Headstone on my grave

Do not be fooled by your pedestal.

Its foundations were sunk

into my heart long ago.

Only now, your foolishness

is eating into them!

And they are surely rotting away

from the maggots of your words.

Tomorrow I will be dead and gone.

Then you will come down to the earth,

For then your pedestal will be nothing

but a headstone on my grave.

Go ahead...

Go ahead,

blame me, condemn me, accuse me, stone me.

Pick your brush and tar me.

Was it not just yesterday,

that you did not allow the great Mary

to shed a tear,

and tore her reputation to shreds.

What am I but a tired savage

wallowing in the mud of your love.

But I laugh in your face, for you,

you are only living in a glass house.

Happy Being Brown

Now I ask you, what kind of a race are we? I meant us, Indians, when I meant 'we'. I call us a race because, we have so much mixed blood and we don't belong to one particular race. We are a bloody 'mongrel race'.  

And there is one particular trait that is unique only to us. I mean what kind of people, are racist against their own. When we notice people darker than our own, we start ridiculing them, they become the butt of our jokes and we also have special names for them, for example, kaalu, kaalia...

I would have never realised it myself, until I went through the marriage market. It was fine that I was a pretty girl, it was fine that I was an engineering graduate, it was fine I was working, it was fine my parents had money, it was fine I would be married off grandly with enough gold and property, but...no, no, no, make that a BIG BUT!

"But the girl is a little dark, no?” the aunty would say, and the uncle would nod in agreement. Only their son would be staring with longing in his eyes. Only he would not have the guts to offend his folks, but hey who wants to marry a blind bat, who can't see beyond my colour.

And why I would I marry someone who is bald, has a bad nose, has a big forehead, and well who is darker than me. Well go ahead and have your prejudice, I will rightfully have mine as well.

It was then my mother suddenly discovered, I needed to become fair. So the tryst began, starting with lime juice, turmeric, honey, cream, almond paste, milk, curd, tomato juice, grated potato, mashed papaya, you name it, I have put it on my skin, and then she discovered the chemical bleaches...

Until we discovered something. I come from a healthy stock of dark South Indians, and you know what means...tee hee...I would revert back to being brown in a few weeks...So I would be wheat coloured a few weeks and cinnamon coloured a few weeks. And no I am not black or brown (how dare you) I am warm honey-toned or a spicy cinnamon colour...sigh what I can say...

There is a fairness cream,

there is a whitening cream,

there is a bleach,

there is a whitening powder,

there is a whitening this and a fairness that.

And now you are calling it radiance something.

I don’t care for your propaganda

and nor your racist ways.

It is funny that you are Indian.

That you are cream and I am chocolate!

It is funny that the pot

wants to call the kettle black.

You want ME to change

because I am brown.

But you can’t make me

feel ashamed of

this delicious cinnamon skin,

and you can’t make me hate for

who I am.

Coming Back to the Earth

What is the quintessential comfort food for Indians? Especially after a hard days of work, after a hard night of partying or even after a spending a lazy day at home! Especially what would you eat after you reach home after a second show movie, or a disco at 3 AM.
After talking to a lot of my friends, the following have turned up, Khichdi, Dal and rice, Curd rice, Rasam rice, Rajma chawal, Roti and Butter Chicken, Roti and Dal Fry, Biryani and even hot Idlies sold on the road side...some of the others have not made it to the list as they are in a minority. It seems the body needs a good dose of carbs, carbs and more carbs...

So the other day we had a chance to go overboard with the alcohol and low on food. And the choice we had was driving down quiet a distance to eat midnight buffet at this popular restaurant or check out the local bandi.
And believe me the sizzling tawa, the steaming Idli cooker and the smell of the Sambar was heavenly. But the immediate vision that followed was sheer torture, the scenes from 'Delhi Belly'. The man selling Tandoori Chicken!
Oh man....not again, not again...why am I cursed with this vivid imagination. But this one time I did not give in to temptation and remind my friends about the Delhi Belly! :)
Forgotten was the car we were driving, forgotten were the expensive togs we were wearing, forgotten were all fancy-shmancy things, for once the sizzling tawa had more power than anything else...Delhi Belly be damned....this is how the following poem came into existence.

Coming back to the earth

Vodka on ice and chilled beer

and a hundred other spirits

in a dark noisy hole.

A mad DJ and the floor

becomes livid with grooving bodies

and crazy laughter.

And come midnight,

the cavern spews out a crowd

into the unforgiving darkness.

More laughter as I try to

open my car, and a friend

chucks out her guts.

Weaving through the empty

roads with wine in our veins,

we seem like heroes for the night.

Only to come back home with

hungry stomachs, to realize

that the balm for our soul

lies in plain old rice and dal.

Memories

Memories memories

Like roller coaster rides

Going up and down, round and round

And then tumbling after.

Through a tunnel of blue cotton candy,

weird mirrors and haunted house

stories; memories that begin

with lazy summers and melt

with never ending winters.

This Ganesha Festival

Green mango leaves and

deep orange marigolds.

Wafting incense and jasmine garlands.

Rose petals and soft

sounds of the Veena.

Sweetmeats and savouries,

and a houseful of children running around.

And somewhere in between is a peaceful oasis

with one clay idol gazing serenely,

touching my soul.

Sita's walk...

Who is the first feminist figure in the history of India? For me it will always be Queen Sita. The woman, who willingly followed her husband into exile by giving up her comforts, brought her children up as a single mother and finally walked out on Lord Ram to live a life free of troubles and injustices.

For me, she epitomises the quintessential and long suffering Indian woman who represents resilience and patience.

Here is an attempt to read into her thoughts at various stages of her life. And I have picked the episode where she is banished to the forest and this time she is pregnant and she is alone.  

What could have been Sita’s thoughts in those moments of despair?

“Ram,” Sita thought as she walked

out of the palace and

out of his life,

“you walked over mountains,

crossed the seas,

and vanquished the demons to

bring me home.”

“Yet you could no more conquer

the demon in your mind than you

could an elusive deer

of the mystical Vindhyas.

And today you banish me

to the forest, you,

a ‘Purushottam’, best among men,

are nothing but a slave

to your immature thoughts.”

Standing in line....

I am standing in a line,
waiting for alms from you,
with my arms spread out.
But when you reach me,
you have nothing to give,
for you have already spent your love
on someone else.
Yet I am here day after day,
wearing out my patience and
wearing my heart on my sleeve.
While you profess
you feel nothing for me,
even in your handouts.
I may be a beggar today
for your affection,
but I am seeing cracks in my heart.
One of these days you will
come to me with an armful of gifts.
But I will be no more in the line,
for then there will
be a big gaping hole in my hand.
And my heart would have turned
to stone.

Your Laughter

Your laughter like a

ray of sunshine

slanting through the blinds

can only raise dust mites

in this empty room.

I, who waited, am

no more here,

and my shadows

have long disappeared

A train to catch...

What happens to lonely people...so lonely that they would rather die than face their troubles, problems, lonliness or whatever is torturing them...what happens when there is a moment in our lives so black, that there seems no point in going on....

Here I am, waiting for my train.

A train, that never seems to be coming.

Unlike my train of thoughts, which are rushing in.

Until I black them out.

Waiting on this cold platform

with a lonesome few,

who have a train to catch but a place

nowhere to go.

The tracks seem to melt into the arctic night.

And after one moment the waiting is over.

I can feel the glow of a lighter.

Pungent cigar smoke,

jarring me into wakefulness.

Low murmurs of conversation.

I resist the urge to look at the crowd

resenting intrusion into the black hole of my thoughts.

Now they are looking at me and now they are not

I hear gazes shifting and feet shuffling.

Do I speak up as well?

No. There is no friendliness in the air.

Just a heavy blanket of waiting for nothing

They dare not disturb my solitude.

And I sit there whiling away time

Watching that lazy snowflake drifting by

Along with a stranger who sits beside me

I am tempted to catch it on my tongue

Only to see it landing on the bench that I sit on.

Melting into water,

ever so slowly, mixing into the sliver of  

red that seems to be flowing from a pair of hands.

I am startled by the color.

I look up to see who the stranger is,

Only to find the tranquility of my face,

staring back at me.

Rain....

I love playing in the rain, for me there is nothing more beautiful or joyous than playing in water. This was my first chance to get soaked this monsoon and here is what I felt.

Raindrops

playing on my fingertips

hanging off my eyelashes

brushing down my cheeks

flowing through my hair

curving softly along my spine

running rivulets down my legs

and soaking my feet...rain,

wondrous rain...

"The Point of Sex ‘discovered’...”

There is this article I read on MSN.com, and the title says “The Point of Sex ‘discovered’...”

What!!??? Discovered and now?? I thought to myself, is it not about the grand plan of God to ensure the growth of man (the horror), not about Adam and Eve (sigh), the supposed experiment on humans by aliens (thank God) or even just plain old ‘desire’ (tch tch...)!

No, of course not, how can it be about such things, that you and I, mere mortals that we are, can argue and debate about. It has to be about science (when is it ever not). And here is the line that takes the cake “What is the point of sex? Since Charles Darwin's time, this question has troubled scientists around the world. Here is the answer.” Oh wait, are you saying no one was interested before Charles Darwin, hmmmm, really...Of course they weren’t...they were busy fornicating and having fun...tee hee!

They were also scribbling on walls, painting masterpieces, sculpting, and writing about the act and also somewhere in between, ‘doing it’. I guess they got so busy they forgot to ask, “What is the point of sex?” May be Vatsayan could have tapped someone ‘busy’ and asked “Er, dude, what is the purpose of all this?” Boy, what would I have given to see the expression on that dude, and the subsequent socking Vatsayan would have received!

Poor Darwin, the poor man must have bent over double with humanity’s interest on the point of sex weighing on him.

Here is an interesting observation: Thanks to biologists at the University of Indiana who claim to have discovered that animals reproduce together, rather than simply cloning themselves, because it helps them to ward off parasites, 'The Daily Telegraph' reported.

So the whole point of sex is we need to ward off the parasites? Parasites? Oh man, think of all the hullaballoo, think of pages and pages of print matter devoted to sex and now they tell us that we do it to avoid the parasites?? A simple bottle of strong brandy could not have taken care of the wee parasites???

Here is an even more interesting observation: "The Red Queen Hypothesis predicts that sex should allow hosts to evade infection from their parasites, whereas self-fertilisation may increase the risk of infection. "The coevolutionary struggle between hosts and their parasites could explain the existence of males."

Ha ha ha ha ha....Poor Adam! Existing because of a parasite....I rest my case...take over Madame Feminist!

For those of you wanting to read this article, please use the following link... http://lifestyle.in.msn.com/relationships/article.aspx?cp-documentid=5281645

Hey Mr. Conductor...

Hey Mr. Conductor, here I am waiting at the bus stop.
Waiting for your bus, Bus no 339,
Going from somewhere to nowhere,
come rain or shine.
Always on time, every time

Hey Mr. Conductor, you have new shades on,
And Mr. Driver is looking dapper today.
Hmm, you both look wonderful,
Should I wish you for something?
Was one of you born on this day?

Hey Mr. Conductor, let me find myself a seat.
Where are the giggly girls and the handsome hunk?
Oh there he is, making eyes at one.
He just smiles at me and leaves me alone.
Sigh, I wish I did not sound so forlorn.

Hey Mr. Conductor, let me see where my friends are.
I find no strangers,
just people who are not friends yet.
And yet there is a bond, between all of us,
and not because we have just met.

Hey Mr. Conductor, slow the bus down a bit,
I want to see the children play,
when we pass by the park.
I wish I could join them and stay,
And look at the new lovers today.

Hey Mr. Conductor, the office guys are hopping in.
I see you watched cricket yesterday.
I know we lost but we could have won!!
Yes, I am sure you all have an opinion.
But I would rather watch a movie for some fun!!!

Hey Mr. Conductor, here come all those pretty ladies...
With baskets of vegetables and trinkets and flowers!
Look there is your favourite too,
With jasmine in her hair and,
a coy look just for you.

Hey Mr. Conductor, here comes my stop.
Be seeing you tomorrow.
Travellers together for a few hours,
A stranger and yet a friend I see,
With a ready smile especially for me!

Is it Cristiano Ronaldo....nooo wait...It is PUMBA....

On my early morning walk, a couple of days ago, I chanced upon a local team playing football, or soccer if you want to call it. So what is so special about it you might ask?
Nothing special, I guess, except that coming from a country obsessed with cricket, watching football early in the morning can be a refreshing change.
So here are a bunch of guys playing football with the Sun breaking out between the trees and a cool morning breeze. Now that is a sight to watch! All that running, speed, the team work!! Awesome!!
That’s when I notice a few of them are playing with their shirts off, no wonder there is a gaggle of girls on the periphery, J J. I walk towards them for a closer look. Hmmm, nice, all that muscle moving around, with the wind in their hair, intense looks….they look like wild animals. Just like those cheetahs or panthers running in slow motion on National Geographic.

Nooooooo, wait, it actually looks like Pumba running in slow motion. Dammit, I need to wear my glasses for this. Oh boy, it is PUMBA, running in slow motion, you know Pumba, the warthog from Lion King.
Oh look, there is little Porky Pig as well…huffing and puffing away…
Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle, damn, all those muscles (by the way, by definition the stomach is a muscle too) running ahead of the ball…..ha ha ha…. …ROFL…
Picture this, a strong pair of legs running like the wind behind a ball…no, no, make that the beer belly. So the legs are following the belly, which is following the ball…No wonder the women are laughing hysterically!!!
No Cristiano Ronaldo here for sure, sigh sigh!!

If...

If all repercussions reflect the regrets of a soul,
would I be searching for stardust in moonlight?
If all vague pictures paint dismal images
of unstructured lives,
would I be looking for people through coloured glass?
If substances were outlined by shadows of imperfections,
would I be looking at a perfectly imbalanced palette of colours?
If all nights were spent as a dream of nightmares
would I be facing reality in focus
the morning after?
If every reflection in the mirror
shows a never ending saga of a lonely soul,
would I be search for a reflection in my being?

It is just a game...

And so it is all a game,
I might win or I might loose
Who cares anyway, on what I choose.
And to me it is all the same,
even if it leads me down the lane of ambiguity.
In truth, I align myself to the necessity
of pampering to egos.

If only honeyed words would work,
I would only drown myself.
But who knows what lurks behind those,
all seeing eyes.
What those actions mean and behind the unseen,
what secret lies.

And so it is all a game
and I still try to find reasons lame
to play around with words.
Words that trip me up and slow me down
And wrangle me into knots unknown.

And if it is still a game,
how long should I play?
There seem to be only meaningless gestures
meandering through the day.
If only dear heart, if only we wouldn’t be torn apart
And if only I could make you stay.

Window dressing at Neeru's - bad practice

The other day, Hubby and I were driving by Neeru’s on Rd No 1, opposite the City Centre. And guess what we got to see, a female mannequin being dressed, no not inside the showroom as it is usually done, but at the display window.
I simply could not believe my eyes since the person who had been chosen to carry out the task was a guy. He had completely stripped the mannequin and was trying to drape a saree around it. Its chest was bare and it was facing the road, as usual in its display position. We could see he was moving his hands all over the figure...yetch...
A man and his doll - it was grossly voyeuristic. I had half a heart to walk out and whack the man and yell at him. Unfortunately I was boxed in by the traffic and could not get out.

What are people thinking when they do this? Don’t they have common sense? It might have been a lifeless doll, but it still represents the female figure and I am sure a lot of women must have felt uncomfortable that day.

There is something about rainy days

Something about rainy days,
puts me in a strange mood.
Reminds of long winding roads, with trees dripping water.
A hunk on his motorcycle zipping away in the rain,
and a little girl with him with wind in her hair.

Passing little villages and cowherds with cattle,
ponds with lilies and temple bells ringing.
With the thundering of the bike,
you could also hear a little voice singing.

The rider roaring with laughter,
the girl shouting, faster papa, faster.
With arms wide open welcoming the speed,
like sitting with a knight and his beautiful steed.

Those days are long gone,
And my papa does not ride anymore, but he did,
give me a love for drives, for sure,
Driving to nowhere with rain in my face
and the wind in my hair.

Dragon Fly

Written for my friend Keshav, when he got admitted to NDA and who now flies the MiG 29.

Did you ever fly in the sky
look up from the ground
or jump from a huge earthy mound?
Plunged into air
and virtual emptiness,
felt your blood go to your head and then
euphoria?
Did you spread your arms
and felt the lightness of your being?
Felt the wind tip your body and then
flip your soul?
Felt the light free your mind
and you left your troubles behind?

So did you float in the clouds
and with an angel
did you share your laughter?
Did you feel the breeze
break an even keel
and gently swing you by,
like a wish of thousand prayers
holding you safe and high?

Did you notice me
far down below,
when you were on par with the Gods?
Did you remember my friend,
that I am with your heartbeat at every drop and bend?
And if you find yourself,
singing out loud, while sitting on a cloud,
remember that your wings carry our dreams,
and that you have made us all proud!