trailing behind me. Unsure
of its place. Flailing
but not giving up.
I don’t care much about
the kite. I want to feel the wind
in my hair. The hill
I must climb. The view
from the summit. My town
lying still at my feet. I run
My kite runs with me. Red
like my menstrual blood.
Powerful. It finds a current
and climbs up. Steadily.
Strongly. Purposefully.
It tugs hard.
It rises high. I struggle
to keep up. One day
I too will be Free
I was 14 when my husband died
A man I barely knew.
A man who’s life mine was linked to.
I was forced to
climb
on
his
funeral pyre.
She rescued me.
Allowed me to have my child.
She taught me to read
Made me a teacher.
Stood me on my feet.
Helped me marry the man I loved.
I owed everything to her
I would have given my life for her.
But the guilt remained.
One day, it burst forth-
“Tai, I silently watched
while my sisters
threw stones at you”,
I confessed.
“I know”, she said.
And smiled.
[Savitribai Phule was born on Jan 3, 1897.
An
illiterate girl from a lower caste, married off when still a child, she went on
to become one of modern India's first female teachers, and founded a school for
girls which rivalled those run by the government by young boys.
A
staunch feminist and an anti-caste advocate, she dedicated her life to the upliftment
of women and to the abolition of the caste system. Her protests earned her the active
animosity of Brahmins, who saw her as a threat to the privileges they took for
granted. Yet, most of the battles she fought were against unjust practices that
affected Brahmin women the most. She could have chosen to look away, and only
work to benefit the women of her caste. But she didn’t, because she realized that
women couldn’t be free, unless all women were free.
Long
before the term ‘intersectional feminism’ was coined, Savitribai Phule was one.]
she is not. She will marry you for your money.
I was besotted. I pursued her. She was not interested.
"Will you paint my front door", I asked. She agreed.
For the next week, she was with me everyday
I’d pile her with food. She’d paint.
“I like you”, I finally confessed. “I like you too”, she replied.
“But not that way. There is too much I want to do.”
She won a scholarship and went off to study art
I still stand at the threshold, hoping she will return.
We are taught to be silent; invisible.
“How does it matter who gets credit”,
we are told, “as long as the job gets done.”
And so, we soldier on. Doing things
while others stand up to make the speeches
and soak up the applause.
But it does matter.
Credit, validation, acknowledgement.
All of it matters.
Maybe not to us, but to those
who come after us. We owe it to them
to demonstrate it can be done. By us.
For too long have we shied away
from seeking our due. It is now time
to demand that we be seen.
- natasha
The smartest in the school.
Perhaps in the whole mandal.
Everyone’s hopes are on her
She is the one who will study
She will do the family proud.
Nobody even notices me.
The tiny bougainvillea flower
Eclipsed by my magenta sister.
She has to succeed.
I have to make sure she does;
I am expendable.
When the well dries
I drop out of school
To fetch water. She studies.
She will achieve success
The family will prosper.
They will no longer be poor.
But what of me?
Am I not allowed
Dreams of my own?
She catches a whiff of dinner being prepared.
Palak paneer! Yes, she would like that.
She takes a detour through the market.
Her shoppu vendor is there. Pink saree. Big smile.
“Amma, I haven’t seen you for long.”
They talk about the daughter
Of how she’s doing in school.
She sifts through the greens.
There is no spinach. But the methi looks fresh.
There is curd at home.
She could have methi paratha tonight.
She now makes weekly trips to the supermarket.
Where cold vegetables choke in plastic bags.
And masks hide even the smiles.
 |
| Magnolia champaca |
You talk of Dharma, Ramchandar.
Rajyasi Dharma. Is that the only Dharma
There is?
Are you not required, as a husband,
To protect your woman? Your wife. Well,
You failed.
Even if I had been violated,
It would still not have been my fault.
Would it?
I did not ask to be abducted, did I?
Why must I be asked to prove
My chastity?
Do you not have the courage
To stand by me. Is it not your Dharma to
Defend me?
You can keep your Dharma,
It is of no use, if when I most need you,
You fail.
 |
| Orchidaceae |
She went through the old photographs.
Swiping though most. Pausing at some.
Moments of joy; captured, frozen for Eternity-
Chucking her graduating cap into the air
Striking a seductive pose at her cousin’s wedding
Running on the beach, racing a dog
Making the okay sign on her scuba dive
Grinning from behind the masquerade mask
Rejoicing after climbing the walls of a fort
She. The girl with the gorgeous smile.
The girl who hung herself one night.
No photographs were taken at her funeral
Had they been, might she have smiled there too?
That smile. The biggest mask she wore.
 |
| Jasminum sambac |
She clasped her palms in prayer, closed her eyes.
Unbidden, the images came rushing in.
Uncle taking her dress off.
Uncle rubbing her body.
Uncle pushing his fingers into her.
Pain.
She opened her eyes; pushed the pain away.
She looked around. Nobody had heard her cry.
Except Ma Durga. Ma’s eyes were on her.
Her kind, compassionate eyes.
Ma knew. She understood.
Don’t leave me, Ma, she pleaded.
You aren’t alone, Ma whispered. You are Durga.
She nodded with comprehension.
Tonight she will tell her mother.
They will force Uncle to stop.
She is Durga. She will vanquish Evil.
-------
She is everywoman, she is every girl
 |
| Plumeria rubra |
The oldest child. The eldest daughter in law. She always had things under control.
Every birthday party was meticulously planned. Every wedding went off without a hitch.
She helped pick out engagement rings. She knew where to hire a Spiderman costume.
Even for her own farewell party, she was the one who ordered the cake.
When they saw her, people relaxed. They knew nothing would now go wrong.
They depended on her. It was flattering, but sometimes she longed for more.
She tucked a plumeria behind her ears. Rolled down the window.
Long drives is where she could be She.
_____
Siddhidhatri, Goddess of the Supernatural Powers
Frangipani. She keeps the world moving
 |
| Cassia fistula |
She tried hard to make herself invisible.
Geeky glasses.
Unflattering hair.
Shapeless clothes.
Head downcast.
Nobody looked at her, she preferred it to be so.
It was safe to remain unseen. Overlooked.
She kept her voice low; let others take credit.
All she wanted was to be left alone.
Sometimes, she’d slip up and flash her smile
She’d catch herself and slip on her mask
But not fast enough. The transformation would be seen.
“You’d be almost pretty if you tried”, they’d say
Don’t they know that beauty is a curse?
That for a woman it’s better to hide.
_____
Mahagauri, the Fairest One
Indian laburnum. She blooms but briefly
 |
| Clitoria ternatea |
I wanted to run away. Be a heroine like Madhuri.
Instead, I landed up here. Everyday, men would have me.
I’d cry out in pain. Beg to be sent home.
But I’d been bought. I had to pay Madam back.
Sometimes, they hurt me. I bore it. I couldn’t escape.
I got pregnant. I had a baby. My expenses rose.
I’d slip her under the bed while I serviced my men.
She learnt to be quiet, as only young girls can.
I bore the abuse. Sent my daughter to school.
Today she becomes a doctor. She will do me proud.
 |
| Hibiscus rosa-sinensis |
Barely six months into her wedding,
He wants her to leave her job.
Creating a home is her responsibility.
Doesn’t he earn enough for both?
How happy her parents had been;
Good family, well settled groom,
No expectations from the family.
She’d agreed to the match.
Right after the honeymoon, the fights began.
He wanted an educated wife,
But didn’t want her to work.
She loved her job too much.
She shrugs the fights off; they can wait.
She dons her PPE, and goes into battle.
For an anesthesiologist in a COVID ward,
There are real demons to be slayed.
_____
Katyayani, the Slayer of Demons
Hibiscus, evil doesn’t stand a chance against her
 |
| Catharanthus roseus |
She divided the food equally,
Then took a bit from her share
And added it to her child’s.
He’s a growing boy. He needs more.
He gulped it down, asked for more.
She looked at the piece of bread,
Looked at her son. Gave it to him.
She would go hungry again today.
She lay down and closed her eyes.
Sleep would keep hunger away.
Three days without food
How much longer could she last?
She felt him pulling at her clothes
She wanted to tell him he’ll be fine.
But couldn’t.
Periwinkle gives, till she can give no more.
_____
Skhandamata, the Mother of Shand
Periwinkle, she’ll do anything for her child
 |
| Tagetes patula |
The oldest daughter, the responsible one.
Her youth went in settling her brood.
There was nobody to see her bloom,
Hers was what is called an unfulfilled life.
When she should have been chasing her kids,
She was caring for her bedridden mum.
Orange petals caught the rays of the sun,
Teaching her class gave her so much joy.
Her petals shriveled. She retired.
On her 70th birthday, a zoom call-
Her students popped up one by one.
Doctor, architect, politician, mother, teacher.
Even after a marigold dies,
Each petal grows into a plant.
_____
Kushmanda, the Creator of the Cosmic Egg
Marigold, the Universe is created from her smile
 |
| Lilium bulbiferum |
 |
| Nyctanthes arbor-tristis |
The night-flowering jasmine wakes up,
Stretches gently and unfurls her petals.
After washing the dishes, and cleaning up,
She pulls out her books and starts to starts to study;
There is an exam tomorrow. She must do well.
The night-flowering jasmine fills her senses,
As she goes through pages of equations.
Nothing matters, except an Education-
That will set her free.
By sunrise, the night-flowering jasmine is ready to let go.
She too puts aside her books, and grabs her pots.
She has a long walk to the village well.
Her feet crush the white and orange carpet.
Beautiful still.
____
Brahmacharini, the Night-flowering jasmine. She is the Seeker of Knowledge
 |
| Crocus sativus |
They call it Jannat. Paradise.
It is the saffron hidden
inside petals of crocus.
The knock on the door. Has the Army
come to take someone away?
The petals that open out one by one.
The wait when someone steps out.
Will they return, or not?
Acres of purple smudge.
At the heart of crocus is the saffron.
The pellet gun injuries.
The lack of connectivity.
The fear. The loss. The agony.
Never knowing what tomorrow will bring.
All real. Real petals.
Covering our resilience.
The precious saffron, our soul.
These Mountains you see.
This is Paradise. This is Home.
_____
Shailaputri, the Daughter of the Mountain.
She resides in Kashmir.
