Tears Talk

The first thought of this day 

It's here- the book 

A first,
second,
or fifth- loved just the same

 

Yet hidden in this delight, 

I find a niggling thought
that whispers: 

you didn't say what you wanted to

You said too much,  

you said too little 

You fool, 

you looked terrible  

With tears in your eyes
In that place

And I stand strong 

shut my ears  

and shake my head- I don't listen

to this voice 

today

I was with friends, I retort 

people I came from 

and those who come from me

They don't care 
about more or less
T

hey've let me be 

And for them I spoke 

And for those who weren't there 

That live in my heartbeat, 

each one

Leave, now 

You Sly Critical-Voice-Of-Days-Bygone 

 

I command,recognizing this whisper, 

Let me show you the door 

Don't bother coming back
  

My tears come
from a place of strength

courage 

and as Disha knew long ago, 

at the tender age of 3

From joy

I'm like this only

And it's okay

My Jai-Hind, caught at midnight

Dear compatriots in Hindustan: don't scoff at my Jai Hind
It comes from a place of respect

Where everyday I teach my children
And remind others around me
That there's more to me
Than silk saris and spicy samosas

And everyday I fight against
The mud slinging
When people call us 'those people'

I

 do not stand on a pedestal

I stand with you
Paying respects to the Tiranga
And cheering for our men in blue

I also remember LakshmiBai
And Bachendri, and Usha
And Kalpana
Arundhati
And Shamsia, Sudnya,
Advita, Ipsita, Kaaveri, Vishakha
And Veena
And I think of Tahira from across the border
Who calls me Didi

Batwaara and Azaadi
Two sides of the same coin then!
The lines drawn by unseen hands long ago
Wounds festering to this day

May freedom come
With humility and no caste divides

May no Nirbhaya die

And may we promise
That borders between hearts
Are erased forever
So the master plan of Batwara
Doesn't win over
And over

This I wish us
On this curious day

For both Jai Hind
And Sar Zameen are made of
People and
Their children, so like mine.

This Vikram-Vetaal marriage

She sits with bated breath
knowing that this may indeed
be the last summer
of normalcy

and gets ready for
what is now the new normal
that HE has named as
final,
terminal,
dying,
dead even
waiting to be buried,
decaying everyday

where she had ignored signs
and slogged on
thinking that
this was what
marriage was all about
he has chosen
although at deficit

to walk away
with happiness as the goal

his prerogative, it's been
 to name it
as parallel lives
and rail road tracks
separation-perhaps-on-the-way-to-the-D-word

every time there's no buffer
of kids or others
the veil slips
and the eyes glaze over

the blame lies
squarely on her shoulders
placed there by a twist of the lip and
"Look at who you are, look at what you do,
look at who I have become
because of you"

loads left for her
for being herself
now that the ZNMD
and YoLo have sunk in for him

and he, on the pretext of 'you spoke'

is off again, like Vikram and Vetaal
that legendary tale from
Doordarshan long ago

And she pays bills,
and counts days
until peace returns
and moves through this life

knowing it is not her
was never her

It's just lives that have outlived their usefulness

and another thread unravels,
swish,
swish,
shh
as her fingers tap the keyboard. 

Finding little bits of me

This Sunday afternoon
as I cleaned the bookshelf
a long overdue task
sorted books by genre
and piled them through three shelves

research, theory, social capital
bell hooks, Bhabha and Bourdieu
I found little bits of myself

a receipt from Mumbai
Amma's 70th birthday menu
Matuna Gymkhana
Pu La Deshpande cassettes
and Vaaryavarchi Varaat

Pappa's laughter
echoed through two decades

amazed at how the gap of years, 27
blended through me
this storyteller
alone and
sorting
sorting
sorting

trying to make sense of
wrinkles and silver hair
where I look like one parent or another

in rooms miles away,
my children
oblivious to the tsunamis in my ventricles

nap
finish homework
march towards their destiny

So can I too, say my parents visited me today?

The boy in the bouncy castle

We sit patiently

Listening to the AGM 

Under old trees, blue skies 

             in the distance-
             a bouncy castle

Little people's voices ring out

as their mothers watch for safety

And there draped over the edge

A young man

off soon, to university

Invisible dreams shining 

in diamond bright eyes

shaded with uber-cool glasses

Somewhere inside that tall frame

is the boy

You've loved and raised

             My special memory, this sliver of time
            of this sunshine day 
            with you

To Veena

How's your Amma
asked a kind voice today

and I, dry eyed
told of her passing
surprisingly matter-of-fact

yet, my heartbeat quickened
talking to the woman who
bears Amma's name

and I breathed through the pain
Anichcha, I whispered
Arising and passing
Anichcha

And I brought back a vada-paav
for Elders
under trees

And Amma walked with me
every step of that way
proud
of who I have become

Sisters under shady trees

I sat with sisters today

under leafy, trees

beside children and men 

who were busy today

having fun, meeting friends

with nobody needing us 

every minute of every day

we shared thoughts

asked questions

re-wrote scripts that we have been led to believe

opened labelled boxes wider: 

mother, sister, good mother, who knows what

we stepped out

just a little

peeked out

and liked what we saw

who knows, 

sometime soon, 

armed with empty journals

and pens that make us happy

we will write our own stories

soon

a year later, a sister promised

my heart sings with that promise

a part of me left behind

under that shade

I face the sun once more

Konkani Association Picnic, July 6th, 2013