Grip

The land forced to yield to water for jungles of skyscrapers

with anodized windows and welded greed

minions of directionless forces slathering on cement

the minions dying for food and killing in the process

a hundred other dreams.

To breathe sometimes i run away from this land piled under concrete

i run to hide further, farther from the city

i run and find the brick kilns there

and the benzyl smell of cheap plastic

i run back into my town

The city finds me there

and builds buildings, flyovers and bridges

flooding sodium lights in my room.

my curtains recede leaving me bare

to the prying eyes of a window 3 inches away

i long for my childhood pastures

now under a million hungry feet. 

A rant

There is a switch which goes on in everyone's mind as soon as a single girl crosses 25. The light which the switching on of this switch generates, manages to pale every other finer feeling in comparison. You know what I mean, much like the sun's light obliterating every star's. So, I, who was once a "smart girl", "slightly obese girl", "the-one-who's-studying-neurobiology girl", "really funny girl", "a short tempered girl", "oh-so-ambitious girl", "the-one-who-writes-well girl" (ahem) is now reduced to only "not-yet-married-girl". This light, which this God-forsaken switch casts, manages to make sure all my other epithets are wiped off. Although, the negative ones pop out at times when they discuss why I am "not-married-yet".

So, I since I am "oh-so-ambitious", I decided that I needed to "study abroad". I chanced upon a really nice course and popped out to the United Kingdom as soon as I could. I led an extremely interesting year. A backpacking trip to Italy, bad scores on my assignments, night-outs which I don't remember, writer's block, enriching museums and conversations, a sprained ankle, being homeless for a while, staying with wonderful friends and horrible bouts of homesickness. The last few bits and the cold, cold weather made me come back as soon as I could. 

After getting back, I expected a hero's welcome (see that's where I went wrong, I should've expected a heroine's welcome). Anyway, point being, after being back to my native land, the only welcome I received was a standard question "So, when are you getting married now?". Imagine! No parties, no curiosity about my exploits in the First World, no "*wink *wink, how much did you drink?" questions. Just a cold, hard "When's the wedding now?" stare. 

For years, I had seen my cousin brothers returning to India to parties and special sessions where people made them talk for hours about life abroad. I mean, these guys kept going and coming back for years and each year there would be these "Oh my! He's back" parties. Ok, some of these guys did get asked "when's the wedding?", but that was only if he was past 30 and if he seemed effeminate. Otherwise, the "let the party (I am thinking of a bad word here) with the firang babes be on!" 

As I was saying, the singularity of thought of these numerous "aunties, uncles and others" amazes me. A good career, a house purchase, a car purchase, the existence of an enriching life for a single girl over 25 are not to be lauded or spoken about unless accompanied by the mention of a marriage date.

Me and so many of my friends are leading purposeful, productive and happy lives. Some of them are even married. Observing this and reading many other things I have come across so far have lead me to believe that humans strive to be happy. And when we are happy, single or married, we should be satisfied and celebrate that instead of basing our life's happiness on some random incident in the distant future which may or may not happen. 

I understand the importance of a good relationship or a marriage. But what I do not understand is this invalidation of my entire existence without the stamp of a husband. Incidentally, I happily exist. 

Find this reblogged here:

Post by Women's Web.

  

Statistics

I am being watched

By omnipresent eyes

Privacy is not the right of a woman.

Clothing is mentally stripped off by people on the road

Every rift, every curve analysed and objectified and priced

I might don a burkha

a naqab to curtain against stares

But I know, from their experience

It doesn't matter what I wear.

My brain too, is now being watched

By automated bots

Privacy is not in the net bargain I had.

My mind is dissected by advertisers

Every click, the questioning words I type and myriad worlds I enter

I am quizzed and sold products I won't care to buy

a policy stops nothing

Money can be made from voyeurism

I know, I am a statistic.

Mad poem: A traveller

See, I am landlocked in this seaside city.

I pass an airport on my daily commute.

And see the jet-set and the others plying in their fancy rides

Then exchanging them for more sophisticated ones in the air.

I have pictures of ships on my desktop.

And the tv series on a sea voyage I see. It has my current crush.

He's a tv star. In England.

I hang out at home with some tea and stale bread.

And at times, even order in a lot of fancy fare.

I watch movies made halfway across the world.

And the tv series, oh yes, the tv series they make.

The characters colourful enough to fuel any reverie.

I do not miss my friends.

I am living online a lot too.

Connected via my broadband to the information labyrinth.

I paint landscapes of a full life.

My laptop is filled with pictures.

I have travelled alone quite a bit.

There was Munich and Milan, Rome,

London, Edinburgh and more.

I have souvenirs. But no tickets for any further trip.