I took the night bus
draped in my wedding sari,
still adorned with the jewels
my parents had scrounged for me
over the years,
breaking their tender hearts
for raising a daughter unworthy.
I sought you
and the answer to
why I wasn’t enough for you.
I hope, they wouldn’t
cremate my body
before I reach you.
Photo by @5tep5 on Unsplash
Author’s note: More backyard news–A huge number of our neighbours have been knocking on our windows for various reasons. I have dedicated them a series.
My favourite Bulbul (Indian Nightingale) had been singing too many solos of late. I, as his dedicated fan, would stand at my window and watch him perform. But I was getting worried about his bachelor status and the desperation creeping up in his notes.
A few days back, I saw him take a quick bath in the famous birdbath across the street. A few minutes later, he was stalking another Bulbul from one tree to another. He would perch right next to her and she would fly away, then he would tail her closely. I wanted to tell him that it was creepy and rude, and a sure way to piss off girls, but well, what do I know of avian courtship rules? Anyway, it might not even be a girl…I mean, how would I know? There are no gender markers.
Yesterday, he knocked on my window in the afternoon–my star had brought a co-star along. He hopped back on the branch where she(?) was perched as I walked to my window with my camera. On the count of three, the rockstar couple started performing. They filled my room with Love-filled twittering for the next 9 minutes, while my husband sat with his headphones on, oblivious…
Their first duet inspired this poster. After lockdown ends, I’ll print it on T-Shirts and Coffee Mugs, and become a millionaire.
At dawn, I rise
hoping for a quiet morning,
but…
A Myna in his best black coat
greets me with a knock
on my glass window.
Pigeons on the wires
with fluffed collars
murmur greetings.
A returning Bat
screeches Goodnight
as he swoops past the window.
On the tree next door,
a sleepy Owlet admonishes me
for sleeping all ‘day’.
Two Sparrows sit there
swapping the latest gossip.
A Parrot on the electric pole
squawks at the Crows
partying on the roof top
are loud enough
to raise the dead.
The Eagle on the water tower
is quiet though,
looking for breakfast amidst the row.
I quietly hum a tune to myself.
My mornings are quiet
but never silent…
The Devil lost in thought
addressed a full court,
“How did I wipe out
the human kind?”
An answer so simple
had escaped his
“oh-so-male” mind
for so many millennia.
Grand schemes he tried–
deals, wars, atom bombs,
biological weaponary–
but failed. And then…
“I chanced upon a look
into a woman’s mind,
the perfect weapon I find.”
Demons, his subjects
stirred with excitement,
“Was she a super villain?”
“Naah, just a regular girl
having her first menstruation…”
Silence ensued at the declaration.
“You see,
humans shame their women
about their menstruation.
The topic–a taboo–
makes turns women
into second-class citizens,
for the duration.
They bear the pain
and the shame
together as if a sin.
Even a drop brings
public humiliation.
It drives all woman,
dead or alive,
at some point in life,
to wish they
never had menstruation.
I just granted that wish!”
The moon is dripping blood tonight.
I wonder if I’ll get a drop.
I wait outside the movie hall
after the midnight show.
A huge chunk of meat whistles at me,
flexing his biceps in the red glow.
I raise an eyebrow
and walk towards the trees.
I can hear his footsteps
right behind me.
The moon is dripping blood tonight.
I’m sure to get a drop.
Photo by Vivek Doshi on Unsplash
The Lockdown has got us better acquainted to our neighbours. A huge number of them have been knocking on our windows for various reasons. I decided to dedicate them a series.
A group of Sunbirds live in the neighbourhood. So far, they had been avoiding photoshoot. But the sudden disappearance of human kind got a couple of females curious (much like dear Harry’s Aunt Petunia) and they decided to check if we were extinct yet. Their eyes became large with shock when they found a whole family of survivors in our quarters.
The moon is beneath my feet
as I tread carefully
down the silver road
afraid to dispel the magical calm
that holds me together
and stops me from falling apart
from your thought.
Quietly,
I step on the stars
that fall on the way
to my place of rest,
never feeling the burn
of the amber beneath
my bare feet.
My mind’s numb
and so’s my heart
with the chill
that surrounds me.
Once the water rises
filling my emptiness…
We’ll see…
After a long day of chores
and heartbreaks,
I look out of the window for solace.
Dusk.
The Sun, now red
like ambers close to an end,
is washed by the ocean waves
of the thin wisps of clouds.
Kissed by the sleepy Sun,
the clouds blush.
The orange Moon,
hiding all day
from the burning anger
of her father,
now comes to face.
She sings quiet songs
made of silver beams
drowning away his rage.
He sleeps at the horizon,
in the arms of dark Night
to wake the next day.
With a quietened heart,
I now seek Hope—
tomorrow
will be a new day.
She was sitting next to where you lie, mother, all black, serious, and still.
I wanted to ask the traitor the same questions you would have–why she wasn’t around while you were still alive; when you needed to snuggle with her; when you cried for her all night?
But then, she had been out pursuing lord-knows-what.
Now, she finds the time to sit next to where you lie, mother, after you closed those beautiful eyes and left to pursue lord-knows-what; all teary-eyed and seeking forgiveness for neglecting you for all those lonely years; bringing fresh flowers; trying to take my place in your lap.
You could hardly blame me for scratching her face. I wish I had taken out her eyes…but they looked so much like your own.
Photo by Howell_eddie on UnsplashÂ
The fly persisted to sit on my screen.
It made me angry.
It was free to fly away.
I wasn’t.
Jealous, I swatted.
It flew,
and returned to tease me—
I was tied
to my homestead and duties.
She wasn’t.
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 