There are days when I feel
That everything and everyone
Are too complicated for little old me
With my heart frozen at 18
Forgetting to mature
While everyone else was busy
Acquiring the crafty masks of adulthood.
Hopelessly naive
Maybe even stupid
Always wondering - what did I do wrong?
Oh how I wish I could learn the rules
Of the games that people play
As easily as I learnt the order of planets
In our slice of the Milky Way.
My thoughts find their way to you
The way homing pigeons find their way home.
Even when I don't mean to,
Inevitably, I find myself thinking
Sweet thoughts of an even sweeter you.
Let's have a drink together
Share a few heady sips
To compete with the giddiness you make me feel
Look into each other's eyes
And try not to shiver too hard
Or swoon, from the intensity of it all.
Let's have a drink together
And steadily blur the edges
As we attempt to use words
Even as our souls speak volumes already
In a language older than time.
Let's have a drink together
And let the night take us under its wings
Two creatures with twin flames in our hearts
Drawn helplessly to each other
Like magnets of desire.
In the light of day, when all things are abuzz, it's hard to feel anything at all. I work, I reply to mails, I reply to mails, I eat when my tummy rumbles, and I have a catnap when my head aches. But in the darkness of dusk, when I'm all alone, and everything is quiet, it's impossible not to feel my heart ache.
Feelings
Do you sometimes wish
That like the vampires of pop culture,
You had a switch for your feelings
To turn them on and off,
As easily as you do the lights
Just blessed darkness when your feelings are off
Safe, peaceful, silent.
And stomach-churning chaos when your feelings are on
Intense, painful, arousing.
Like the vampires of pop culture
(Yes, them again),
I'm afraid I feel my feelings too strongly
At any given point in time,
Just seconds away from bursting into flames
From the smoldering heat of my emotions.
There's one battle I lose
Every single time
Every single day
And that's the battle not to think of you
Oh, how hard I try
To push you away
Give you some space
And fill my mind with something else
But you know my mind
It's always had a mind of its own.
And so, there you are
Stuck like glue
In the carpet of my conscience
Bound to every thought
And every sigh
Sometimes in the foreground
And sometimes in the background (thank God for that!)
But always there.
Always.
Skin & thoughts
You're branded on my skin and my thoughts
So deeply that I'm scarred
By the strength of your passion.
Ending each day in a fevered haze
My skin in agony
That only your touch can relieve.
Sometimes, I don't know if I'm feeling my feelings
Or yours.
On any given day,
Everything's mixed up
In a hot & beautiful way.
Maybe
I was happier before
Emptier but happier.
Now
I have this constant want
A dull torture that never ends
And yet, I choose this
Over that.
This thing between you and me
It's mutating magic
Otherworldly, supernatural
Woven out of the threads of our desire
My favorite place to be?
In your thoughts.
I don't always have the luxury of crying
Letting all that pain flow away
The hurt lost in a river of salty tears
Allowing calm to take over, at least temporarily
I'm not always alone, you know
All I can do then, is swallow lump after lump
The tears frozen in my throat
The hurt balled up in my chest
Only a stray drop trickling out of my eye,
Nearly unseen.
Let me kiss old photos of you
Push my love through the barriers of time
And hope that you feel the echoes of my desire
All through the years of your existence.
A kiss for every version of you
Young and old
I want them all
Maybe I always did
I'm sure I always will.
I oscillate between misery and arousal
Teary and hurting one moment
Nauseous with desire the next
My insides a chaos no one can make sense of
But you.
If I kiss old photos of you,
Will they time travel?
Would you feel my lips
Through the barriers of time?
When you sleep, I almost feel
Like I'm taking advantage of you
Enjoying uncensored access to your sweet thoughts
Of me and us
Kissing you when I like
And invading your dreams at will
I'm sorry if you haven't been sleeping too well, mein Schatz
But I can't help but take advantage
And I think I might do it again
Tonight.
Every night, you tour my body
Redefining 'slow travel'
With your endless kisses
And searching caresses
Ever curious, ever thirsty
To discover more.
Is it all just in my head?
The little games we play
You and I
In our secret universe
That straddles space & time
To make it seem
As though your fingers were entwined in mine
But it'll never come to be -
It's impossible.
Our lips shall never meet
It's forbidden.
But I hope you'll do
Something you'll regret
Because for sure, I won't.
But in the meantime,
What do I do with this crippling desire?
All this pent-up fire?
Soar high, like an untamed bonfire?
Stoke me no further. No further.
Or I shall curtain the whole world in flames
Just to reach where you are -
Together in oblivion at last.
My thoughts find their way to you
The way homing pigeons find their way home.
Even when I don't mean to,
Inevitably, I find myself thinking
Sweet thoughts of an even sweeter you. ❤️
Being with you is like being in a labyrinth with no exit
And at every turn
And every corner
Awaits a monster I don't want to face
Endless allusions
And inexhaustible reminders
Of bogeymen from my childhood days
Every night - an expectation of dread
Fulfilled in myriad creative ways
Every day - painfully predictable
Our conversations a pointless loop
Being with you is like being imprisoned
A life sentence with no plea bargain.
And if my tears were pearls,
I'd have all the oceans' worth of jewels with me.
Even though you're here,
it feels like you died a while ago.
It feels like you're a spirit
Here to soften the blow.
And every day, I wake under the illusion
That we're still together
And as the day matures,
The realization sinks in
That you've actually been gone
For a while now.
I'm like an Alzheimer's patient
Who has to remember their lover's name
Afresh
Every single day.
And in the beginning, my poems were about desire and longing.
But as the love withered, I went silent.
Until one day, the poetry returned.
Only this time, my poems are about sadness and wondering
Wondering where it all went wrong.
I always knew, our story would end before the world ever knew it had begun. Like the sound of a falling tree in an empty forest - real, yet non-existent, with no one to hear and no one to mourn.
You love me,
But not enough to spare me nightmares.
You want me,
But not enough to stop fantasizing about other women.
My poems were about too much
And yours, if they were to exist,
Would be about too little.
And never the twain shall meet.
The sun and the time
I think they're having a secret love affair
For on the sunniest of days,
Time moves at a slow, languid pace
Like the opening notes of a love song.
Even the wind appears to slow down
Coaxing only lazy shivers from the sun-warmed trees
And their shadows
On sun-warmed windows.
Everything that the sun touches
Glows with pleasurable warmth -
The kind that rises inside you,
When you take a deep swill of whiskey.
The wispy summer clouds and the July pollen
They slow down too,
For on the sunniest of days,
Time stretches like a string of gum
Almost convincing you
That the day will never end
These balmy hours suspended in time
Everlasting, like the lingering taste of a passionate first
kiss.
Let me kiss old photos of you
Push my longing through the barriers of time
And hope that you feel the echoes of my desire
All through the years of your existence.
A kiss for every version of you
Young and old
I want them all
Maybe, I always did
I'm sure I always will.
My favorite place to be? In your thoughts.
When you think of me,
I feel like you're with me
Living in my head
Flowing through my blood
Breathing my breaths
And feeding my desire
When you think of me,
it's like an embrace for my soul
And when you stop,
everything's cold and silent and empty
It's only then that I realize
How warm your presence felt
And how much it brimmed with love(?) & longing.
Sometimes, I feel like there's no distinction between us
Where do I begin and where do you end?
I couldn't really say.
At times, I don't know if I'm feeling my feelings
Or yours.
On any given day,
Everything's mixed up
In a hot and beautiful way.
I wish I could recall with precision, what you looked like the first time we met. The exact contours of your face, the colour of your eyes, the texture of your lips, the smell, the feel, the presence of you. I wish I could go back to that exact moment and kiss the living daylights out of you. Oh, if only my memory was a movie I could replay at will, pausing at every frame that includes you. Maybe pausing for so long that I forget to return to the present.
I reel
under aftershocks of desire
For hours after
Twinges coursing through my veins
Setting my cells on fire
So unbearable
So pleasurable
All I can do is close my eyes
And wait for the sweet storm to pass
Or hope to be trapped in its grasp forever.
Stupid crybaby
Never been able to get a handle
On the damned waterworks
Never been able to put a censor on
Or stem the flow of my feelings
Stupid, stupid, stupid
No idea how I got here
But here I am
Naked as a newborn babe
With nothing at all to shield me
From the numbing pain of my hurting heart.
it would be so much simpler
my emotions in check
and not a rollercoaster ride
through highs and lows
that leave me feeling
painfully uncertain
But as things stand,
I want you a little too much.
If I missed you less,
I'd be in a much better place
Not battling cravings
for you
Every waking second.
But as things stand,
I miss you a little too much.
If I loved you less,
it would be so much easier
my heart safer
my days calmer
But as things stand,
I love you a little too much.
Passions were running high that Friday night. A 19-year-old flirted flagrantly with a young cashier at the supermarket. Outside, meaningful stares and intentional encounters of chance abounded. I could literally smell it in the air - the heady scent of lust, longing and pheromones. I was almost afraid that the tall, rakishly handsome man who'd been trying to catch my eye, would smother me with uninvited kisses on the sidewalk. So, I hurried home as fast as I could - away from the web of vice that my hot red lipstick appeared to have spun. Why did I have to wear red that evening? Pink, brown, purple, black. Anything but unabashed, come-hither red.
Every year, I feel the bite of winter anew.
The clouds of mist and the changing view,
the morning frost and the silvery greys
breathe whispers of short but melancholy days.
The melting snow and the bare-boned trees
Line the yards, the parks, and entire cities.
Autumn's last leaves offer a final escape
From winter's monochromatic landscape.
And when nothing of colour remains,
Moondust will leave behind its wintry stains.
I have lived
A life spent in hiding
From people
From shadows
From all the myriad things
That strike fear into my timid heart
But I do so love this cave
This cocoon that I've built for myself
Where it's dark and lonely
But ever so peaceful.
And like a tortoise,
I carry my cocoon wherever I go
It keeps me safe
It keeps me calm
When I can't say the same of the world.
It has been my life's mission
To put into words
The things that don't have a name
Like this feeling
That maybe I haven't lived enough
But there is no 'Enough' when it comes to Life.
There is only Death.
I have spent 32 years on this planet. Yet, whenever I close my eyes and think of a time when I was the happiest, the answer is always the same. When I was 8, I used to go the local swimming pool with my dad and elder sister. Dad would give me swimming lessons while my sister swam laps all by herself. She was already an expert. I was in no hurry, often content to just float on the water and gaze up at the sky. Being in the cool water in hot summers – it was so rejuvenating. And since we always visited in the evening, the sun would inevitably set when we drove back home.
My sister was usually nice enough to let me take the front seat. I’d roll the window down (I could be trusted not to do silly things like stick my arm out) and rest my head on the windowsill, feeling the breeze sift through my hair. I’d watch the lines on the road whiz by and the gorgeous colours in the evening sky. And I’d dream. I’d dream of one day writing a novel, becoming famous, and doing great things.
Every evening when we drove back from the swimming pool, I was convinced that I was destined for greatness. Life and its possibilities seemed limitless as I sat beside my dad and watched the world go by in all its twilit glory. The sensation of what a beautiful thing it was to be alive filled me till I felt breathless with joy. And I experienced all of this in silence and with a smile on my lips. When we went home, I’d tell my mum and no one else.
I sing for you, my growing toddler
And sometimes, your eyes seem as enthralled
as that 4 month old who used to lie back
unable to do much else
yet, content (most times)
to gaze at mama's silly antics.
And I know it's you, still
and it was you, then
but somehow, every version of you lives on
independently.
Your growth is some kind of alchemy
A transformation not quite linear
And every day, I have the gift of a new you
With the bittersweet knowledge of past yous
Because every you, my darling
Has been more perfect than the bluest sky and the sweetest apple
Every you has been a reminder
That there is nothing mundane about humanity
And everything magical about growth.
While scrolling through my Facebook timeline today, I came across some outrage regarding a Bombay High Court ruling that pressing a minor’s breasts was not a sexual offence if there was no disrobing involved (article link: https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/mumbai/sexual-assault-under-pocso-needs-direct-skin-to-skin-contact-bombay-hc/articleshow/80435122.cms).
As disgust, fear, and disbelief knotted inside me, I felt for an instance transported back to my days as a an adolescent and then a young woman in Mumbai, India. The newspapers were inevitably riddled with stories of rape and molestation involving minors, babies, animals, the elderly…there seemed to be no lines left uncrossed by the perverted sections of society. What’s worse, I lived that reality every day of my life – groping incidents, men following, staring, name calling on the streets, the railway station, the bridges, the bars, outside the airport in the wee hours…they were the norm rather than the exception.
Over time, I found ways to minimize such incidents. The patriotism I used to feel as a child was slowly taken over by a deep sense of mistrust and fear. I felt no kinship with a large chunk of my countrymen. And I wasn’t the only woman who felt that way. In 2013, I travelled to London and Paris on my own. There was a moment or two when I did not feel a 100% safe. But other than that, I felt like I was in paradise. I could walk alone in the night and not feel like there was a threat in the air. I didn’t feel the need to jump at shadows, look over my shoulder or hold my handbag close to my chest. Most people barely noticed me and there was no place frequented only by men (which is the case with many shady corners in India after dark).
I was depressed when I returned home. I knew now that the reality I lived was not the reality women had to face all over the world. Perhaps there were places where it was worse. That did not justify the state of affairs in my own country. I didn’t want to hear “it’s not as bad as the Arab countries.” I didn’t want to hear “no country is perfect”. And I most definitely did not want to hear that women had to be careful. Why? Weren’t we a civilized society where women no longer needed anyone’s “protection”? For the sake of my own sanity, I stopped reading the newspapers. I stopped getting into debates I couldn’t win. I stopped reacting to comments by sexist trolls on countless online forums. I simply began to plan my escape.
There was a time when not a single day went by when I didn’t feel smothered by the indignities that women in India have to suffer. And what is their reward for somehow surviving all the abuse and the general denial (from both men and women) and the apathy of the courts? Their reward is a lifetime of servitude under the guise of marriage.
We Indians love to crow about the fact that we take care of our elderly, unlike the “west”. Well, how many married couples do you know who live with the wife’s parents? I don’t know of a single one. It is a part of the esteemed “Indian culture” for women to move into their husband’s parents’ home after marriage. And then they must serve not only their husbands but also their in-laws and at times, even brothers in law. So if you want to avoid spending your old age alone, you better give birth to a son. Alas, nature does not work that way. And it can happen that you keep producing daughter after daughter. And daughters must be married off, the expenses of which you must bear. And daughters cannot take care of you when you are old and unwell. Little wonder then that India has one of the highest female foeticide incidents in the world.
Anyone who doesn’t realize how closely culture and social evils are linked needs to have a reality check. My rant could go on and on but I know there will be those who will find ways to justify and twist every single point I make. One thing is for sure – change is slow and hard. And I don’t see it happening as long as we keep conforming to a societal model where a woman’s parents are somehow less important, where being older somehow entitles you to blind respect and obedience (case in point: after marriage, many women cannot even lift a finger without the approval of their mothers in law), where the suppression of women is openly portrayed in mass media and turned into entertainment, and where a Baghban will touch countless emotional chords but one post like this will fire up all the so-called “proud Indians” to speak up against this anti-national, west-worshipping spawn of the English devil.
Of course, I no longer feel these emotions on a daily basis. But now and then, I still fear for the little girls in India. I hope they wake up to a different reality tomorrow.
