Twilight

The night was calm,
I walked amidst the foliage in the bright moonlight,
My long curly tresses covered my naked breasts,
The white jasmine buds on my hair entangled into my frizzy curls as if in an inseparable union,
The soft forest wind made sketches on my pristine body,
I walked, engulfed in arousement,
The grassy path took me to a calm river bed.
I touched the water with the tip of my tongue,
It felt warm,
Warmer than my desire,
It was deep, mysterious, dense, just like my passion,
I drank a mouthful of the black water and lay wide-legged on the rough grass,
The coarse sand rubbed itself against my bare posterior,
I took a handful of the white sand and made a heap on my navel,
The water touched my toes as if calling me to make love to it,
I sat up and stared into my naked reflection in the moonlit water,
The water was dark, rough, yet warm,
It had treacherous pits within,
Strong undercurrents at places,
Just like my playful mate,
Aroused, I jumped into its depths and swam like a lost nomad,
The water licked my soft body,
Wet my thick curls,
Untied the knots in it and took away the jasmine buds,
I dipped myself into it and surrendered my resistance,
The droplets on my dark lips and the tip of my long nose rushed down into the hollow of my belly-button,
The blue-black water fondled my hips and entered into the holes of my unexplored femininity,
It ripped open the hymen of my pseudo morality and embraced my blushing soul,
It hit against my uncovered breasts in wild passion,
My soul experienced intoxicating orgasm for the first time,
I felt loved like never before,
The heat of my hurried lust boiled the currents around me,
I floated in the circular currents,
I lay looking at the full moon and the little jasmine buds moving in the water,
I swam again as if in search of myself in the backwaters of my own desire,
And in it I found me,
The woman within who craves for unending choreographies of love,
The woman who wants to slither into the unknown possibilities of love-making,
The woman who is in search of herself,
The unknown forest winds called out to me,
I swam out and walked back along the grassy path,
My body dripping wet with my sense of fulfilment,
The moonlight flashed onto my curves making me feel shy,
I sat down on the ground under a canopy of mango trees,
In the silver moonlight I examined the love bites on my navel,
Dark red scratches spread across my thighs,
My neck bore marks of intense kisses pressed onto it,
The night seemed poisonous and its venom oozed out of my slimy vagina onto my sleek legs,
It flowed down as if to drown me in it,
I lay amidst the mango grooves,
The venom of my passion still oozing onto the bare ground,
I lay wide-legged, my breasts pressing against the thick roots of the giant mango tree,
Rotten mango leaves fell on my bare back, on my meandering waistline,
The forest camouflaged me and I hid myself from the evil eyes of lustful vultures,
I wished to lie there, forever,
Ignorant of time and seasons
Like a female python waiting for her mate.

Eastrogen

Pained i am to wake up to the news of raped bodies,
Torn i am to see what i see around me,
Violated femininity surrounds me,
This makes me blame the cursed moment in which my biology was decided,
I wish to make be myself,
I want to enjoy the night sky without the fear of being abducted,
I dream of spreading my wings into the arena of creative fulfillment,
I want to stand nude against the chilly winds on december mornings,
I long to sail like a lost raft in the currents of desire,
The women’s reservation bill will not solve my problems,
A ladies only bus is no solution for me,
No one knows,
I never show,
But that does not mean i dont have a thing to say,i have lots,
Lots of wishes,no demands,
Just listen to me,
Just throw me a smile,
Let me live for this world is equally mine as yours.

Blasphemy

My incense sticks lay burning at your altar,
My Lord, save him, Please,
38 long years of matrimony has given me nothing but grief,
Life was a meaningless cycle from negligence to abusive sex to continuous pregnancies,
I longed for nothing more than a little bit of consideration,
But,nights became nightmares,
His bed became my prison,
And on it, I was shackled with his chains of never-ending passion,
Violated, I pushed myself through those nights in silent tears which no one saw,
Not even you My Lord,
He tied up my soul
I forgot how to write verses,
I forgot how to sing,how to decipher the language of the rains,
All I could do was clean stained bedsheets,deliver and lay down for him,
Every second I cursed my birth,my biology,my father’s empty bank account which made me my husband’s captive at 16,
I hated my fair skin which made him covet me,
I wished I was dark and ugly so that no man would have offered to marry me
I could have stayed at home and gone to school then,
Or at least could have slept with peace for a few more years,
My children grew up and flew away,
And I was still there, cleaning bed sheets and spreading new ones,
I lived just for him to push me around and walk over me,
Now, the thought of it all petrifies me,
My Lord,from where did the potion of endurance flow into me?
Married to a rich household and blessed with 7 children
People say I am lucky to be the Priest’s wife,
But no one ever recognised that the heaviness of my eyes was much more than that of my pregnant belly,
My husband,the revered Priest, was a parasite which nibbled on the Holy Bible,
Yet, Now, when he lies half-dead at the Church hospital,
I somehow cannot pray for his death,
My Lord, save him,
Give him painless days and sound nights,
My incense sticks lay burning at your altar,
Save him Lord,
I cannot ask for his death even after all that I have gone through
For you made me a woman,
A woman who can bow as low as the earth and harbour endless love within!

what are you to me?

What are you?
An actor who amazes the audian in me?
A philosopher whose intelligence petrifies me?
A child whose innocence triggers the maternity in me?
A man whose roughness arouses me?
Whatever you are, I do not want to define you,
I simply love you.... for you make me want to outgrow my shell and expand my horizons to reach the zenith of my long-cherished passions,
You make me want to love,
Your breath tells me that life is about being warm within,
Your clear green eyes push me to stand staring at the mystery of the seas,
Your soft recital of poetry intoxicates the woman within me,
You have inspired me to rebel against the hypocrisies of my mind,
You make me crave for knowledge,
Your thoughts make me want to search for completion,
You teach me to keep faith in the enormous white skies and soar my kites into its vastness,
You carve my inner self with your sharp chisel of burning intelligence,
And now, you have made a beautiful sculpture out of my raw conscience,
Yet, I wonder....what are you?
I learnt to love life through you,
I crossed the reef of ignorance and ascended the peak of eternal bliss through you,
I dreamt through your fiery eyes,
I made love to your exendric soul,
Even then I ask myself.....what are you to me?
Whatever you are to me, I do not wish to define you....because I simply love you...I do not know what love is because you never told me what it is,
You simply placed a soft kiss on my forehead whenever I asked you,
Even though I don’t know what it is,
My teacher,
My philosopher,
My companion,
My protector,
My mate,
My man,
.....I love you.

You are my mirage

My ecstacy,
My fire,
Merge into my conscience
and dwell in my soul,
Erase my egos with your soft breath of love,
Let our souls philander in the mysterious depths of our admiration,
Let me fondle your neat,long fingers that draw lines of warm fulfillment on my breast,
Spread your ink on my canvas,let me evolve reading the verses you scribble on my frame,
Take me to the world of endless celebrations,
Teach me the art of selfless love,
Intoxicate my inner self with the bliss of your meditative love-making,
In the orgasmic pleasure of your closeness,let my femininity find paradise,
Compell me to stop existing a blob of meat in this ruthless world and push me to start living in the search for truth,
My never-found love, Put an end to my wait,
Come out of my imagination,transform into living flesh and blood..
Contain me,let my femininity find completion.

the year is new.....but the prototype isnt...

While returning from the doctor’s clinic at about 7pm on the late evening of 31 Dec 2010, what I saw and experienced made me completely cynical of the Indian testosterone.
People on the streets were in a mood for celebration. Now when I say people, it is particularly emphasized that there were hardly any women to be seen. The men, (‘testosterone charged beings’ as I call them) were staring and ogling excessively at almost al the available, faint traces of femininity they could manage to find on the street.
This made me wonder from where these men get the idea that whenever there is a reason to celebrate; they can get drunk and charge upon any female who passes by.
According to my limited knowledge, nowhere it is said that on the New Year’s Eve, the streets are reserved for men. Then why is it that we find absolutely no woman out on the streets of the metro?
Does this mean that even in public, amidst the presence and protection of her family, a woman is vulnerable? If the answer to the last question is in the affirmative, then why the bloody hell is this country called a democracy? Is India then, a country of the educated but uncivilized?
Shame on you, me and every other citizen of this country for turning a blind eye to this kind of bastardize!

Another question that needs an answer from this society is- “what is a woman?”
A womb? A body? A vaginal opening?
All agree in recognizing the fact that females exist in the human species. Today, as always, they make up about one half of humanity. And yet we are told that femininity is in danger. If today femininity no longer exists, then it never existed. But does the word “woman” then have no specific content?

This is not a note on feminism because the subject is irritating and enough ink has already been spilled quarrelling over feminism. I wrap up by borrowing a few lines from “Modern Woman: The Lost Sex” by Dorothy Parker, (which in other respects has its irritating features), ‘......my idea is that all of us, men as well as women should be regarded as human beings.....:

Happy 2011!

Guzaarish and me....

Mr.Bansali's "Guzaarish" happened about a month ago.The quality of the movie is not of any importance here because what purturbed my mind is whether there should be a certain border line between theatre and cinema.
It was after this that I happened to watch Mr.Shaji.N.Karun's much talked about "Kutty Srank" and here again what i witnessed was a world of non-personal story telling with too much of symbolic representations. The cinema lover in me is confused. I do agree with the contention that such kind of story telling creates a certain depth and graduates from a mediocre film to a film of class.But how does one devise the grammar of such a film in a manner that will get audience to the theatres?

At the end of it all,the question is,what does a good cinema mean-that it should get the bumps on the seats or that it should create a world of depth and create the effect of reading a Gabriel Marquez book?
I am still looking for the answer.