The Collective Indian Conscience.

Hotchpotch of past and present, mixed in morality, cloaked in nationality, a melting pot of all cultures but mine. I speak to the soul we have, of common history learnt in classrooms (we are proud of our country). Nonsense.

Half-truths of boiling minds. Killing the humans in the stories of his-tory. Violence and bloodshed, this is where they are. Refusing to talk, talking too much, slogans, dharnas, your devious ways.

I quit.

I cannot be this. I want out of your great collective conscious, you who make my heart hair skin diction dreams and self, yours. I kill in silence the soul of India.

For the short one

Thou, miniature human specimen, thou who art only unto my knees. Confirmed clarity and positivity in thy twin dollops of chocolate brown, their sole purpose looking, questioning. Oh, naughtiness incarnate. Thy laughter clear like the ring of a telephone of 70s.

Climbing railings and falling down, you creepy little spider monkey.

To the Women who Lived before

Voices, imaginations of women bygone. Their dreams interspersed in mine. I read your verses. I make them mine. We may not love the same men. But we love the same way.

Your desperation, mine. Ours, this world.

Oblivion

Forgetful me.

I sometimes forget words. Halfway through the vocal cords.

And when I do remember them, it doesn't sound right.

See, I could have used larynx there. Not so poetic.

Unless rhymed with pharynx. Now I forget which was which.

There's a history for this disease. Infected gene pool.

Or there are people who say it is a fad of the times

 Sometimes it is nice to forget things. Where the sugar was kept

And mix your pudding up with salt then. Oh the laugh!

All hell breaks loose when I forget my password

Not of my email account, but the banking sites.

Well, I never forget the twitface password.

Yet I may forget your face to your name.

"oh Mrs.phhhbhhht. You look so very lovely

Shiny and bright as new. Got married just I suppose.

Oh wait, your kids have kids too?! Let me guess

You aren't Mrs.phhhbhhht, are you? "

Shrinks upon shrinks have I consulted

Tonics and tactics have been taken up.

Remembering the word with a card and a colour

Or a number and a mental picture

And when I talk, a blubber of gestures and mangled phrases

Sound like they have been in a train wreck.

"There must be a connection", said one quirky doc

"We need to measure the velocity of your hair falling down

Once the head is free of hair, your memory can grow fairly well"

I saw my friend shave his head. He's still as dumb as a joker.

Psst.. the reason why I forget things is to have some fun

Coz people forgive a lunatic soon. And then I can have a good laugh

When the pudding is too salty and the tea too cold

I may even call you fat and get away.

When  I  write silly things, I 'll  be called a genius.

Transcendence or something they call it.

 Basically, timeless humor they mean.

But these fools! What do they know of a day's good laugh?

Now that I'm tired of writing, I’ll leave you to wonder it's meaning

As I have forgotten the very  thought that made me write this little thing.

To the voices in my head

I'm scared of listening to you. You give me such wonderful things to write. You trick me into believing they are mine. And when I show them to others, I can hear you laugh.
I am scared of listening to you because I think you are feeding me with the words of some past thinker. Someone whom I had once heard and understood and remains in the annals of my mind. Maybe you recite them back to my ears. And I, like a fool, will quote them as mine.
I hope it doesn't become a copyright infringement.

One of them said, "trust me. And write this..."

You throw words like snowflakes. Each with a distinct shape, soul. And I have to catch them with my palms. I have to mould them, shape them, unearth them.

She said, "You can then call them yours..."

The Secret of a God

Now, monsoon has always been my weak-point. I suppose I share this quality with a number of others. Here's what wafted through the window after a slow drizzle.

This clear, settled monsoon air. Celebrating the tears and words of some mighty pagan God. Long forgotten. Yet His words linger in the air. When the clouds have weeped enough and they gather around to muster a few more sobs, you can hear them. Sometimes, I am privy to them. The verses of His secret so strong that they make the sky blush at night. I have seen it. Once when I was floating, watching the night birds flee in silhouettes, I had seen the pink night sky. And I spoke to it "I know, I have heard it too..."

Chronicles of a Good Girl

I was a good girl from birth, I was told. I never fussed for eating, I never broke my toys. I held my grudges and never spoke of them. I always smiled at sorrow and helped maintain peace. Then came the time when I was to be judged. Adolescence was waiting to test my resolve. I skipped and I turned and I shut my eyes tight when there was a scare of my ruination. I shooed away guys who confessed their liking. Told they had an issue deep within their psyche. I grew up and married and loved my husband dear. He was the one I dreamed of, we settled for the best. Our families were happy, they blessed us for life. We both had our kids, our little spoilt brats. When once came a neighbour, sexy in her jeans. She strutted her body, in full abandon. I shunned her broad manners and her loud laugh. She lures the men to her, I called her a slut. She then cried away for one her stories. I was happy, my judgment was never to be wrong. She moved from my building, good riddance, I thought. Her influence would no longer spoil the brats. I grew up and made my children be gentle. I gave them the knowledge of right and wrong. They grew up too, soon, and went on adventures. Their life was no longer tied to mine. Relief spread across, a life I had lived. Full of joy, full of fun, a long happy one. When on my deathbed I had the flashback, I thought I did good and closed my eyes. I was a good girl right from my birth, and was a good girl right to my death.

Erosion of innocence

I remember you darling. You were there. New to the place. Crying your eyes out. Your sobs uncontrollable. You were shy. You were the boy in the corner. I smiled, I made you half-smile. Your eyes dug deep into my heart.

We met again. You were playing. A lone game. Some fantasy world. You came, sat next to me and told me your affairs. And I listened. Your smile made me crave for your innocence.

You grew up today. When I saw you, I hunted for that spark of recognition. You were ashamed. You looked down. And moved away and did a stunt. Told me that you didn't need me. After all, what have I done but smile? Your sorrow was yours alone.

I acknowledge. We are never to look at each other again.