Ruffled Hair

Ruffled hair
unkempt shirt
holed shorts
sockless and
unlaced shoes
He walked
to school
looking down
staying invisible
Furtive glances
playing hide and seek
through piercing eyes
he makes his way
to his
daily torture.

A moment
longer
he awaits
becoming steely
sighing with
resignation
he enters
the rusted gate.

Whispers
become
full blown
laughter
as crowds
circle his
small frame.

Poking sticks
and furling stones
greet him
to this
temple of learning

Not one
touching him
disgusted as they are
by his unkempt being
and smelly
unbathed body
Holding noses
with
disgruntled noises
poke they do
and run as fast.

The brave ones
kicking him
around.
Quietly, he endures
It's momentary
right?
Not knowing
the trauma
has made
home
deep in his
body
for a
lifetime to come.

An invisible
corner
in a dingy room
he seeks
at best
hoping.

In he walks,
purposeful
Cane in tow
with
starched white
and pleated blacks
Shoes as
clean as new
and hair
gelled
nicely
into place.

Scans he
with disdain
his proteges
who await
in fearful silence
for their inevitable
turn.

Its always him,
sharp eyes
make the silhouette
of his
hidden frame
a glee
shone in his eyes.

Ram he roars!
sending shivers
down the
entire herd
his voice
booming
the cane plush
ready to fulfil
its master's bidding.

Not again,
groans Ram
Why do I
even try,
he walks
dragging his
unkempt being.

A swish
cuts through 

the still air
splitting skin 

in abused palms
Yet
another day
in paradise.

Feeling
exceptionally
generous
he demands
for parted cheeks
in between naked legs
Another swish
cuts the pregnant
air
tearing through
dark pink skin
in gleeful joy.

Ram holds
willing
himself,
'not for him
a single tear.'
Again and again
the master goes,
splitting cheeks
to expose bone
and broken spirit.

A silent tear
the class bully
too drops
as he
watches
this dance
of terror.

a gloomy day 
ensues
in dingy corridors
of broken walls
wailing
the loss of childhood
for yet 

another day.

Not one
ruffles his
hair
no more
staying away
from his smelly
unkempt being,
bloodied body
and
broken spirit.

Never again,
he promises
as he takes
his last step
out of the
hallowed
gates
of this
temple of ruin.

Years later,
as he brutalizes
his nth victim,
with swishes
of bloodied cane
robbed
years ago
from a soulless
master.

Long forgotten
his own
body scars
for they
have seeped
deep in his soul
showing him
the ways of
world
and
he in it.

His hair
stays ruffled
stays
forever ruffled!

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

The Patriarch - 1

He sits on his armchair
drool escaping his lips
sitting in conscious sleep
in his created kingdom

'Takeaway the plates,
you bitch'
He roars
wanting to control
his waning patriarchy
in the twilight of his life

She does his bidding
grumbling under her breath
making sure he heard
yet a whisper
he cannot decipher

He growls
taking control back
This is my household
My kingdom

He sits on his armchair
eyes like a hawk
letting his sons know
who is still the boss
Dangling the keys
to the shop and the locker
He controls the money
Not trusting his sons
who have adult sons
of their own now

He sits on his armchair
remote in his hand
watching the news
or the chants of
long gone Gods
Its his time
every morning
every evening
His children fidget
wishing to catch a movie
or the new series
waiting for him to give up
sitting on his arm chair
just once
to give them the joy
of a stolen movie
in a kingdom, he owns

He sits on his armchair
reading the newspaper
all morning
She brings him his morning tea
and clears the table
She brings him his breakfast
and clears the table
He commands
Clean this shelf
Clear that sofa
Make this for lunch
expecting his voice
to be heard
even if she is busy
making the morning work
for her school going children
and her chosen God

He sits on his armchair
crushing dreams
with a dismissive hand

'No more education for you
Go sit in the shop
and learn the trade
Too much education
will make you lazy
learn to earn
just like I did
working hard
day and night
loading gunny bags
See the scars
that make me a man
its your turn now'

'A designer you say
what crap of work is that
a real man
works at the shop
commanding
minions and owning his kingdom'

He ignores his pleas
and the silent stifles
a boy being forced to manhood
before his time

A patriarch is born
in the crushing of dreams

He sits in his armchair
sipping his third tea
She stands meakly
hoping against hope
He ponders with forgone conclusion

'Study as much as you would like
but work is not for you
Girls in our family
don't go out to work
Haven't we provided
enough for you
that you seek to earn
and bring shame
to the family name

Do what you wish to
once you are married
Your husband will decide
whether you will live your dreams'

One fine day
He doesn't wake up
sitting on his armchair
drool escaping his lips

A new Patriarch
takes the armchair
and so it is...

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?

Unheard Cries

I am used to early mornings
darkness before dawn

Dhoti and kurta
Empty bag
I left before they woke.

I feared
they would see my fear
Didn't want to
weaken by resolve.

I walked 5 miles
in the silence of twilight
the riot of colours and sounds
beginning to embrace the morning
while the darkness in my life
engulfed me further.

I took the first bus
packed with others like me
they carrying hope
I carried despair

Their bags were full
joy in their banter
sadness in their eyes
Mine was empty
I didn't plan to return.

I avoided familiar eyes
hiding in the morning darkness
I needed to do this.
I didn't have a choice.

I overheard of a girl
raped by her employer
I heard of her courage
and prayed her to be strong.

Another in a city
a name I had not heard
was told it was in India
somewhere in the east
She succumbed
I said a silent prayer.

I wondered
'Will it be worth it?'
I didn't know what else to do.
My children's empty faces
haunted me for months
They didn't deserve this
neither did she.

She gave me her life
stood by me
as hyenas fed
on everything we owned
They took it all away
yesterday was the last straw
my dignity.

The big city bustled
I made my way quietly
Bought my provisions
and waited at the gates

I watched in fear
as the morning workers arrived
Oblivious of my intentions

I wish someone would stop
even if its to smile
for a moment more
give me hope.
Alas!

I hesitated
just for a moment.
my children...

'I need to do this my children.
Someone needs to hear our cries.'

I doused myself
Lit the match
The pain unbearable
flames erupted
it ended quickly.

I rose above
hoping to watch
the march of freedom
to save my children.
There was none. It was in vain.

My name made news
Vitthal Bhimappa Arabhavi.
There were protests
tyres burnt, roads blocked
but none to fight
for my children's hunger
and their bleak future.

I am sorry my children,
I tried, everything...
No one heard my cry
No one...