Friday, April 21, 2017
Saturday, July 16, 2016
A hand, precise, armed to beset.
Where you perceive a woman, too frail to kill,
I see a soldier, with a passion to fulfill.
Skipped meals and sleepless nights,
Patience encased in doctor's whites.
Where you perceive a woman past her best days,
I see sacrifice, and countless lives saved.
In a hard helmet and blue overalls,
She builds your floors and puts up your walls.
Where you perceive a woman in a hot costume,
I see an engineer with your ego to deplume.
We need no handicap, nor your appraisal.
We stand our ground, quite equally able.
We do all you do, so why compare?
We will, forever, our choices declare.
Tuesday, March 8, 2016
Sitting on the same edge of the same raggedy chair,
Ignoring bits of leather flaking off its skin
Onto dropped shoulders clouded by unwashed hair.
Worry not, I stay surrounded by recreation -
So I keep well; there is no need to despair;
I have known worse, so I know what to make of this,
With that last dark past I couldn't possibly compare -
That was hopelessness, but I've remitted my sin,
This is emptiness at best, to be completely fair.
I was dealt a generous hand, so I would not complain;
Blame the stagnancy taking a toll on my welfare.
It's just that you think you've left that dark place behind,
But it finds new ways to creep up on you everywhere.
So to answer your question, I'm still all here,
But it gets morbid in here, so I remain in prayer.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
I'm not the weaker sex. I will cry because I express freely, and I will move on without looking back.
I am not your mother. I will not take responsibility for balancing emotions in this world; please look to someone else for validation.
I am not the gatekeeper. I have my own priorities and it is not my job to tell you what yours should be.
I am not a woman - aesthetic, caretaking, child-bearing, world-feeding, forgiving.
I am a human being. I will be selfish. I will be lazy. I will control my body, and my fate. I will make mistakes. I will take revenge. I will lead. I will follow. I will co-exist, not support. Fix your own problems.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
She played with her long, hazelnut-tinted wavy hair as she wrote - hair like the kind I pushed off my own forehead as I sipped my mocha. It seemed so natural, sitting here in this isolated run-down Turkish joint on the corner of Seneca and 2nd St, with this woman in her late 40s without betraying her years; yet so unnatural was the nature of the invisible link between us: a link that wasn't what it should be, and definitely was what it never should've been. I wasn't in love; no, I was hungry... Hungry for the intimacy of the unspoken witching hours of the night that we shared, drowning ourselves in guilty gratification. We never attempted to justify ourselves. For me, she was only a woman that I had just met two months ago for the first time, not the cause of my existence and the scar of my single father's life. We were one, by DNA, and by the act of inseparation that unified us in an escapist attempt to defy all reason.
I looked at her hands as they furiously filled up the paper. She bites her nails, I mused to myself. I definitely got that from her.
Saturday, November 22, 2014
As you journey across the alleys of vice.
Be not trepid, for they won't think twice,
and neither must you.
At best, it is barbarism.
You may be blessed with betrayal and malice;
Seek solace in solitude; to hell with the callous,
Trust not another soul.
At worst, it is genocide;
Though you never found out what it is you belonged to.
They were out to obliterate, and you may not construe
That you were simply in the way.
Shield up, for you are alone.
The monstrous bully oppresses; the sly witch ensnares.
They will never be yours, as you must not be theirs.
Ready the lone wolf.
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Monday, March 3, 2014
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Ram pulled up his rickety scooter alongside the comparatively enormous Tata Safari and I got off. I loved the bustling market area of the Cantt. As I took in the familiar cosmetic shops, chaatwalas and the oddly placed Levis showroom, I followed my wobbly nanaji through the narrow streets he knew blindfolded to the small photo studio where we had been earlier in the day to get a passport photo of me done. He walked in and was attended to without having said a word. I mistook it for the lovable small-town hospitality I adored. He received the tiny envelope from the owner and handed it to me without a second glance. I looked at the neat hand-writing on the envelope. "Professor Bhatia", it read. I smiled. Decades later, this humble old man was still the grand Professor to the Cantt.