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| Fantastisch by Artmadeus, Wikimedia Commons |
Neemrana
Past the tangled lanes and
by-lanes
Of cities meshed with life and
loneliness,
Across the dust and dunes,
Past the havelis of old
That shimmered in the noon sun,
And stood with a quiet
abandonment
Of a voided grandeur,
Our roads finally met.
We smiled at each other
Like parched pilgrims looking at
a mirage.
The Neemrana, and the setting
sun embraced us...
The roses, the luscious greens
and villas of bougainvillea
Sheltered us under its canopy
The chasms too,
with their eons of promises
settled around our lips
as if to be invoked
and be remitted.
Yet when the Azaan called,
The dervishes smiled too;
And the chirpings hushed down.
The desert had its bliss,
As the sand soaked in the
ephemeral rain
And went dry again...
The Nightingale
You
crept into my dreams,
wearing a white sari,
with shy eyes, singing around the garden.
I was unprepared.
You took me by a start.
As I opened the studio door,
I became the voice I had always wanted to be.
It had
to be in a single take they said.
The director and the crew were in action
behind the hazed glass panes.
I just knew the design as I stepped in.
They had laughed and scorned at me.
They had said that I sang in a female voice,
I copied Lata Mangeshkar.
I denied, defended and changed.
I mimicked the men.
One
couldn't sing in a dream...some say,
one couldn't follow the words.
In my dream, defenses were broken.
The fake, female merged in you.
I didn't have to prepare.
I was You.
Alta (The Red Dye) (Bengali: আলতা,
Hindi: अलता)
The
sharp outline of your Adam’s apple,
The
thick baritone, the small dip of your chin,
I wanted
them to look at my breasts
through
my eyes, down into the pit of my lust.
But they
looked away when you spoke to me.
I
clutched at your kindness.
In a
hope that someday you will relent,
I
fashioned love.
You
played the friend,
I, the
beloved.
In this
deception, only coercion stayed.
On the
stranger's bed, glistened in rage, grief and sweat,
I
celebrated impropriety.
I winked
with a smile when he said, "Keep in touch, Slut-man!"
Walking
down the empty streets, I mused at my karmic cycles
And said
to my shadows, “How long?"
In the
dream, I saw myself decked in fresh gajra,
the
red bindi and the red alta,
Adorning the
entrance of your house with words.
When I
looked at you,
You were
smiling admiringly, standing on the verandah.
When I
turned back to look at the alpana,
The mogras
lay shredded and scattered
along
with the litter of letters and papers from my diary...
Septicaemia
I had tried to think of you
Wrapped in thick blankets,
Reduced to a yellowish pulp
Of wet wrinkled skin and bones,
Waiting with soft breaths...
I was said to come,
And witness the final drones
Of the ventilator.
Ticket in hand,
Anxious and nerved up,
I waited, to respond to your
call,
To alleviate the lethargy of
wait,
To see those pupils talk,
To soak in all the moments in
one embrace,
To finally travel to you all by
myself,
Praying and praying
and the train whistled in.
The independence was sensual,
And quietness arousing.
I slumbered into my polar
thoughts,
Till the hijras clapped
me awake.
I sat ensconced between hope and
acceptance.
Till the wheels finally
screeched into Howrah.
No one had come to receive me.
I drifted amid the crowd to
catch the local.
It wasn’t so difficult to get it
right.
As, it commenced sluggishly, I
braced myself
To announce my bravery.
The bogey was packed with
bodies.
A guy standing opposite,
Moved up close to me.
He had sharp bones and a kink
about his eyes.
He pressed against me with a
carefree confidence.
His hands grazed my body and
felt my virgin shyness.
His breath on me, I was
benumbed.
He moved sleekly away through
the crowd, leaving me undone.
My landing came. I stepped into
my accomplishment.
I was surprised to see Baba
walking up to me in the crowd.
Dusk had fallen over Bally.
Baba said that the cremation
just got over,
That you were bedecked
beautifully,
And many had come to see you
off.
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