I finally publish

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

From this moment, to this moment

Right here right now
I want to have sex with you.
Love waits for us outside the almost closed door
To be picked up on our way out
And to be used on someone else.

Each time you come and go
I want to tell you
I don't run a brothel in my mind
I open my clothes for you

My tears
make interesting patterns
on your shirt.
They will dry again
when you leave
and she wont see the stains
that aren't there.

In one vulnerable moment
I lift the heavy curtain of hair
And show you the secret mole
What I don't tell you is to kiss me there
And when you don't hear my unmouthed words
The curtain descends again
And we both shrug off the uncomfortable moment
When I gave you more.
And you wanted less.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

What's a young girl made of?

That was the summer uncle returned from Bahrain. That now is a place full of crystal sands and blue beaches.

He tucked his overgrown son into the non existent curve of his hip and whispered loud of secrets and unseen wonders that would soon come out of his suitcase.

We all stood in a row waiting.

Once the best gifts were dispelled, then came us visitors.

We always did things in Army fashion in my family. By any order I was last.

I watched an airplane being given away.
A red and yellow train.
Many books.
A whistle.

And then there were none. This time I was forgotten.

My uncle looked around apologetically. He hit his head playfully. Everyone laughed. I didn't find it any funny.

Plucking a ball from the hands of his overgrown son on the hip, he gave it to me. Everyone hastily left the room pretending of work when he started howling.

My mother plucked the ball from my hands and gave it back to stop the howls. We are an Army family maybe, but not yet Animal farm.

I scowled with disgust, an emotion totally wasted on him.

I walked out, kicking a random stone now and then. Generally walking you know.

Dad was always smoking.

He blew me a few hollow rings.
That don't impress me much.

He looked sideways at me.
Dissatisfaction I wore well.

Go to Bahrain. Now. I told him. And get me toys. Lots of them.
He thought a while. "It’s very far you know"
I didn't really care.

"I'll be gone an awfully long time. You’ll stay and without me?"

Recklessly and selfishly, 'Yes'

I felt ashamed a little later. But the need for the toys was more important I guess. Or the fact that even I could have things. So much so that I refused to see his hurt.

We never talked much after that for many days. I pretended I didn't care. The distance between us was greater than far away Bahrain.

Days later I wandered into my parents room and found mom packing. Seeing the neatly pressed clothes I found something amiss. Only father's was being packed.

My voice shook. "Is dad going somewhere?"

I ran out, tears blinding my eyes. Running into dad, holding him tight I sobbed fiercely "I don’t want toys. I hate them. I really do. And Bahrain is so far away"

Dad considered deeply. "So I need not go to Bahrain eh?"

No. Ever never.

Dad was going for a conference to Pune for 2 days. Humbug.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Build me no walls

The April day was so humid and I know thats the only thing you actually remember about our first meeting.

I know you don't really remember the red off shoulder blouse I wore. I'd of course not pictured you'd look like this else I'd have worn something terribly sober.

My roommate and I stood by the dusty window overlooking the most crowded street waiting for your first glimpse. I did feel incredibly foolish and excited. I was old enough not to do such things as meeting an almost stranger and young enough to meet a complete stranger.

We went to the beach that summer night. We went to my favorite restaurant. Do you remember how we played 20 questions? You never answered any. I couldn't ask many.

Your pauses when you replied to my questions made me smile.

My roommate fell for you instantly. So did my sister. In their smiles, I began to love you. When my sister ate uncomplaining at a restaurant, I loved you for the peace you brought into that dinner. When my roommate bustled around making you the only thing she knew to cook, I loved you more for the small joy you brought into our overcrowded hall. There was always a little room for more love.

I spoke to you about all the men in my life. You never spoke to me about the no women in your life. Of course I knew I was special, you didn't have to tell me. Though it would have been nice to hear it in your quiet tones and a faint laugh that you'd use to dispel the bashfulness.

One night when I missed the ride home it was you I'd called. And when you came, I'd climbed down 9 floors wondering how I got so lucky with you.

You took me to the secret beach. I've never told anyone about it, I couldn't bring myself to share it with anyone else.

You took me shopping when I wanted a grey Tee with a collar. We never found it.

You gave me a bracelet when I first went away. I never wore it.

You called me when I first went away. I never returned any.

And then I went away nowhere.
And then you went away somewhere.

I'd forgotten to build walls with you. By the time I'd remembered, you were already inside.

Tuesday, April 08, 2008


The knife cut sure and strong. Clean, close and swift, were the words that came into my mind as I saw the silvery blade of a goodbye descend.

Thats how endings should be. No remnants.

Unlike me. I'm still saying goodbye to a person long gone.

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

Never forever

It was an old photograph. Black and white and slowly yellowing on the edges.

Two children. Barely 2 years old... I am not too sure, I never am good with children's ages.

Both of them on the floor. The girl clutched on one hand the figurine of a lady carrying a pot full of water. And the other she used to lean into the boy's ears and whisper something. He... he looked happy as always, especially with the girl. Until she killed him . But even then he died smiling. He hadn't seen the blow coming.

One was of course me. And the other him. Oldest of old friends. So old that even gender discrimination didn't exist in our life. Before you could say 'hey boy'.

Our parents had caught us in an unknown to even us, intimate moment.

What was I telling you, I'd asked him once.

Oh, that?, he said, squinting his eyes to avoid the sun. And he told me that I'd told him about fishes and stars and kites and horses.

We looked at that photograph.

What was I telling you, I asked him as always.

Oh that?, he said. And he told me that I'd told him about Pondicherry and foreigners and blue school uniforms.

And one summer when we went through the albums again, I discovered yet again that photograph.

I'd forgotten its existence, I told him.

If he appeared disappointed, I never knew.

Wonder what I was telling you, I mused out loud to him.

Oh that, he said. And he told me that I'd told him about this boy whom I was going to fall in love with.

I'd blushed.

And then we grew up.

The lady with the pot of water broke one of her legs. And yet she stood on one leg unfailingly holding the pot, not spilling a drop of the clear liquid. And she forgot how not to smile.

And he stopped hearing what I didn't tell him years ago.