1397 kms and beyond

Distances makes hearts grow fonder

Is it?

1397 kms across rivers, roads and melting sands

I've sometimes heard you sob

silently in the death of the night

wishing that these 1397 kms 

didn't eat your voice.

Rain is ripping apart the womb
of her mother,

here loneliness lies prostrate in my belly

like a dead child.

Insomnia. Paranoia.

Words I am trying to memorize

when sleep refuses to stalk me

like a sick smitten lover.

You may have traded headaches with me

when you complain of them 

I laugh it off

saying aspirin is paying me

for being migraine's favourite child.

Some song coos into my ear

taking me back to the sea

that strolled with us

on a strange September evening.

1397 kms. The yardstick of longing.

Only if distances made hearts grow fonder.

                             

                                                Picture Credit: www.publicdomainpictures.net

Story of the Honest Roadside Tea Vendor in Andheri

Living in Mumbai was a learning lesson in my life. I had to grapple with every irritating issue on my own, since the protective hearth of my home wasn't a reality anymore. I had to make a move to Mumbai for six months, but those testing times showed no signs of coming to an end. From doing my laundry without a washing machine, to having bland food to shopping for groceries on my own. The list of the endless atrocities that life had in store for me, had lost count.

I was living in the university hostel at that time. The food was tasteless and flavorless, but I had no other options but to resign to fate. The only saving grace was the tea I had in the morning and evening, which was available in those glossy coffee shops outside the campus. This seemed to be a great idea initially, until it started creating bigger holes in my pocket. Soon, I started to look for local roadside tea vendors, who would serve me two cups of tea or coffee and make my day.

I had to make peace with the reality, for the struggle to find a good roadside tea vendor was all in vain. I did find a few tea vendors, but their tea made me throw up, since it wasn't served with hygiene.  I used to guzzle numberless cups of green tea which was to cater to my health needs. Sadly, it didn't give me the kind of kick that 'tea with milk' gave me. As my mom puts it rightly, I can imagine living without food but surviving without tea is like being slapped with a curse for a lifetime.

Building a Gender Equal World

This is utopia for a woman. To imagine a world that will treat her as an equal. That gave me all the right reasons to write about it. The world we now live in, treats her as a build of mass and bones or a helper to the man, as religious books like Bible put it. Perhaps, all the religions of the world would have conspired against Eve and her daughters to hold her guilty of a sin she may have not even committed. 

Sometimes I can't come to terms with the life I have as a woman. I can't imagine walking down the streets without being ogled at, or travel without being prodded at. As if there was nothing more to me than a body that has breasts, legs, arms, without the brains of course. I can't think of living a day of my life, without being asked the pertinent perennial question about my marriage or being a prey to the hate the world throws at me for being ambitious. 

If a tired dejected woman like me were to tear down the world and rebuild it again, then I would want the world to look something like this.

To My First Roommate, on her Wedding

Hey S,

I still remember meeting you for the first time. Mom was feeling the fear deep inside her bones, for it was the first time her beloved daughter was going to stay on her own, and I was counting the number of minutes left, before she would leave. A plethora of thoughts were ransacking my mind, most of which were revolving around the camaraderie I will share with you. You looked confident in your black shorts and pink see through top, which my sister-in-law didn't approve of. I could hear her muttering to mom, about how perilous it would be to live with you. I think everyone at home had got used to seeing me in clothes that couldn't be touted as vulgar or bold. 

Infact my bhabhi, had many times after that sent messages through my mom to shift with that malayali girl next door who wears kurtis and wouldn't pose a threat to my humble habits.

I did try my best to make friends with the other women in the place, but at the end of the day I decided that it is best to befriend the person who lives with me, no matter how shady she may seem. 

Infact you maybe amused to know that mom never raised a finger on your character unlike my sister-in-law. She always used to tell me that she found you polite and cheerful, and my roommate will be my friend in need, and not my neighbours. I know she may have turned the pages on her past while having said that, and she was doing all that talking based on her own experiences.

Your Voice

It's been a flight of fancy
the gold splashing on silk curtains
dancing in air, to entice the summer
that has stretched its legs.
Birds crawl on a creek bathing
half the city.
Hallucinate. Inhale. Exhale. Exist.
The grey statue silently gazed
into the sky with a finger pointing
towards north, telling me of the times
to come,when your car whizzed past
vegetable vendors putting weights
for a price, fishes were being stripped
cut and salted. The city reeked of life.
September was our meeting place
when candles lighted in prayer
waxed wishes,we came face to face.
Eye to eye. Holding hands.

Private India-Book Review

 

Title: Private India Series : Other Private Offices

Author:  Ashwin Sanghi and James Patterson

Pages: 384 Paperback (Indian Subcontinent Edition)Release date : Aug 28th 2014Genre: Mystery

Publisher: Century

This is the third time I am reading a mythological thriller by Ashwin Sanghi. I had great expectations from this book since I was looking forward to a racy mysterious thriller. Much like Rozabal Line and Krishna Key this book was a disappointment, with neither the plot or characters staying back with me. The beauty of an interesting book is that you would want to read it over and over again, but this one is not even a one time read.

I was confused by the main plot and the sub plots thrown around it carelessly. The one that emerges towards the end like a rude shock was the biggest turn off in the book. Since I have not read any of the previous books in the series, this book started off as a riddle. And sadly I could do nothing to unravel the pathetically disinteresting plot in the book. Sanghi did his best to stick to what he does the best, writing a mythological thriller, but he failed from the starters. This book was aimed for an international audience and the author wanted to make a foray into the american thriller market. That's why the mythological elements were explained which read like definitions in the course book. Sanghi did his best to make this a mythological thriller by carefully putting the mythological research to use, but alas this time he has failed to create a magic moment. While in Rozabal Line and Krishna Key, the mythological twists and turns narrate the story. But the murders do not take the story forward this time. Infact it bores you. A few cliches that made me sleepy were a bomb attack plan on the financial capital of India, mad killings that leave the cops bewildered and the portrayal of politicians as puppets or friends of the rich and the famous. The helplessness shown by the police also adds to the boring storyline.

My First Experience of Sexual Harassment in a Public place

The bus that day, was swarming with people like honey bees huddled in a hive. My brother was accompanying me and we had to reach home on time. Else maybe we could have waited for the next bus to ferry us to our destination. He took the ticket while I was managing to breathe through the reeking sweat stinking humans all around me. Ok this was how we traveled in Delhi around five years ago. Things have gone for a transformation with the air-conditioned metro coaches and buses.

I somehow had to place myself in the front of the bus and was choking with the clutching and clamping. In the Delhi buses, men do not behave most of the times and the mannered ones are those who enter from the rear door and occupy the back seats.

There was needless pushing and pulling, and I felt that had the people behaved in a more disciplined way the ceaseless congestion could have been avoided. Now why I remember this journey is because of a pot-bellied man who was standing behind me, and all throughout the cruise, I could have only remembered him groping my body. He was foundling the lower half of me while trying to squeeze the upper half with his hands.  It was an unnecessary act of gluttony I had been subjected to and had I not gathered all my force to push him back and shout at the top of my voice, he would have raped me surely. This being one of the first incidents that taught me the importance of retaliation. It also made me a fan of cabs and rickshaws, and until the metro wasn’t introduced in Delhi, public transport was a no-no, come what may.