I can't breathe

 

She trashes underwater

Clawing for air

Feet weighed down. 

Sinking.

She can see the surface-

Her children, their dreams.

Nani. She wants to be a Nani.

She doesn’t want to go.

Her husband makes calls.

She needs but a simple molecule-

Two atoms of oxygen in an eternal waltz.

The bottom looms closer.

She sinks.

Gasping

Crying

“I can’t breathe”.

Her husband punches numbers.

The phone rings, unanswered.

Powerless to cut the call, he hopes.

There are no numbers left.

Helpless, he dials again.

He can’t meet her eyes.

He’s failed her- 

She who he promised to protect.

Her eyes seek his out. 

Her wide, terrified eyes.

“Save me”, they plead.

He can’t.

She’s gone.

Guilt.

Rage.

Emptiness.

Grief is a Bloody Moon.

Love Is Love

 

Your child brings home
     His Love.
     Exposing
          Layers of bigotry
Caste
   Language
      Class
         Nationality
      Colour
   Religion
         Gender

Why must it be so?
When Love is Love.

I too will be Free

 

How I long to run
into wind, dewy grass
tickling my soles. My kite

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

Paint an Eagle

 “What do you think I should paint?”, I asked my younger one.

“An eagle”, he replied.

“But I can’t paint eagles”, I said. “I can only attempt landscapes and flowers.”

“Do an eagle”, he repeated.

“But I can’t.”

He could have told me that if I wasn’t going to take his advice, I shouldn’t have asked him the question. Or he could have sulked and told me to paint whatever I wanted. Instead he insisted that he wanted me to paint an eagle.

“If you only do what you can do, then what is the point?” he reasoned patiently. “You learn only if you try something new.”

“But, I can’t paint an eagle”, I insisted.

“I don’t care. Make an eagle”, he replied with a shrug.

I glared at his retreating back. It was a test and it was a challenge. Was I going to back down? Or was I going to rise up? Had I backed off, he may have judged me or he may not. But could I survive how I would judge myself?

No, I certainly couldn’t draw an eagle, much less paint one. But did that mean I shouldn’t try? What was the worst that could happen? I’d waste a piece of paper and some time. I could certainly live with that.

And so I went to google- how do you draw an eagle, I asked. I followed the first few steps to get a form that looked a bit like one. Then I used a photograph to guide me with the colours. Spilt some paint, and covered it up.

The eagle looks a bit like an eagle, but not too much. It could certainly look much better, but it could have been worse.

“What do you think?”, I asked my younger one.

“Nice”, he said. And smiled.

I think I passed his test.

~ Tai ~

 

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.]

Silent

 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

Dreams of my own

 My sister. My clever sister.

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?

You want papers?

 

You want papers?

What papers?

The aunt who eased me out of my mother’s womb

as the candle spluttered and died in the wind; she

couldn’t read or write. She knows I was born

on the day of the heaviest rains.

That is my birth certificate.

Will that do?

No, I don’t know the day, 

or even the year when I was born.

It may have been fifteen years back, 

Or sixteen

Time has little meaning for us , you know.

What?

Who are my parents, you ask?

That stone you see there? 

That’s not a stone. That is my mother.

My mother who died giving birth to me. 

My father, his father,

his father’s father, 

his father’s father’s father,

our fathers, all the way to the first man-

We were all born here.

We belong here.

Every stone in this valley is us.

You want papers?

Why do I need papers?

This is my legacy. 

These trees, these hills, these streams.

Every plant in the forest, every stone on the hills. 

It is mine.

I don’t need no papers

This is my land.

The land of my forefathers.

The land where we’ve always lived.

The land where my children,

and grandchildren and great grandchildren will be born

Everything you see around me is mine.

These are my papers.

You cannot displace me from my land.

Not even if you find bauxite under the ground

- natasha ramarathnam

[This poem was written during the protests against CAA+NRC. Indigenous tribals will be most affected by NRC.]

Shopping for Vegetables

Returning from her evening walk,

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.

Of What use Dharma?, Janaki asks

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.

The Biggest Mask she Wore

 

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.

The Babies never came

Jasminum sambac

“When are you giving the good news?”

her nosey relatives would ask.

Did they not realize she was 

in no hurry to start a family?

The curiosity soon turned stringent,

“Don’t delay or it will be too late.”

They gave her names of IVF specialists,

told her which temples to visit.

They didn’t hesitate before throwing 

barbs of ‘carrier woman’ at her.

Choice or not, they never knew,

but  the babies never came.

“We told you not to delay,

now look at you”, they said cruelly.

Shouldn’t there be more for a woman 

than to be reduced to her ovaries?

Navdurga- Durga

 

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

Navdurga blooms- Siddhidhatri

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

Navdurga blooms- Mahagauri

Cassia fistula

 Invisible.

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

Navdurga blooms- Kalaraatri

 

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.

_____

Kaalratri, the Ruler of the Night

Butterfly pea. She is beyond fear

Navdurga blooms- Katyayani

 

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

Navdurga Blooms- Skhandamata

 

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

Navdurga blooms- Kushmanda

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 70^th birthday, a zoom call-

Her students popped up one by one.

Doctor, architect, politician, mother, teacher.

 

Each one had done her proud.

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

Navdurga Blooms- Chandraghanta

 

Lilium bulbiferum

“Let it not be a girl”, she prayed.

She had two daughters already,

The next four had been taken away.

“Let it not be a girl” she prayed.

She took a deep breath, and pushed.

One boy, and this torture will end.

It was a girl. Durga born on Navratri.

Something snapped inside her.

She would not give this one up.

“Don’t you dare touch my child”, she cried.

“She’s better than any son.

If you don’t want her, I’ll go away.”

A tiger lily remains a bud for long.

But when she finally unfurls,

You can’t ignore the bloom.

______

Chandraghanta, the Fearsome One~

Tiger Lily, she fights for her own