Laughter

Laughter.
You are hilarious!
I know!
More laughter.
How do you have such a great sense of humor?
It just shows up around you guys!
Laughter.
Invite him along, he's funny!
Yeah, remember that joke?
Yeah, he said you'd make a great mattress!
Laughter.
Man, he's funny!

I'd take you home as my mattress. Three of me can sleep on one of you.
Laughter. He is so funny.
Home. Maybe that is why she left.
Breakfast lies untouched everyday since.

You're so tall, everyone naturally looks up at you.
Laughter. He is hilarious.
Home. They see that I am tall so easily, but that is all they see.
The stilettos remained in the shopping cart.

Your hair is so much like a brush. I can use it to clean stuff.
Laughter. Good one man, as always!
Home. Straight is conventional, straight is beautiful.
The scar from the straightening iron hid beneath the jet straight tresses.

You're so skinny, the wind will blow you out of my way.
Laughter. Nailed it bro!
Home. Dogs like bones, real men like curves.
Dosage for anorexia, doubled.

You're mustache is almost as good as mine, chica!
Laughter. It totally is! You go girl!
Home. Clear skin is in.
Wax. Pain. Wax anyway.

Two people can fit into that T-shirt hon!
Laughter. That's one big tee.
Home. Single, but not alone. For now.
Pre-abortion medication tucked into her purse.

That makeup looks like icing on your face!
Laughter! Why would you?
Home. Half an hour taking the makeup off.
They'd found the patchy skin funnier.

Dude, you're wearing pink! That is so gay!
Laughter. The girls safe around this one!
Home. Shirt - washed, ironed, hung.
He was gone, but it still smelled of him.

Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind, always.

Escape.

Run for your lives, children,
Run as fast as you possibly can,
Look not away from the horizon,
Just run, children, run.

Do not stop to catch your breath,
Lest they shall catch up with you,
With your burning lungs and aching heels,
Just run, children, run.

Think not of the whips they wield,
Nor of the chains that held you,
Leaving behind the demons of your mind,
Just run, children, run.

Run, for there awaits you a better life,
Bereft of the torments of this day,
Toward the fresh start that you've been dreaming of,
Just run, children, run.

Do not let fear win you over,
For helpless you shall be if you do,
Do not think, do not yield,
Just run, children, run.

With every passing mile beneath your feet,
And every flutter of your beating heart,
For a life that will surpass your most beatific dream,
Just run, children, run.

Rulers of the Skies

He glided his way to the endless horizon,
He paled and began to fade away,
The birds flocked to look at his retreat,
His departure signaled the end of the day.

They loved his strength, so fierce and bright,
Strong enough to make them look away from his light,
But even as that blaze turned to a mild glow,
They loved his glorious, royal closing show.

They watched him sink as the moments went by,
His heat in hues of red and vermilion and wine,
The satin of his robe of blue and gray,
To the Queen of the skies, then gave way.

She crept slowly upon silent space,
With an unyielding, unwavering gaze,
She bid him a fond farewell,
The skies were now hers to dwell.

The birds now felt sheltered from harm,
They scattered away in a peaceful calm,
The Queen of the skies was their guardian,
They could now slip into a blissful oblivion.

Her cloak was cold, yet supple as silk,
Studded with stars was her regal quilt,
As she watched the birds close their eyes and doze,
She smiled and thus, a silver crescent rose.
.

Nothingness.

It's a vast expanse of land and ocean,
Infested with plants, beasts and men,
Surrounded by a canopy of nothingness,
Nothingness that they inhale and exhale.

Nothingness that they cannot see,
Nothingness that they think they feel,
Nothingness that resides in their heart,
Nothingness that tears them apart.

Nothingness that fills their lungs,
Nothingness that makes them believe they're alive,
Nothingness that they know nothing of,
Nothingness that they need to survive,

Nothingness that they know they are,
Nothingness that they can see by far,
Nothingness that they read in their eyes,
Nothingness in which they hide, they disguise.

Nothingness that their fingers can touch,
Nothingness that their minds cannot know,
Nothingness that blinds them all,
Nothingness that is as real as they are.

Oppression.

The society, as we know it, is said to be plagued by oppression. Oppression of the poor. Oppression of the illiterate. Oppression of the underprivileged. Oppression of women. Oppression is spoken of at almost every major platform of communication, but I believe that the true meaning of oppression has been lost somewhere along the way. Oppression, in its most basic sense is misuse of power to deny one of one's rights - including the right to free will. Oppression of free will is the most prevalent form of oppression that exists in the world on this day. Oppression of women is but a form of oppression of free will itself.

Women are denied their rights in most parts of the world under the farce of tradition or religion. Before I elaborate on that, let us look at the female section of the society as consisting of three major parts : The Believers, The Aye-Sayers , The Naive.

The Believer is the woman who actually believes in everything she does - whether it is an age old tradition or a modern world ideal, this woman believes in her actions, rationally. For example, if a Believer is wearing a burkha, it is solely because she believes that it makes sense for her to do so. She does so, not because she is told she must, not because she thinks it is a sin not to, and not because she is afraid of anyone. She does it out of her own free will. The Believer is not oppressed.

The Aye-Sayer is the woman who does not believe in what she does; the woman who knows that she deserves better; the woman who knows that she is being treated unjustly, but is forced to do so out of fear. This woman is coerced by physical force, or the more effective, emotional trauma to do what is preached to be right. This woman does not know her strength, does not have any confidence in herself and does not know that she can change her life. The Aye-Sayer is oppressed and know that she is, but thinks that she has no power to do anything about it.

The Naive is the woman who only knows a life which has restrictions. A life in which she is not allowed to have a life. This woman believes that she is inferior to men, and that her right place is beneath men. The Naive is very often misconstrued to be a Believer because she may seem to believe in everything she does. But in reality, she just does not know any different. The Naive is the woman who is oppressed to the extreme without being aware of the oppression.

While I was drawing out this structure of the female sect of the society, it dawned upon me that this is how the entire society was once structured - when it was plagued by slavery. This turned out to be a very depressing parallel. It is true though, that the Believers may not exist in this parallel, since there is no way of rationalizing slavery, but the fact that oppression of women can be aligned with slavery, is disturbing enough.

There have been far too many discussions and talks on women empowerment. When all is said and done, what is it that we need, at the end of the day? I do not have an answer to that yet, but I think we can start with applauding the Believers, empowering the Aye-Sayers and educating the Naive. Perhaps, that would be the first step to a better world - a world of free women.

Writers' Block

I shouldn't need to try harder to make this rhyme,
This shouldn't happen anywhere, any day, anytime,
The words should flow through my veins, my bones,
They should spill on the pages as my heart overflows.
My hands shouldn't slow as they put the words down,
I shouldn't need to struggle as I spell them out,
I shouldn't need to breathe to calm my mind,
I shouldn't need to stop or slow my stride.
My fingers shouldn't ache to get some rest,
They shouldn't need to feel they're going through a test,
The ink in my pen should never be enough,
No, writing a few lines shouldn't be at

all tough.

I shouldn't need to organize or collect my thoughts,
I shouldn't need to reread what my fountain pen jots,
I shouldn't need to look away from these pages,
I shouldn't need to look for inspiring images.
No, there shouldn't be a pause in the stroke,
No, I shouldn't have to stutter, neither choke,
No, I shouldn't need to wait for the thoughts to flock,
This is probably what they call writers' block.

Pyaar, Ishq, Mohabbat....

Kai din baad aisi raat aayi hai,

Jo apne haath mohabbat ka saath laayi hai,

Itni chup chup si, Itni sharmili,

Ithlati, balkhati, chaandni raat aayi hai..

Aashiko ka aalam chaaya hua hai,

Dilo ki dhadkan, ishq ka dhua hai,

Mohabbat mein bheegi hai yeh fizaaein,

Shaayad inhe bhi kisi se pyaar hua hai...

Taare bhi aaj kuch zyaada hi chamak rahe hai,

Apne dildaar ki baaho se lipat rahe hai,

Milan ki chah hai unke rom rom me aisi,

Ki dilbar ki nazro ke liye, sada chamak rahe hai..

Dariya ka paani aaj tham sa gaya hai,

Shaayad isme kuch gham jam sa gaya hai,

Ret use baar baar thukra raha hai,

Shaayad dard-e-dil mein, yeh paani tham sa gaya hai...

Over the edge...

                A few days ago, I happened to read an article about a college student who had killed himself because his hair loss treatment was not showing any significant results. The first thought that came to my mind was, "how can anyone be so stupid". But then, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that as sad as this incident was, the student is not to blame. It is the society that is to be blamed. The society, which with its cruel hands has strangled this young boy to death.

                 I wonder what could have possibly happened that could have driven him to such extremes  I put myself in his shoes, and then I see it. I imagine him with his friends. I see him putting a happy face, cracking jokes amongst them, but I hear him think about how different he felt among them - how out of place. I see him walk the streets and feel invisible. On the rare occasion that someone noticed him, I see him flinch at the way they looked at him - like he didn't belong. I see him try to have a conversation with someone, he seemed very animated. Then I see him notice how their eyes would always look above his eyes, wondering how odd  he was and being grateful that he couldn't hear them. But he saw right through all of them. Disgusted, I see him argue with himself on deciding whether or not to try and get treated for it. I see his sensitive self win, and he approaches a doctor for treatment. I see him waking up every morning since his treatment started, looking in the mirror for the slightest change. I see his face contort in disappointment when he found none. I see him suffer the routine of college and friends and the odd looks they gave him. I see him wish. desperately, that this wouldn't matter to him, but he knew it did. Too much. I see him torment himself this way for days. I see him break and crumble. I see him lose every shred of self confidence he ever had. Then I understand, that he did not kill himself, a shallow and vain society did this to him.

               He was a good person. He cared about his family as much as he missed them. Living most of his life in a hostel, he'd never had enough time with them. He had his own demons that he had to face every day. One more demon was more than he could handle.

               I do not think that this is the only blood upon our society's hands. So many people's self esteem, is stabbed, bruised and trampled everyday by the judgmental world. I, undeniably am a part of that world and that shames me to no ends. That every judgement we make, consciously or otherwise, is another crack in the person's confidence. Whilst we revel in the thought that they can not hear us think, we forget that one's eyes are the windows of one's souls. Disgust and hatred can be conveyed with a single look just as well as happiness, love, sadness and pride can. We do not realize how much damage can be done, just with our thoughts. We do not know whose blood is on our hands...

His Story...

                     As I stood by the bridge across the Karapakkam backwaters, I heard blaring horns and felt blinding headlights. The evening traffic - people rushing to get to their homes, to their families. Out of the millions taking the Old Mahabalipuram Road home, there were thousands living in Adyar. Out of the thousands living in Adyar, there were hundreds who had families waiting for them. Out of the hundreds who had their families waiting for them, there was only one person who had a daughter who was bedridden with sickness with only months to live.

                     He had lost track of time while he was working. He needed the overtime for her medical expenses, but he needed to be with her to take care of her. His wife had passed away giving birth to this very little girl. That night still haunted him, but what terrified him was the thought that he was going to lose his daughter as well. As he rushed to the lobby so that he could swipe his card and exit out the front door, he realized that he had forgotten his phone in his cubicle. He glanced at his watch and decided against going back for it and went ahead, swiped his card and walked out. He shuffled the papers in his hands and put them in his bag. He fished for the key in his pockets for quite a while until he succeeded. His breath caught as he saw her picture in the key chain. He remembered how her eyes would light up as he walked through that door. He steadied himself, put the key into the ignition and mounted his bike - he needed to fill his tank again - but he was yet to receive his salary. Three more days to payday - he would take the bus for the next three days.

                    As he rode the bike onto the highway, all he could think of was his daughter. He had to leave her at home by herself every morning, asking the neighbour to make sure she took her lunch and her pills. He wished there were some way he could stay with her for the few months that she was going to live. A tear escaped the corner of his eye as he weaved his way through the evening traffic.

                    On the other side of town, a dark figure was stumbling down an alley. Had someone seen his face some other day, they would have said that he had a handsome face. Not today. Today his eyes were blazing red, his pain evident on his brow, his anger crystal clear in every move he made. He wandered aimlessly for a while until he realized he was right next to his car. He threw the bottle of vodka on the ground and smiled as it shattered into a million pieces. She had broken his heart into just as many pieces. Cursing himself for thinking about her again, he got into the driver's seat and started up the SUV. He knew not where he was going, he knew not why. All he wanted was to escape his own mind. 

                   His eyes clouded, he could barely see which road he had taken. He could almost remember his address, couldn't he? No he couldn't. He drove on and on, with nowhere to go. Until he was startled by a shout and the blaring of horns around him. He slammed the brakes and stumbled out of his car to see a man lying in a pool of blood a few feet away from his car, his bike fallen not far. Yanked into reality, he realized what he had done. He had driven through a red traffic signal. People were screaming at him and shouting for the ambulance. The man was choking on his own blood but was reaching for something. Looking away from the horrifying sight in front of him - at what he had done, he noticed something glimmering at his feet. It was what the man was reaching for. It was a piece of a broken key chain with a picture of a little girl. The picture of the man's daughter. He looked at the man with guilt burning him alive only to see his eyes close and his twitching arm fall limp by his side. 

                    To each one of us, something or the other may happen that kills us a little inside. But our life is not our own. It collides and entwines with so many other lives that one rash action can do some irreparable damage to us or to someone else. If I were to utter a word of prayer for every vehicle that speeds along the OMR, I would be praying all day.

                     Drive, but drive safe. Keep your head no matter how hard it gets, because there are people who have it worse. For them, drive safe. For the ones who care about you, drive safe.

The tears she cried...

She walked that empty, lonely road,
Dark enough for her to hide,
Her life's story, left untold,
She thought about and cried.

Nobody deserved to see her tears,
She did not let the world see,
Amongst the piling heap of fears,
She let her worries be.

As much as she feared trusting again,
She couldn't ignore her heart,
She'd rather face a new kind of pain,
Than let the past tear her apart.

Like venom burning through her veins,
Like a thousand stabs to the chest,
She could feel throbbing, piercing pains,
Her faith was put to test.

History may repeat itself,she knew,
Old wounds would hurt again,
The fact that they would never heal,
She learnt as she walked into the rain.

She trusted blindly one more time,
Just as she had before,
But this time if her heart broke,
There would be nothing left, no more....