frozen in time , my shadow moves with my flickering light
diminished through the years of solitude and wait.
the night lantern keeps giving me hope
a hope i longed to find in so many i loved.
clinging to each of them, i cried , 'relieve me of this pain'
scared , biwildred faces was all i saw in response,
hands desparately trying to detach me from them
to shake of the liability they had, to flee
when they fled my side , abandoning my heart forever
i was cold and barren , but thats so predictable
pity my condition fori had no one to love
no one to call my own, no one to support me
everynight i would look into my lantern ,shining bright
in strom and struggle,i would watch the flame diminishing
and flaring up in the wind ,days , weeks and months passed,
with the hot summer days and windless warm nights
my lantern shone brighter,i had waited patiently for days now
not a word i heard from them,rainy and hail,autumn mornings ,
not a sight , or a voice i heard seasons passed and years ,
a decade i still wait ,i do
but nothing is void anymore,
my garden has bloomed fresh flowers ,the harvest is over
there is enough oil to light several lanterns
yet when i look at the one lantern through the mirror every night
i know its glow shall always be golden and bright
Saturday, December 11, 2010
teriyaki winters
one often wonders what kolkata winters should be like. now that the city of joy is just a politicians toy and is several degrees filthier than it was even when we were in school. however the specific punch still resides in these lovely winter mornings like now ,when i am writing this.
the almost seducing swish of the janitors brooms on alley in from of my house , the sweet smell of the maid's freshly washed hair, and the half burned milk and almost freshly baked buttered bread fills in my environment with this overwhelming feeling of sucess.
i sit back on my chair in pride , smiling to myself how much i love, my neighborhood , more so my veranda and alley below.early winter mornings in kolkata is paradise relived everyday in several unique ways . as the day falls and the swishing and scrubbing get replaced by the drilling and boomings of the large constructions in my neighborhood . the sweetness regains its punch , almost pungent and odorous yet thought provoking , somewhere very deep rooted- just like the drilling noise , making a steady humming inside one's mind.
my city with all her concrete contours and barren-ed out greenery seems much more beautiful in winters, though the dust seems a bit to intolerable and the sun still grills out the sweat , yet the somberness of evenings is quite a catch.
when the sun sets right at 5 or before, the city tends to a silent wisper , as if a cry, a need to be loved ,just like the cravings i have when my beloved isn't around. this is when my heart goes out to kolkata , to her sudden and shy sweetness, to her chlorinated water, and intolerable stench , to her dusty roads and unbearable menfolk.
she so resembles a teriyaki chicken , so soft,so sweet, yet grilled and smoky ,almost always a culinary delicacy.
kolkata does make me long for her specially in the winters when i long for other beautiful delicacies in my heart.
the almost seducing swish of the janitors brooms on alley in from of my house , the sweet smell of the maid's freshly washed hair, and the half burned milk and almost freshly baked buttered bread fills in my environment with this overwhelming feeling of sucess.
i sit back on my chair in pride , smiling to myself how much i love, my neighborhood , more so my veranda and alley below.early winter mornings in kolkata is paradise relived everyday in several unique ways . as the day falls and the swishing and scrubbing get replaced by the drilling and boomings of the large constructions in my neighborhood . the sweetness regains its punch , almost pungent and odorous yet thought provoking , somewhere very deep rooted- just like the drilling noise , making a steady humming inside one's mind.
my city with all her concrete contours and barren-ed out greenery seems much more beautiful in winters, though the dust seems a bit to intolerable and the sun still grills out the sweat , yet the somberness of evenings is quite a catch.
when the sun sets right at 5 or before, the city tends to a silent wisper , as if a cry, a need to be loved ,just like the cravings i have when my beloved isn't around. this is when my heart goes out to kolkata , to her sudden and shy sweetness, to her chlorinated water, and intolerable stench , to her dusty roads and unbearable menfolk.
she so resembles a teriyaki chicken , so soft,so sweet, yet grilled and smoky ,almost always a culinary delicacy.
kolkata does make me long for her specially in the winters when i long for other beautiful delicacies in my heart.
storm
her silent tears were almost hidden by the raindrops on her face
her eyes half closed and not searching anymore
her face calm for once after the storm, or was it just before
her body trembling to the cold sting of the rain , almost pale
yet she stood, for reasons we may not implore.
her silent tears were almost negligible tonight
was it freedom? or was it pain of survival
her hands were sore,her arms were bleeding
the blood made rivulets down her body
yet she stood for she had no reason to fall
her silent tears would end with the storm.
her body ached to rest , her head felt heavy as lead
her feet were losing ground, her love had left today
years of agony and strife,and tolerance was over now
yet she stood ,tired , not beaten though , not dead anymore
her silent tears would scream out her truth tonight
her mind most stable when she resisted with all her might
her head held high , her being fighting one last night
the fresh smell of peace, the feel of respect surged back
yet she stood ,beneath her feet he lay ,gone for ever
her silent tears would end yet another war again
she cried, her eyes had lost their color long back
her heart bleeding for the last time , no more
she moved away slowly , staggering yet not broken
yet, tonight she loved most, herself ,
tonight she started loving again
her eyes half closed and not searching anymore
her face calm for once after the storm, or was it just before
her body trembling to the cold sting of the rain , almost pale
yet she stood, for reasons we may not implore.
her silent tears were almost negligible tonight
was it freedom? or was it pain of survival
her hands were sore,her arms were bleeding
the blood made rivulets down her body
yet she stood for she had no reason to fall
her silent tears would end with the storm.
her body ached to rest , her head felt heavy as lead
her feet were losing ground, her love had left today
years of agony and strife,and tolerance was over now
yet she stood ,tired , not beaten though , not dead anymore
her silent tears would scream out her truth tonight
her mind most stable when she resisted with all her might
her head held high , her being fighting one last night
the fresh smell of peace, the feel of respect surged back
yet she stood ,beneath her feet he lay ,gone for ever
her silent tears would end yet another war again
she cried, her eyes had lost their color long back
her heart bleeding for the last time , no more
she moved away slowly , staggering yet not broken
yet, tonight she loved most, herself ,
tonight she started loving again
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
radha
i always wanted to be radha when i would dance in school , it was such a gratifying feeling being the lead dancer.
often i wondered was love so great , that she left her family for the love of lord krishna , was she never pointed at, called names?
strange isnt it, she was i am sure it was hard to listen to her heart and defy the world....
but we had another radha in our neighbouhood , our sweeper's daughter , lovely little girl, very bright , very talented ...
radha had run away from home to become actress in Bollywood , but as the city and its fangs bit her hard. many years later , when my sister was about to leave for Nigeria , i had seen her standing near my neighbor's door. delighted i went to meet her, her face was much beautiful and glowing almost in the early morning light.
i stood talking with her for almost an hour , mother and father were away seeing Dibhai off at the airport. it was almost seven thirty when radha took my leave , and hugged me . memories came flowing by , how we played in our courtyard and my sister would be our teacher, and punish us...memories of , warm summers,beautiful winters spend learning to knit , and sew and tie plaits of various kinds till late in the evening when radha would go home and cook while we sat down with homework.
tears welled up my eyes , i asked radha to stay , she refused , she didn't want to be seen, people wouldnt like us seen together , she had come to see my sister leave from a distance lest mother would know.
radha worked as prostitute in Mumbai. she would come down to visit her parents once a year for one night and leave the next day early , but radha left me that day proud , very proud
it was her job , she feared the society yes , but her fear didn't stop her from loving with her heart , they had sold her body not her being , they could never do that......... never......
i would never have her courage ,or her faith , she knew it wouldn't matter to me who she was now , but she never visited me again , just once letting me know those memories are precious to her as well.....i wish someday someday .....
often i wondered was love so great , that she left her family for the love of lord krishna , was she never pointed at, called names?
strange isnt it, she was i am sure it was hard to listen to her heart and defy the world....
but we had another radha in our neighbouhood , our sweeper's daughter , lovely little girl, very bright , very talented ...
radha had run away from home to become actress in Bollywood , but as the city and its fangs bit her hard. many years later , when my sister was about to leave for Nigeria , i had seen her standing near my neighbor's door. delighted i went to meet her, her face was much beautiful and glowing almost in the early morning light.
i stood talking with her for almost an hour , mother and father were away seeing Dibhai off at the airport. it was almost seven thirty when radha took my leave , and hugged me . memories came flowing by , how we played in our courtyard and my sister would be our teacher, and punish us...memories of , warm summers,beautiful winters spend learning to knit , and sew and tie plaits of various kinds till late in the evening when radha would go home and cook while we sat down with homework.
tears welled up my eyes , i asked radha to stay , she refused , she didn't want to be seen, people wouldnt like us seen together , she had come to see my sister leave from a distance lest mother would know.
radha worked as prostitute in Mumbai. she would come down to visit her parents once a year for one night and leave the next day early , but radha left me that day proud , very proud
it was her job , she feared the society yes , but her fear didn't stop her from loving with her heart , they had sold her body not her being , they could never do that......... never......
i would never have her courage ,or her faith , she knew it wouldn't matter to me who she was now , but she never visited me again , just once letting me know those memories are precious to her as well.....i wish someday someday .....
actresses
my mother often told me when i was young, that the world i beautiful place until it starts revealing itself to you. i often remembered those lines. people we meet every other day, things we do , conversation we have all are somehow masked by a layer. i often wonder if i am masked too. my patience trials away yet i keep smiling when i am not happy,i am tired of being nice , i am tired of not retaliating when i want to.yet somehow i keep doing them , i smile , i walk ,i talk , i dont loose my temper everywhere and i dont retaliate.i am as much masked then , much more than others.
but such covers are necessary i think , to undo the pains our reactions may instill on others. somehow i feel too much burdened today of such masks , such feigning, attitude. mother says we women are great actresses , performing our roles so well. some one i know once stated , me being coy and nagging a lot is also a sort of role playing. i had never thought of myself as playing a role.
here we may all stop to think, have we so deeply imbibed our roles , anything out of that becomes untoward , incorrect , bad , questioned and contested. strange is the system , painful is its ways.... power relations rule the circumstances of life. but do we deserve this , or if we revolt are we going to get ourselves out of one pattern to thrust ourselves to another pattern.
the process seems cyclic . almost infinite , controller,controlled, controlled becomes controller and it goes on. a stop to it ,might just never happen. when i see newspaper reports of rape and abuse ,assault and harassment , i smile.
isn't it part of our roles to play the victim waiting to be saved by our saviors. the parochial society leaves us to prove them guilty and to prove that the crime has been committed. i smile when i see , a husband checking his wife's cellphone , ordering her to cover her head and cater to her in laws.
when will be ever grow sick and tired of such performances , when will be just all break the rules and be ourselves , when will we just stop and think masks are needed to hide the dirt inside , but we are not dirty , we are made to be so.
when will we stop thinking ourselves impure , pure, and virgin ,when shall this mask fall off ,when?
someday it should before it sticks on to us so much that it never comes off
we must hurry.....we must
but such covers are necessary i think , to undo the pains our reactions may instill on others. somehow i feel too much burdened today of such masks , such feigning, attitude. mother says we women are great actresses , performing our roles so well. some one i know once stated , me being coy and nagging a lot is also a sort of role playing. i had never thought of myself as playing a role.
here we may all stop to think, have we so deeply imbibed our roles , anything out of that becomes untoward , incorrect , bad , questioned and contested. strange is the system , painful is its ways.... power relations rule the circumstances of life. but do we deserve this , or if we revolt are we going to get ourselves out of one pattern to thrust ourselves to another pattern.
the process seems cyclic . almost infinite , controller,controlled, controlled becomes controller and it goes on. a stop to it ,might just never happen. when i see newspaper reports of rape and abuse ,assault and harassment , i smile.
isn't it part of our roles to play the victim waiting to be saved by our saviors. the parochial society leaves us to prove them guilty and to prove that the crime has been committed. i smile when i see , a husband checking his wife's cellphone , ordering her to cover her head and cater to her in laws.
when will be ever grow sick and tired of such performances , when will be just all break the rules and be ourselves , when will we just stop and think masks are needed to hide the dirt inside , but we are not dirty , we are made to be so.
when will we stop thinking ourselves impure , pure, and virgin ,when shall this mask fall off ,when?
someday it should before it sticks on to us so much that it never comes off
we must hurry.....we must
Thursday, October 07, 2010
mummy
mummy do you love me ?
in-spite of all he said....will you let me grow?
i can feel when you touch me , and tell me how you are.
and feel your pleasant whisper , though i cannot even hear.
i know you cried last night , when that man hit you hard
your tears felt salty , and had my senses blurred.
mommy when i grow up , i'll wash your pain away,
and take you to the garden u went the other day
mommy i shall buy you , new dresses that you want
but fear you cant afford them, from the meager money grant.
mommy when i grow up, we'll live in the seaside flat,
where you often dream of living , lying on our yellow mat.
mommy when i grow up , we'll have the biggest car,
you'll never have to worry of leaving me alone in fear.
mommy when i grow up , ill not want a dad
i know ill always hate him , for making you so sad
mommy when i grow up , we will have the best food
and ill make you a proud mommy , always feeling good.
mommy can you hear me, please don't let me die
i promise you be happy
in-spite of all he said....will you let me grow?
i can feel when you touch me , and tell me how you are.
and feel your pleasant whisper , though i cannot even hear.
i know you cried last night , when that man hit you hard
your tears felt salty , and had my senses blurred.
mommy when i grow up , i'll wash your pain away,
and take you to the garden u went the other day
mommy i shall buy you , new dresses that you want
but fear you cant afford them, from the meager money grant.
mommy when i grow up, we'll live in the seaside flat,
where you often dream of living , lying on our yellow mat.
mommy when i grow up , we'll have the biggest car,
you'll never have to worry of leaving me alone in fear.
mommy when i grow up , ill not want a dad
i know ill always hate him , for making you so sad
mommy when i grow up , we will have the best food
and ill make you a proud mommy , always feeling good.
mommy can you hear me, please don't let me die
i promise you be happy
third eye
i look myself in the mirror ,
my shame knows no bound.
everyday they come to room,
Sarita aunt never stops them.
i wish i could tell her,
how much it pains me.
how dirty i feel.
ma used to say its will be fine
when everyday she would comb my hair
before letting me out to play,
i would look back to see them entering her room
while she would close the door on my face.
i remember the men coming in palkis
to collect chaste soil from our courtyard
to make the idol ....
i wondered why our courtyard was so chaste
i found it rather dirty
stinking with smell of liquor, and dirty loin cloth
Sarita aunt always told me
we are the third eye
the third eye?
whose eye?
women from good families had them i guess
like the goddess durga
i keep looking at myself in the mirror
would i have a third eye,
would i? rather should i not?
i am no less pretty , no less loving ?
no less a mother than good women?
tonight i shall close my door,
and pray to Ma for my third eye
tonight i shall not succumb to them
tonight i want to know
if you made her out of my soil
would i not be her ?
if you closed you door to me
are you not defying her ?
i shall look into my mirror
tonight i shall find my third eye
my shame knows no bound.
everyday they come to room,
Sarita aunt never stops them.
i wish i could tell her,
how much it pains me.
how dirty i feel.
ma used to say its will be fine
when everyday she would comb my hair
before letting me out to play,
i would look back to see them entering her room
while she would close the door on my face.
i remember the men coming in palkis
to collect chaste soil from our courtyard
to make the idol ....
i wondered why our courtyard was so chaste
i found it rather dirty
stinking with smell of liquor, and dirty loin cloth
Sarita aunt always told me
we are the third eye
the third eye?
whose eye?
women from good families had them i guess
like the goddess durga
i keep looking at myself in the mirror
would i have a third eye,
would i? rather should i not?
i am no less pretty , no less loving ?
no less a mother than good women?
tonight i shall close my door,
and pray to Ma for my third eye
tonight i shall not succumb to them
tonight i want to know
if you made her out of my soil
would i not be her ?
if you closed you door to me
are you not defying her ?
i shall look into my mirror
tonight i shall find my third eye
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About Me
- priyadarshini
- the mind is rich with ideas, they lie there cooped up in darkness, the soul struggling to set free.........suffocating the life within............. the battle begins.