I Am My Relations

I am my relations

I come from
My burdens
My obligations
My responsibilities
And identities
That cage me

I come from
My desires
My needs
My aspirations
And incompletions
That fail me

I come from
My connections
And disconnections too

I come from
In me
Within me
Out me
And Other me

I come
From
The womb
The blood
And the soul
That embody me

I come from
The name
Of the family
And the caste
That birthed me

I come from
My neighbourhood
The smells and sights
The senses and noises
That shaped me

I come from
My work
My titles
My power
And the seats
That feed my ego

I come from
The streets of my childhood
The memories of my past
The food that I feed
And the body that I call mine

I come from
The grass
The flowers
And thorns
That nurture me

I, we, us
Aren't we one
Us, we, I
We are one

In oneness,
I am enough

Dilip The King

Quiet were his steps
Invisible almost

Colour to paper
is all he desired

Gasped with joy
when he found
sketches, crayons, paints
laid out in invitation
beckoning him
to flare his imagination

Silently he began
every waking hour
A palace he imagined
Bringing it alive
hue by hue

Not a word he spoke
all of day one
disappearing
in breaks
to his still world
filled with colour

Day two we noticed
when meals he missed
consumed as he was
by his art

Feverish in his endeavour
adding layers of depth
to his thriving imagination

He brought it to life
colour by colour
blacks, reds and blues
in stressed richness
adding dimensions
in mysterious ways

Not a word he spoke
amongst forty others
A craftsman he was
still in his art

As colours emerged
so did he

We saw the shift
certain and real

from flirtive eyes
to steadfast gaze

from fidgety hands
to firm strokes

from drooped shoulders
to arched back

from established frowns
to almost smiles

As his art came alive
He came alive

Feverish in his pace
He slept little
as day three dawned

He knew
his time had come

Quietly he walked
Still, he gazed
as forty pairs
watched
with bated breath

'Art I love
day and night
yet, colours
not have I
at home or school

Colours I see
colours I seek
all around me
even in the drab
of my spaces

To heaven
you brought me
and let me be

You saw me
even as I am
hidden from me

Accept my frailties
with grace you did
and here I am
with grace
I say
Thank You'

and with that
he unfurled
a fantasy palace
brought alive
from deep
in his being
befriended with colours
that danced on paper
under his able command

In that moment,
his eyes shone bright
having found their light
from within his heart
steadfast and sure
they made home
to shine bright
for ever more
Never ever
to be shut again

A journey
just begun
for in art
Dilip (the king)
had found
himself
only himself
truly himself

Note: This is the story of 14-year old Dilip who attended a 4-day outdoor experiential camp by Dream a Dream and where he discovered his inner strength through art

Raped

Tata (grandpa)
I fondly called him

Then the Rapists
one after the other
all
known to me

Kind eyes
turned lusty
heavy bodies
smelly orifices
Were they 17?

The beatings
Threats
Sneers
Cold laughter
Sent a chill
Until a log was I
Dead, yet alive

The laughter still rings
jarring my being
drowning my screams

Pleadings
Just 12, I am
falling to deaf ears

Would it be over soon
Wished I of death
Willed I of death

Time became a whisper
Dark I befriended
For light
an unfortunate reminder
Still alive am I?

12, I said?
Just right
They cheered
Hunger in their eyes
Meat I be

Let me go
Not to my birther
For I don't wish her
To see me
butchered

Let me go
To my creator
So he can face me
For it must be a He

7 months?
I know not
Time stood still
The day it began

My body
My being
My soul

RAPED

Belief?

A young boy of 10

unshackled yet

full of life and desire

happy and carefree.

Yes! he said to life

camps, sports or Arts

everything he wanted to try

one life after all.

I saw him grow

creativity was his potential

engagement was his approach

and grit was his friend.

He fell a few times

learnt to rise every time

with the same charming smile

happy and carefree.

Pride I felt

as I saw him

become a man

my work done.

He went his way

into an exciting world

to seek more of life

to create some of his own.

years later,

met him as a man

full of purpose, determination

and the same toothed smile.

Pride I felt

as I saw him

be the man.

my work done.

Yet, something

didn't sit right

the choices

he chose to make.

Abandoned his brother

with decisive finality

who chose to marry

outside his religion.

'We don't have anything to do with him!

he didn't care for us

our religion,

our reputation.'

Shattered,

I sought a chair

a moment longer

let it sink in.

Opportunities

Safe environments

role-modeling adults too

Everything and more...

...That one day

he would be a better man

creating

a better world.

Yet,

Here he was

choosing hatred

over love

choosing divisions

over humanity

choosing religion

over family

choosing...

The same toothed smile

but a different man

It didn't make sense.

have I failed?

Did something go missing

in my commitment

in my role modeling?

How could it happen?

A young boy of 10

Had become a man

that worried me

scared me

overwhelmed me.

What world did he enter?

Who did he meet?

Experiences he had?

That he became a man

unknown to me.

Is it Belief?

that shapes a man

beyond his childhood

in the dark chambers

of his being.

Belief,

where does it come from

I know not anymore. 

Nostalgia

In a disturbed early morning slumber

a brewing desire 

and then it came

Nostalgia.

It's sweet fragrance

wafting into my senses

the pleasure of pain

from a time in childhood.

My senses beckoned me

I sought it out today

the familiar taste

Yum. Lemon rice it was.

The just crisped onions

the almost friend peanuts

the sweet tingling lime

simmered in a yellowed rice

ah! The lemon rice from my childhood.

It was a Sunday ritual

from our favourite joint

It had no name

like most good places.

Just known by its owner

Ranganna, he was

A balding, paunchy man

with a busy smile.

A packet of the glorious yellow

with a stingy sprinkling 

of spicy chutney

perfect for a Sunday morning.

Most times it was dad

who made the trip,

on his rickety Bajaj

sometimes, inviting me to join him.

We could never have a full packet

for we had to share, 

learnt to share

knowing to stay within our means.

Sometimes mom sneaking her share

onto a our emptying plate. 

while we savoured every bite

of the delicious Lemon Rice.

It was that kind of memory today.

While I got the lemon rice

the experience of family

on a Sunday morning

sharing the ritual

was sorely missing.

Each could have a packet-ful

and more

and yet, I sat there alone

eating my fill, amongst strangers. 

Wishing, pleading, seeking

my childhood to come back 

just for a moment

just for a moment.

so I could fret and fume

that I had to share 

and yet find joy 

in the sharing.

A silent prayer 

gratitude

to my father

for this childhood memory.

A memory

that rekindles Nostalgia

known only to someone

that still seeks.

Tottering On My Two Little Feet

Tottering on my two little feet,
I walk this world
I know not happiness
I know not pain
Everything is new
Everything a discovery
The scraps, mud and stones
The muck and broken glass too
I lift all, put some in my mouth
Some make me smile
Some make me frown
Some feed my hunger
Some make me ill

Tottering on my two little feet,
I walk this world
In untidy clothes
And happy grin
I rest under trees
On my mom's bony lap
The leaves caress me
Putting me to a dreamless sleep

Tottering on my two little feet,
I walk this world
A game we play
My mom and I
Finding food
In places new
Some on strewn packets
Some under muddy stones
In corners and garbage bins too
Oh how exciting!
Good we are
In our daily adventure

A sister I will have soon
Says my mom
Oh! How exciting
The places I can't wait to show her
That special bin with always a surprise
The tree that I love to hug
And the dog that wags and licks me
The traffic light where I always get shiny coins

Oh! What a wonderful world
Isn't it!!
So much to see, feel and live
Then, why doesn't my mom smile?

Cities of Our Childhood

Prague, The city of timelessness

Where the past coexists with the present

attempts to embrace the future.

The museum of communism

is a museum alright

sharing this floor with a casino

while a Mcdonalds showcases a future

on the ground floor

all but overarching the museum

The buildings have history and character

holding many a gory past

but present a picture of legacy

for the ever-coming tourists

I watch many a man,

kneeling on the icy cold road

to beg for alms and food

and maybe some wine

for a cold wintery night

The churches seem empty

and so do the cathedrals and basilicas

standing tall and majestic

but humbled by nature

and the new face of humankind.

They appease the tourists
but not the old woman
groceries in one hand
and stick in another
negotiating
the icy cold winds, snows
and the muck of the city.

The city survives
with its charmed tourists
but its own children seldom enter its gates.

Two days in this city
has been a time for reflections
and contradictions too.

I no longer seem to enjoy the facade
shown to the ever-hungry tourist
camera in tow and borrowed smiles too.
Who see the sky and its majestic palaces
but don't wish to scratch the surface
to see the dark underbelly
a reflection of their own city
and soul.

The statues say more

than the people walking past

The statues say more

in their silence than

the clatter of chatter all over

I hear them cry to save our souls

before we decay

forever and ever more.

The statues say more!

This is not the city

she once knew

and wonders

will she ever find 

the city of her childhood?

A man asks if I want marijuana

another if I want a woman

some would say yes,

others hesitate but curious.

I walked away

scared and bewildered

curious still.

Its a city of loneliness, 

like many a big city

few smiles and even little compassion

its no different from my city

or any other that prides in being a city

with empty hearts and transient dreams

Everyone a nobody

attempting to be a somebody

I wonder

will we ever find

the city of our childhood

anywhere at all!

I wonder

Do we wish to find it?

As I conclude my journey

in this city of timelessness

I dread going back

to the city of my dreams

and my failures

~ 25th July 2010

These are posts I wrote on a tissue sitting at a local bar in Prague in January 2010. I had almost forgotten them till tonight I thought was a good night to resurrect them before they crumble into the lifeless life of the tissue. One part of me tells me to just let them fade away into the invisibility of the tissue and another part of me wants to eternalize them by capturing them here. I chose the later for some of them and tore away the rest. It was the combination of being alone in a new country and just having lost a loved one to the complexities of complex relationships that made me the writer this cold January evening in Prague. It was also maybe the romanticism of the city of Prague. Don't know.

Freedom

I see it in a distance
It seems elusive
I know its real!
Vivid in my dreams
Clear in my childhood
I know it exists!

As a child,
I have tasted it
Feel cheated by what I know
Hopeful of the unknown

Here it comes fast,
Loud, rumbling like a Revolution!
I smell it sweet and bloody.

I need it
I want it
Freedom!

~ 11th October 2012. Written at a poetry writing workshop by Nadia Chaney

A City I can Trust

Give me a city I can Trust!

A city where I can walk with freedom
Where I feel safe to walk the streets
Where I am not killed because of my gender
Where I can be fearless and alive

Give me a city I can trust
Where I know I will be taken care of
protected and loved
Where I can trust my fellow humans
and not fear dark corners or shadows in the night

Give me a city I can trust
Where I can play in parks
Breathe clean air
Care for stray dogs and cats
smell the earth
Fly kites and dance in the rain
pluck fruits from trees
and wake up to chirping of birds

Give me a city
Where love, care and empathy
for all humans, creatures and nature
are the basic tenets of society
and we are the care-takers.

Give me a city I can trust
Where I can make friends with strangers and neighbours
without feeling fearful
Where I get the respect I deserve
for being who I am.

Give me a city
Where I have a say!
Where I can discover and nurture my dreams!
Where I can explore in wonder
the beauty of our world
and feel proud to be a child
born in this city.

I urge you!
Give me a city I want to be born in!

~ An unborn child, 26th November 2012

Seeking Forgiveness

I didn't do much when I first heard the brutality
I didn't join the protests
Neither did I sign petitions.
I prayed for strength to help you get through
I watched in disbelief as the politics unfolded
I went into a shell when friends spoke about it.

I shivered and shuddered at the gory details
I tried to imagine how horrifying it must have been
to go through that night
It was too painful
just to imagine 
I left it there

I felt raw anger at the perpetrators
On many nights, I imagined buying a gun
and shooting them down
just to release my own pain.

I felt guilty
I knew I had failed you
I knew I was as guilty
just as the six who committed the crime
I didn't know how to forgive me
living in my own guilt
day in and day out

Today when my love
drives home late
I am on tenterhooks
till she reaches home safe
I know I have imagined
following her home
just to be sure
she is safe

My world has changed
as your world changed
Yours more brutally
mine more subtly
Change it indeed has.

The verdict was passed
They got a punished
Arguably not enough by many
One got a lot less
I saw their pictures.
I looked into their eyes
I saw the brutality
I felt a shiver down my spine
as I imagined
how innocent their faces looked
and how brutal their intentions were.

Yet,
I search for the child.
The child that lives
Inside each of them

The child
with a smile to melt a heart
taking their first baby steps
the chuckle
the gibberish as they learn to speak
the twinkle in their eye
when they discover the world
the curiosity with which
they embrace the world
the laughter, the chitter-chatter
the hugs and their selfless love.

I saw my 2-year old nephew in them
the confident and wavering first steps
the curiosity to take on life
the fascination with everything new
the obsession with learning, absorbing, soaking in the world.

I wonder when that innocence was taken away
Why that innocence was taken away
Was it the rejection, the neglect, the abuse?
Was it the beatings, the admonitions, the environment?
Where did love replace so much hatred
When did love replace so much hatred
Was there love ever?

I am aching to feel, to understand
their first seed of hatred,
the brutality that took over the sparkle,
the abuse that took over the twinkle,
the beatings that replaced the love.

I hear that child cry
incessantly and infinitely
helpless
I see that child die
the day their brutality overtook
Is anyone listening?

Words fail me
I attempt to weave their life
meet their innocent child
meet them at that place in their life
where hatred met them
show them the path of love
I wish I was there when they made the choice
I wish I could show them the path of love

I know the child wanted it
the child craved for it
the child needed it
yet we failed.

We failed you
We failed that child living inside each of them
We failed your faith in humanity

I make a promise
Not of justice
but of commitment
to reach children like the six
and fill their life with love
weed out their brutality
Ensure it never makes home again 
in their innocent heart.

I commit
to tirelessly
bring love
into the life
of every child
that I possibly can

In that
Jyoti Singh
I may find
my forgiveness.

~ September 2013

Note: Reflections from my own turmoil when the brutal gang rape of Jyoti Singh happened in a moving bus in Delhi on 16th December 2012.

I'm From...

I'm from my Mother...
the love in her bosom
the care in her punishment
the flavours in her food
the mystery in her ways
the trap in her emotions
her cunning ways and
her unparalleled love.

I'm from my Father...
the love in his hug
the pain in his disregard
the commitment in his sacrifice
the loneliness in his anger
the anxiety in his frustration
the unlove in his silence
the unfulfillment in his actions
his superstitions and
his honesty.

I'm from my Community
the noise, the people and the politics
the festivals, the colours and the smells
the crackers, the kites and holidays
the friends made and lost
the approvals sought
and rebellion discovered
the adventure and the fears
the mysteries and
the unknown.

I'm from Me
the magic of drawings
the fantasy of cartoons
the summers with comics
the day-dreaming and
the worlds yet to be discovered.

I'm from
the silence in the chaos
the chaos in the silence
the need to be seen
the need to be heard
the need to feel
and the need for approval.

I'm from
the undiscovered talents
the forgotten dreams
the unsaid angst
the friends I miss
and the stands untaken.

I'm from
the more,
the less
and everything in-between.

I'm.

~ October 2013