Mine

You will know the rocks that hold the stones but will dare not venture into them.

Not knowing what fear is, you'll pretend to know all about it by avoiding the mud, the pits, the jagged ends of things.

But I have known.

I have known how gratefully they come to me for sanctuary.
They are mine because I made them.
I birthed them when I cleaned them of the mud, the pits, the jagged ends.
Till I had met them they were not.
And because I birthed them, made them.
I cried for joy and kissed them.
Because of the mud, the pits and the jagged ends.

I dealt with the awkwardness of embracing a thing so small, tried many angles, and did my best to hug them.

And you who do not know, do not know a thing about a thing,
Carry them about on your limp wrists,
Ears that years ago mixed up listening-hearing,
Your bony ashen fingers,
And your cold hearts.

You make me yawn.

You think you own them,
But they'll never belong to you.
You give what you know to be a triumphant smile, the only kind you know,
(But it's so sad, oh, so sad)
And you say it doesn't matter, that you don't care.

But if only you knew.

If only you knew
What it is
To matter to, to be cared for by
The thing that you own.
What it is
For it to belong to you.

What it is

To trade the dead weight of a bird around your neck

For a mere feather

That bounces off and floats around you

But never strays afar

Of its own will

And comes to rest in the crook of your neck.

First published in Muse India, Jul-Aug 2014.

Red Velvet

My first view of the red velvet gilt-edged diary

Was of its opening page, of a declaration in my newly-wed aunt’s hand

On my uncle’s behalf

Saying he will never hit her again

Signed by my uncle, with love.

In the bottommost shelf of her almirah

I saw the book again today

When her teenaged daughter was rummaging for a favourite top.

Skipping several blank pages after the first one

I saw my aunt’s grocery lists

And miniscule digits secured in ovals
That showed how much she had managed to save.

First published in Muse India, Jul-Aug 2014. Subsequently published in Califragile, 23 Jan 2018.

Split-Vision

To watch the act you go together

But what you see 

You see alone.

First published in Muse India, Jul-Aug 2014.

I Can Explain This

Maybe you think I didn’t look at your roses

(Yes, yes, I know they were only twenty a bunch)
Because glass-caged, glassy-eyed, voices do not reach me

Or that

Conditioned-hair, conditioned-air, the thoughts in my head are frozen

 

But my eyes didn’t go to meet yours

Only for the fear of what they might find there

And because I couldn’t have explained all this then

In the flicker of a red light.

First published in Muse India, Jul-Aug 2014.

Chimera

Stealing the light of the candle,
She had danced with the shadows once.
Shadows
That now stand stripped naked.
The candle,
Extinguished.


First published in HT Ranchi Live, 10 April 2003.

Treasure Hunt

All over the places you inhabited, in all the nooks and 
crannies that you could be contained,
I looked for you, haunted, exploring all your haunts till I was fuzzy-brained.
Ready to give up, readier than I had been for being given up, I glanced up and realised that I had looked right through,
That searching beneath, beside, between, beyond, I had failed to look at you.


First published in Labyrinth, September 2010.

Forever Indebted

The expression of gratitude brings immense happiness to both the giver and the recipient. Yet we are shy of expressing it because we find it awkward or ‘soppy’ or, worse, because it never strikes us. But no excuse is good enough for not saying something as simple as ‘thank you’, and here is a list of people one can begin thanking right away. If they are still a part of our everyday lives, that’s great. If not, we owe our thanks to them even if we have to seek them out. There are also those people we meet and lose within a few seconds, whom we should learn to recognize and acknowledge better and more quickly next time.

Thanking people for these ‘unremembered acts of kindness and of love’ makes one feel humbled and fulfilled; we realize it was a good life because it was enriched by the goodness of so many others. The humility that gratitude brings about enables us to give more, opens us up to receiving more.


*The boss who never looked askance at the delayed assignment that was the chief ingredient of your nightmares for weeks.

*The silent lover who was always quietly and dignifiedly (without becoming a stalker) there for you, all the time knowing his feelings couldn’t be reciprocated the same way.

*The friend who always ends up doing things for you much more frequently than you do for her.

*The partner who gently points out your mistakes in specific situations and talks about ‘what you did’ rather than ‘who you are’, thus avoiding the use of labels you could be stuck with for life though you may have shrugged them off at the time.

*The street vendor who, potentially making the fanciest restaurants partake of humble pie, would always give you an extra portion of the side dish, though his profit margins make you wonder if he manages to take home anything at all.

*The stranger who takes the trouble to find you and return the phone you had forgotten at a public place.

*The family member who supported you through an unconventional life choice you made.

*The sibling whose unflinching loyalty never wavered in the face of your occasional, callous meanness.

*The grandparent whose indulgence made you wonder for some time if you might be worth more than you think you are.

*The mentor who neither pampered your mediocrity nor dismissed you for it but clearly saw how much more you’re capable of, and made you believe in it yourself.

*The teacher who treated you like an adult for the first time and talked to you like an equal, making you feel like your opinion matters, who took you seriously and therefore made you take yourself seriously.

First published in Thought Catalog, 29 April 2014.