Wednesday, September 5, 2018


Born wild
Born different
Born differently
Born to prayers
Born into chaos
Born from the gods
Born close to ghosts
Born weird
Born confused

Born old
Growing young

One could tell
Some could tell
She was different
She was not like the rest

Born strong
Born wrong
Like a song
Played backwards.

She lived.
She was curious
She was surprised
She talked to the trees
And the trees talked back
She asked lots of questions
Of the butterfly and the earthworm
And sometimes the dragonfly
They didn't mind, often

She wandered
To the boundaries of the garden compound wall
Beyond which was the world
That gave her strange glances
Intrigue and sometimes fear writ large in their eyes

That was when she ventured and explored
beyond thin boundaries of her own mind
She knew she was crazy in a way
And she though it was delicious

Born with eyes open
Born too clever - Born too dump
Born with words tumbling incoherently
As she tried to swallow the world with her dry tongue
It hurt.

She grew
What else could she do?

She was like the wild weeds
She was looking for more seeds
She felt the feelings
That others discarded
She made her garden of weeds

She felt the wetness of rain
And the weight of each drop differently
She could see the soft grey cloud melting
Finally letting go
Reminding her of her own grief
Thick grey full

She felt the agony of the mosquitoes
When the black smoke-gun guys came and killed them
She suffocated

She felt the struggles and rejoiced
As the little seed broke into a two leave clover
She felt born again..and again ..and again.
And she died again ..and again and again.

She cried at dawn
When everything was ruined and torn
She was ill
She was still
As the world and the sufferings came gushing in.

She wept and she swept
Under the bed under the carpets
Where people hid their fears, disappointments an  shame
Some had her name.
Some regrets were kept wrapped in pink shiny paper
as Christmas gifts – a poor excuse for the absence
She had tripped many times

That is when she started changing
Closing up
Trying to fit

The sky frowned
The caterpillar stopped his mindless eating to look up
The earth sighed
And maybe died
A little
Like her

She felt she had a task
She had to wear a mask
That was the ask
Of the world
She thought.
As the world ‘conformity’ sought
She did. Her way was rebellion
That was the mask

Born first
You learn fast
Burn fast
Get empty and hardened like a cast
Many will be created in this mould
The mould, will remain empty

She has been left at the altar
She has been bruised by the pain
She has been touched without permission
She has been judged without trial
And yet - yet ... She will grow
She will show
She will march into the fire
She will stand in the piercing rain and sometimes be the holding cloud
She will perch on the tops of trees and balance
She will tumble in the rivers and sometimes change its course
She will ride the tornado and sometimes become it.
She will lay down on the soft earth and let the worms breathe in and out

She will.
Because that is what she is made of
The Earth
The Fire
The Water
The Air
She is the Space
She is the face

She is.
And there is no excuse.

Thursday, August 30, 2018


Words tremble alone. Now.
What is feminine - what is it to be a woman ?

I hear voices. 
 Some resounding - some whispers - some innocuous remarks Some in retort - some questions - some ‘funny’ remarks - some sarcasm.. Some innocent references to history heroes - Some in the form of very specific stories told with emphasis. And some stories of female gods.
Answering this question
As I close my eyes..I also hear voices..

“You are a girl”-”don’t laugh out loud”-”sit with your legs crossed”-”family is the only important thing”-”you are responsible for everything”-”we don't do things like that”-”you are the rani of jhansi”-”motherhood will complete you”-”always eat after your husband”-”freedom is just a notion”-”a woman can never be free”- “you are strong-like a man”-”you can do whatever you like” - “this is a mans world-to survive you need to fight” -”it not safe-your sexuality is a liability” -”you are too emotional”-”you are too much”..
This and many many more statements which have become the voices in my head..

Now that I think, some were not even said to me, but I heard them from other women, sometimes laced with pride and sometimes with regret..longing as well.

And yet I am in touch with feminine and Masculine both as part of being a woman. Yes, I like to nurture and take care and dream and flow - I also like to build and explore and create and impact..

I am no more and no less for doing these. The distinction I held seemed to be fading..
Like a dream. Crystal clear for some time and then they dissolve.. And even if I do remember the dream - It does not make any sense at all
Funny .. I think to myself I did not for the slightest moment question butterflies coming out a yellow suitcase Or wonder how the tiger can understand and obey what I say?

Oh. Where has language and logic got us? 
I was in love with the idea of a woman           
More that the Woman herself                    Phew !! there I said it.
I have been part of many spaces with clever talk going on in circles Dry and untouched. Often mistaking anger and resentment for passion .
As an activist - I have been there - done that and known its futility.

Sometimes things are as simple as they seem.                                                                    We have lost touch with aliveness Magic Faith

In running after the idea of equality…we have perpetuated the pain. for ourselves and for others. Men and women.

Because a parrot and a pigeon are not equal, neither is a dog. There is nothing wrong with a dog being called a dog..

Sigh !!!!!
It’s good to feel exhausted trying to understand the things you care about And laugh about things you thought about seriously, but now find no relevance.

Or cry when what you held so dear finally dies… Like the belief that tooth fairies

We underestimate the power of a good loud laugh and a good loud cry. 
 We trivialise the joy of making a simple cup of tea for someone you love, 
 We bargain the messiness of intimate conversations for movies. 
 We buy member ship with cleverness and clarity into a world of chaos
We try. And we fail.

And then we Package the failure 
 Into a new book, new movie, new wardrobe or a new haircut. 
 And move on. or pretend to.
For once
             Can we just sit and explore 
 And be In the messiness Of aloneness Of dry rains
And see
How faith can hold ?
Where dream may take?
What love can enable?


Born wild Born different Born differently Born to prayers Born into chaos Born from the gods Born close to ghosts...