Address bar

Paying bills,
starting accounts
buying sheet music so the sweet sound
of the saxophone celebrates
his gift

and I pause mid typing
and stare wide eyed at the address

my fingers have typed

2

Just that

and I know why

the home of my childhood
lives on
through every heartbeat,
every pulse
and every contraction of
striated muscle

and science is defied
that voluntary muscles
behave quite involuntarily

and heart, involuntarily too
controls what I type as my address.

Your voice with mine

Pehley main sirff tadapti thee
Aur main likhtee thee

Gussey se, kabhi kabhi

Ro pad-ti thee

Ab mein rotee nahin,

Mein liktee hoon

Apne dil ki awaaz sunti hoon

Ab main bolti bhi hoon

Nidarr, nirbhaya, bulundd

Kya pataa,

Shayad meri awaaz se
Unko meri behnon ki awaaz
Sunaai de

Tum saath ho 
Toh aati hai
Himmat mujhey 

Meri Awaaz mein 
Tumhari aaah bhi
Shaaamil hain kahin

My shoe story

Torn, worn shoes
Shoes too large
Laced untied

And now,
I am asked to remind
and teach
and check shoelaces
In addition to teaching !

My heart runs to that story
looks past the 6 pairs of shoes I own
and 7 pairs of sandals for summer
and parties
I change shoes regularly

Now

My feet remember the burn
of hot asphalt

My shoes in grade 10
had holes you see

And Amma said
Can you make do
for a few more weeks

Can you please,
first born daughter
continue to walk

with holes in your shoes
for a few more weeks

Your 3 younger siblings
need shoes too

you know.

Now when I push back
I speak for the other Amma

whose children wear
shoes too large for their feet
with frayed laces

and all I can think of
is the pain
that shone through Amma's tears
when she saw my worn soul.

Dear Sister, I wore a hijab today

Hello sister,
Today I wore a hijab all day.
Why? you ask...

Because I love you,
Our mothers are sisters
and they watch over us both.

You wish me for Diwali and
I call you for Eid.

My children call you Maasi
and your son calls me Aunty.

When you wished me on my anniversary,
 I wondered how you had remembered.

Then suddenly I sat there wide eyed
thinking: how could she ever forget?

How could anyone who has lived
through that brutal time ever
let that time fade?

My mehendi ceremony on January 26th
amidst curfew when
you wanted to go
visit your sisters.

And Elders who loved you and
wanted to protect you
took you home to 'safer' places.

I had watched that time
knowing that
I was safe where I was
under state sanctioned protection.

Now two decades later,
I have a sister here too.

She helped me without questions.
She brought me a bag
full of colourful hijabs to choose from

and then wrapped the one I had chosen
lovingly
around my head.

she gave me her safety pin
knowing that I, the novice
you have trouble through the day

she thought of that,
this sweet sister of mine

I remembered Pachchi then and you.
And I walked as I always do:
with the same eyes, the same heart.

There were some questions and some silences.
Some confusion and some challenges.

Is it Muslim Day?
Another sister quipped
too much tokenism
hurts through the years

and I replied with my heart
"I am wearing the hijab
with utmost respect"

That's okay.
A life lesson that
just because I am ready to understand
doesn't mean people want to be understood
though that was never my intention

For how can can I understand an entire life
in one day?

I wore a hijab today
as I have many sisters who do.

And they are real people,
not subjects upon
whom labels can be fixed.

Today I felt calmer.
Seeking to understand
is the only way forward

Today I walked one step closer to that goal.

Now the question is
would I dare do this
in the place where my heart still beats

And if not, what are the reasons?
Lots of love
Didi

Birthday Blues

My littlest niece turns one
on Sunday
and I,
the talking head on Skype
Look East
the way home
Choices come at a cost
I knew
then why now
is my vision blurred?

End game

I was speaking to my professor about the deep despair I have been feeling about the media reports regarding "in-fighting amongst leaders of the Idle No More movement" and what one fears are tokenistic, opportunistic support positions. She  remarked that I had got it right when I spoke about 'divide and conquer'.

How do we know what we know? How do I know what I know? Having read India's history through school and having seen the deep scars that are scraped regularly by people and groups with vested interests to keep the pot boiling and bubbling, this realisation is testimony that I am a product of colonialisation and thereby my epistemology stems from that journey, lived or observed, heard or witnessed.

We have websites of newspapers and also websites to 'teach students news'. Here is one more. 

Now the question is, do we have the courage to share this with those who will suspect our motives?

That's the litmus test of critical pedagogy. And it always begins with me. 

http://canadiandimension.com/articles/5139/

Mummyji, Aunty ji. Suno zara.

I read a blog entry just a little while ago entitled " A letter to a neighbourhood aunty from the-girls-these-days". I read on as if transported into the very setting of each story.

Some of us have lived this reality where women in the community, family, neighbourhood have taken great pains to undermine the lives and efforts of the younger woman. I was one, not too long ago.

Life moves on. Some of us forgive, other's try to. Forgetting is difficult.

When I look back at such incidents in my life, I grieve for the lost years of the 27 year old I was. It doesn't matter to me now. It mattered to her, the me of 1993. To this day, the aftershocks are felt as the termors of other people's fears and insecurities reach out their tentacles and threaten to choke my hard won peace in a far away land.

My Amma always said: take pity on the condition now, don't forget the injustice. If that means I am allowed this total indifference, I'll take it.

 

It's better than the deep despair or excruciating anger. I am also mindful that through faith or good luck, educational opportunities or immigration, I was able to disengage the yoke of patriarchal societally sanctioned oppression and move to a space where I am a person first and foremost.

 

Raised eyebrows and pursed lips, discriminatory practices and vessels banged in anger don't mean a thing to me anymore.  Now all the sweet smiles and how-are-you's are just tokenistic tickets to a future peace for you, I know. Had you cared, you'd have cared then when she came to your home wanting to belong. Too little too late. And the loss is yours, Aunty-ji/Mummy-ji/whatever you call yourself.

All I ask is, let our daughters be happy. Whether it be a niece married recently or a niece whose wedding approaches soon, the daughter I gave birth to or the daughters who are learning to write their names...That's all I ask. Leave them be. Let them make their own lives their way. Let them enjoy their wedding day. Let them enjoy the gifts that husbands bring them.

 

Don't stand over her head and demand half of the rainbow hued bangles her husband bought for your daughters: that hurts.

Remember, daughters-in-law are someone's daughters too. Amma knew that. Not everyone does.