To Them

The judgments, the pretensions

The absence of knowledge leading to stronger perceptions

He says I should do this, she says I should do that, they say that this is what I need to

I don’t need to do anything except spend my day like I like too

I lost myself when I left you behind

I lost myself when I left myself behind

Who knew the challenge of being a woman? Of always climbing the ladder through a man?

The men will be your shoulders, your ladders, your rungs

Then they will be your prisoners, your should-do tellers, your unformed opinions,

When he let me fly, he let me free

Then he promised to only support me

Why then he chains me, binds me

Only his opinions surround me

Can a woman never be truly free? Should she always be validated

from her father, her boyfriend, her all to-be’s

Only you don’t exist.

I am a person, not your opinion

I am a human, not your judgement

Your phones might help but its never the solution. It’s me

If I refuse to become, the challenge laughs at me

Each day I fly into uncharted territory

Every new endeavor is a war to be waged

Lightly or ferociously

Pleasantly or cunningly

I am me, not any other’s version of me, not any other’s expectation of me

I am a  constant struggle in a man’s world

I am a woman

I am not my profile pictures, I am not my habits

I am neither the way I file my taxes

I am not my cousin, I am not how I cook

I am neither the way my tattoo looks

I am not my burn-scars, I am not my weight

I am neither my marriageable age

I might be my parents’ reflection and of everybody else who raised me

After all, reflections are always reversed to reality

My left your right

My side always opposite to your side

I am all of this but concurrently none of these. I am me

Please, please, let me be

 

 

 

 

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Sunrise

It started as thick as a strand of hair far far away on the horizon. A unique colour of bright gold dipped in the essence of orange. Finally, the stars could see what they were craving to witness all night. Their lovers whom they could never meet. Blades of grass; tiny, little but mighty, stretching themselves up, reaching out to them. The heavy dewdrops tried to bring them down, pulled them. They tried to distract them with their tempting beauty but the resolve of the blades never fluttered.

They were determined to reach out just as a lovestruck is determined to brave anything for another’s heart of promise, of security, of love, of tranquility.

That strand had started to widen at an even pace, pouring a blue-infused-gold all over the soft green field. It was the kind that instilled a comfortable cold silent chill everywhere. Only the music of the nightingale could be heard.

In that perfection, a silhouette could be seen. An outline so attractive it would make somebody’s heart jump with the happiness that excitement brings.
He approached me and sung some words of kindness; whispered a word or two of warmth. The right words, words that sounded like a Welcome song, a melodious invitation to be a part of his unusual life.

The sun had started to shine bright, comforting the both of us.
In that life-changing moment, I knew it was the start of something new, something great, something absolutely wonderful.

The Escape

The nature of art is is not just beautiful, it’s complicated, contentious, deeply emotional. It’s capable of giving you wings. Art propounds not that which is superficial, not that which is obvious but that which is almost always unsaid between two lovers, two friends; between families.

It stems from the love , the pain, the laughter that moves inwards; the happiness that makes the best of memories. It’s an expression unlike any other, it’s almost always the truth.

It’s an escape that everybody craves for but very few get. The escape that makes life worthwhile. The silent escapes from where hopes are born, and dreams. The dreams that push us to keep doing what we do, each arduous day after the next. The dreams that make us pursue unrequited love, chase it after every defeat.

These escapes lend comforts of a lover’s arms, a mother’s lap, a father’s proud gaze, in the pursuit of passion, in convenience.

Its the idea of an escape that brings an art to life.

My idea of escape?

You.

-Snigs

A new beginning

He found her, he found himself

She promised him a home, he gave her a family.

They were madly in love; foolish, understanding, caring.

They were friends of the best kind,

Awaiting an unknown adventure.

They dreamt of the Earth, of songs, of growth, parents and future.

They dreamt of the ultimate happiness; love.

Embarking on a journey together lasting eternity.

Bon Voyage!

 

For Juhi Di, Aditya Jijs, Purva Di and Kartik Jijs :*

Cheers to a new family.

Happy Valentine’s

Sometimes, if you are quite lucky, you will find warmth, the kind you thought you might never get. It will be in the embrace of friendship, in the kiss of care, in the hugs that pour peace into you. It will be in the chatter of friends, in the loud laughs over a silly vampire movie, when your friend cries and asks for your shoulder and yours alone, in certain dirty jokes, in stealing zero-calorie cokes from the refrigerator, in lazying around in negative temperatures, in playing Rocksmith on ps3, in coloured smoke, in learning that you have people who are concerned for you, people who care. It will be in the comfort that you are probably not alone in New York City, in the anticipation that the approaching time will be good.

Happy Valentine’s!

Deep Love

Snigs

For Shishir, Atharva, Sukanya, Aman, Karan, Hadia, Khanak, Janhvi, Kashish, Akhila :*

AIB Knockout Ripples

Even the polemical topics in India are becoming a cliche this month. Its generally either “swearing” or the “Right” opinion on Valentine’s Day. Indian and Pakistani parents who disapprove of homosexuality please turn away, this is a hard-to-digest post (but certainly much easier than the programme that has wrecked a propriety havoc in the subcontinent).

I must clarify this is not a reactionary piece like the 495 seconds long torture inflicted by #KRK review and no, I have not googled AIB which returns more than 2 million results in 0.31 secs but yes, people are talking. Bollywood, Maharashtra Government, religious organizations, the censor board, even the kids of the “Aam Admi” can’t keep quiet on this one. Apparently songs like “Mai maal gaadi tu dhakka laga” are pretty entertaining but AIB Knockout is not. The banality of “first talk about corruption, sanitation, rape, dowry which are ‘darker kalanks’ on Indian sensibility than AIB” is being plastered over the Internet. Like any other country, there is no dearth of ‘cheapness’ in India. It comes naturally to humans. Being sophisticated is an abstraction; its a fight. AIB in its open letter proclaimed “we wanted to push the envelope of comedy in this country” by introducing insult comedy. What AIB failed to recognize is that insult comedy needs no introduction here, “Udaana” is our favourite passtime, is it not?

Every StoryPick article even remotely related to AIB Knockout is fetching thousands of shares (trust me that’s not the intention here :p ) . Here, I am trying to react to the reactions.

Their open letter depicts them to be heroes of societal change (who are they kidding? They are no Savarkar or Tilak). Their letter is so serious and pleading, they sound like damsels in distress. Consequently, AIB has gained many supporters (read saviours), a small pocket of which exists in the Indian community around me at New York.

AIB however,is right about one thing- in a secure culture, a knockout like this wouldn’t matter much. Maybe it’s unimportant, but the effect it has had on people is drastic. The laziness of the blizzard-phase forced New Yorkers to not watch it once or twice but umpteen times. Aftermath? Absolute shamelessness :O . The jokes that were shared in men’s locker rooms or private chats have suddenly surfaced in full colour in the subway, in the drawing room, infront of Starbucks, at birthday parties, at libraries, at Queens’ sidewalks, during movies, in the kitchen, hell even during casual conversations! I am a woman who is not comfortable with casual hookups (judge me). So of course, this is a mild/slightly-creepy cultural shock. Men and women are bouncing out of closets of accepted propriety, deriving motivation from the AIB Knockout panel. They don’t exactly think its cool, I wonder if they think anything at all. However, the jokes flow easily like water. After observing me for sometime, a friend asked whether I have a problem with “tharakness” with its all encompassing meaning, I am assuming. I gave him a vague answer. Of course I don’t care that the Knockout happened but I am glad I laughed my head off at some of the jokes but I am happier and more shocked that it helped me to understand my friends better in ‘traditionally unspeakable ways’.

“Long Live Freedom of Speech”

With surprize,

Snigs

 

Sunlight

The moving window never looked so beautiful. The view kept changing but the warmth stayed; the sunlight shone bright. Such an experience is hard to come by in the winters of New York. The mosaic beyond the window; the colours of the fall, seemed to dance in the glittering gold. As I squinted my eyes, I could just make out the colours of my sweater looking happy in the sun, the shine in my hair glad to have found a loving,  gentle touch and the gorgeous ticker tape fixed in the window frame moving with the speed of the subway.

This still remains my favourite section of the ride till the darkness of the underground Grant Ave sucks the tube into it and reminds me of what still needs to be done in the day ahead. This warmth however, is of no ordinary distinction. It is the kind that knocks on memories.

This is the closest I have come to feeling as comfortable as I did lying under the blanket with my mother and father, holding her hand and troubling him while he solved Sudoku. From so far away, home seems to be a distant heaven. The comfort of the sun and the feel of the blankets around you when you are home as you can distantly hear your mother’s bangles clinking while she is hard at work in the house are not very different. The joy of putting a smile on your Dad’s face as you tease him brings you the same satisfaction and affection as the sun bestows on us every other morning. Lying by the pond, reading; waiting for a hint of sound from my Dad’s car as he heads home from office seems to be an under-appreciated luxury now.

However, the good thing about sunlight is, it is bound to shine. It might not bestow us with its love each day but you know that after many cold, cloudy days you will bask in the sun. It might be irregular; absent for long periods, but its existence is unquestionable. Its love toward you is unquestionable.

The sunlight will shine upon you, for that is its nature.