Surrender yourself !

Surrender!! Surrender!
They scream at me
I am clueless..

Surrender what exactly?
I am already on my knees

Surrender! Surrender!!
They rant again
Can’t you see?
My bleeding knee..

I am on the ground already..
I have surrendered myself..
To myself though..

The Art of killing the words

I am a master in the art of killing words. The gloom that fills my chest and sends a hurt up my throat is part of the process of killing words. The silenced words die in your heart. Nowhere else but the heart. The words are born there and will have to die only there, I guess.

Disowned!

I wish I could disown myself, the way the many people disowned the girl child born in their family.
I wish I could disown myself, the way the many people disowned the world as if it was the making of some lesser God.
I wish I could disown myself; the way white disowned the black.
I wish I could disown myself, the way capitalism disowned the commoner.
I wish I could disown myself, the way that sect disowned the many lives.
I wish I could disown myself , the way the world disownes me.

I wish I could just disown myself.

Insomnia

It’s a blank night
My ceiling bears no stars

The smudged clouds
Make it a blank night

I wish to see the firefly again
It doesn’t come to my window

I play with the table lamp switch
Play with the light and dark
But it’s too old a game

Eyes heavy with sleep
But, the sleeplessness wins over me

Down the memory lane

I would be going back to Pune tomorrow!! When you go to a place with least expectations and you are showered with love, contentment.. you end up falling in love with the place.. And , the love lives even if you leave the city. That’s my story with Pune.

Sometimes, I wonder.. what’s so magical about Pune? There are little small things that make a difference in life, I guess. These small things sometimes mean a lot more than ..life’s big questions.

Small things I miss about Pune-

1.The everyday walks down the university. The talks we talked as we walked.. about trivial stuffs of life..

2.The coffees I drank at 70mm..with just about anyone from the department.

3.The changing colours of the university trees.

4.The hostel chats..the empty coffee mugs lying around the room.

5.The drowsy eyed friend saying, “you make coffee for me!” the 10th-12th coffee of the day, at 3-4 a.m. in the morning.

6.Hitching rides to the department.. Knowing too well that I would meet someone on my way to the department..Late for the lecture, sometimes the someone would be Nakhate Sir himself, taking me on his scooter for his lecture :)

7.The filthy hostel kitchen, a common topic of discussion.. when you ran out of topics.. When you have spoken just too many times about everyone’s sad stories ..

8.Getting up at 10.30 a.m. just to realize that you have a movie to catch at E-Square at 10.35 a.m.

9.Watching 8-9 movies in a row! Sitting just about anywhere in the theater, squatting on the theater floor, right next to the projection screen.. shedding tears, refusing to look at the someone sitting next to me.. everyone sitting here is sobbing!! They call it the Pune International Film Festival!!

10.Alone, walking up and down the city streets.. buying cheap pirated books, Cds..Alone, at the hostel room.. sipping coffee..

There are million memories of this place.. like the million small stars.. making a beautiful starlit sky…

My Shadow ...

My shadow has ceased to follow me. It’s taken a different path, I guess. I look behind, but I don’t see her anymore. I keep looking behind, hoping to see her.

I wish, I could find her.. For sometime, I wish I could cease to travel my path. For sometime, I wish I could let my shadow lead me.

Possessed about the light

There are no milestones on this path
Just the thickets and hooting owls
The unwinding twists and turns

The fluid flowing path
Like the liquid freed from the bottle
Deciding its own track

There is light somewhere
Like the lonesome moth to the flame
I take the first step..
Possessed about the light

I am a woman first!

I was flummoxed, not at her questions but at my answers. She was pursuing some course in the field of Defense and International Relations. I was a quintessential Indian who spends most of her life talking about Constitutional Rights and blaming the politicians for all the problems ranging from corruption to the traffic jams.

I couldn’t gulp the roti anymore. The vehicles on the road were making it even tougher for me to comprehend the questions she posed me. She rode her bike as effortlessly as ever. Though I was the pillion rider I felt as if I was in the driver's seat. I stuffed the roti back in the paper wrap and decided to decipher the answers.

Now what were the questions like..She had asked me if I was to prioritize my identity what order would it be like.. Am I a Hindu first or a woman? Like a bolt of lightning the answer jolted me. I am a woman first! My mind screamed.

I am a woman even before being an Indian or a Hindu. I still remember those glowering eyes. Mumbai was abused by two sects. I was one of the many Mumbaikars who never pondered over their identity like these people running around with swords..some bearded, others with a saffron scarf protecting their necks.

But they had one thing in common. They were moving in mobs, those glowering eyes peering at me. Those eyes, I am sure were not interested in unraveling my religious identity.

The city was fractured and immobile. It was my longest journey from work to home in Mumbai. End of the day when I reached home safely I realized I was a woman first..