perfect.

But, who IS this perfect? I may not help an old lady because I have to rush somewhere, or if I am helping someone, I may look like a shredded 10 rupee note and not a thousand bucks, I might be caught shouting at an auto wallah for deceiving me, and not asserting any rightful ideal. What is this all about? 

They say that the matter of chance is the catch here- you do something not for someone's attention but it catches attention afterall, and there you have it- L.O.V.E. But what these constant reiterations of such serendipitous happenings have done to people is that they are so conscious of every act of uniqueness they impart, and feel that this uniqueness might be acknowledged, might be the cause of someone liking them.

I may seem a bit obtuse, but I am being truthful about what has happened to me due to these imageries- I have turned into a hopeful romantic. I tend to create characteristics in me now, just in case someone sees it and appreciates me as a human being, mostly romantically, but in all other ways too. My hopeful romantic approach to life has robbed the individual, real person in me. Or maybe, now I can't help but fight in my head about why I did something- did I do it for some kind of attention, or did I do it because I wanted to. 

It gets creepier when you do something and there is NO one you want to attract. Still, calling my motives entirely altruistic seems wrong- maybe I am doing it, because I want to make myself believe, that I am capable of doing nice things. But did I really want to do it? I don't know. 

Or just take the matter of serendipity- something you encounter with you asking for it, and it is beautiful. A happy coincidence. A person like me, will attach all notions of love to it and think this might be something, because hey, serendipity might mean something. But then what if, it doesn't mean anything at all? 

Thus, that is the problem with the conventional notion of love- the matter of chance and serendipity is so complex that the easiness with which it is portrayed is harrowing to say the least. Love is so complex a matter in itself, that its delineations cannot be simple, at all. I might fall in love with the act of a person, but the person himself? Isn't it too far-fetched? Too stretched? When is the time you know you love a person? When is that defining moment? Some say there can be no definitive moment, some give a vague and utterly romantic and corny "you just know".  I mean what does that even mean? No one can just know, and even something indefinite has a starting point. 

Next time you see a friend of yours and a boy accidentally pushed against each other and their books fall down, and they pick it up, you are surely to see that they pick it up and just go. 

But what if they don't?

A hopeful romantic, can never find solace. 

Wednesday, April 29, 2015


Burning me

Your  hand
Takes my hand
We close them together
They are entwined.
Your body
burning inside mine
my body
burning within
We are one.
Your lips
my face
Your eyes
my lips
Your fingers
my body
My body
Your hand
my face
your hand
my hips
your hand
my legs
your hand
my navel
On me.
With you.
your fist
my face
your fist
my navel
your fist
my legs
Your hands
taking my
pulling them
twisting them
Your cheeks
My cheeks
Your hands
Reddening them
Your hand
Twists my jaw
Your body
My body
Burns me.

Saturday, April 11, 2015

Not everyone is allowed.

Those three seconds of your eyes
Looking at me intently,
Had let me in your soul for a while
I tried to read it as soon as possible
But my trials were rendered futile.
You were so beautifully complicated,
That detangling each thread, 
that you had so intricately woven,
felt wrong.
Those two seconds of that human touch
We all crave for,
Made me live an entire lifetime,
But when it was over and the distance grew,
I knew, the death bells of that ephemeral life
had to chime.
The wide grin of yours, which made your eyes small,
And formed creases on your temple,
Gave me the happiness, collected from pots
And boxes of all those last, chest-heaving sighs of children’s laughter
Collected in heaven.
It was so beautiful, yet so simple.
You did not say great things,
Or uttered intelligent words,
In fact some things you said,
Were rather absurd.
But I found them coming from a place
Which I wanted to visit, venture into and find
New things I did not know about.
But soon I found out,
That the people-like feelings
Which governed your place-like soul
Told me, that trespassers are not allowed,
I fought, I said, I am ready to pay the toll.
They fought me back and said,
It is not the toll, it is you,
Not everyone is allowed in such places.

Saturday, April 4, 2015

To do or not to do- Rant of a Chronic Overthinker.

In life, we encounter so many situations where we ask ourselves- Should we?
Then, we go on to assess the pros and cons.
If I do it, what are the odds?
What can happen, what won't happen, what will I stop from happening?

This might be anything.
It might be talking to someone,
or stopping to talk forever.
Or maybe, just going out in the rain for a while.

If it is so, where is the place for randomness in life?
What are the things we do randomly, without thinking?
Do we EVER do something without thinking?
Analyzing? Checking? Re-checking?

Even an impulse, is a thought. A thought which is spontaneous. But is there still space for utter, mad, randomness? Something that did not arise out of any kind of thought?

Yes. Something which arises out of emotion, is what I feel is the most random thing we do. When we feel, and not think.
Feelings and thought process are different, and sometimes the thought process diminishes the power of feeling and we end up doing something we never wanted to, or not do what we desired.

So what should we do? Feel? Or think?

Let me think about it.

Friday, March 27, 2015

Judge me!

I told them not to judge me by my weight
I told them not to judge me by my nerdy glasses
I told them not to judge me by my paunch
I told them not to judge me for the days I used to speak
With a stutter
I told them not to judge me for the way I speak in English
It has that small town tinge; I told them to not judge me for it.
I told them not to judge me by my double chin
I told them not to judge me by my huge shoulders
That’s why I don’t wear sleeveless, I told them not to buy sleeveless
And make me shameful.
I told them I love kaftans
Because that is what will hide my bodily incompleteness
I told them not to judge me for my black upper lip
It is a hormonal problem, do not judge me please.
I told them not to judge me for my way of extraversion
My always initiating the conversation
Don’t judge me for my wild laughter
Small breasts
Small feet
Long hands.
But while I told them all this
While I told them all this, I realised
I had judged myself already.
Sorry, to myself,
I have been your biggest critic.
But they say
Laugh at yourself
Before anyone else does.
But am I my own laughing stock?
Judge me, and tell me please.