Birthdays demand contemplation, I believe, and as I step into a new decade I stop to ponder over the person I have grown into. This is “emotion recalled in tranquility” for it has been three days since my birthday ( Rimi di was right when she said that we are too well read for our own good) and now I sit with the afterglow of the day. It is recognition of the irreversibility of the aging process as it is about my feelings of helplessness. I have become helpless, I realize, a mute spectator of sorts to the drama of life that unfolds in front of me, I wait and watch but have no say. Somewhere in the exchange between adolescence and adulthood, time set in and left me defeated. I am awed by the strangeness of life, shocked by its sadist humour and amazed by its power. I linger to savour each moment that it offers as I see that survival would require me to let go of every inch if the person I was.
I stare at the picture of a stranger. He evokes emotions in me which I had forgotten I had the capacity of feeling. It is this voyeur I have become. I watch myself perform the rituals expected of me, I feel the fragmentation of my self as the world around me rapidly changes. I see the world I love so dearly fast disappearing. The loss is irrevocable. I refuse to grow up in the attempt to stop time’s flow. I desperately hang on to the tiny vestiges of the daddy’s little girl. My father asks whether my birthday gift made me happy. I smile, I lie, the euphoria that was so spontaneous once doesn’t happen, I try to fake it.
Nothing makes sense any more. The world has lost coherence. It was so easy once to arrange events sequentially, logically, but now they decline to fall in place. I think of the sweet simplicity of the earlier decade when a diary entry on 29th July, 1996 read “My Happy Birthday” and tears come to my eyes. Every step I take takes me further away from solidity, from meaning and from sense. The lines become crooked and blurred. My body is slowly melting away but the surrounding space refuses to receive it. I have ceased to have an identity… I remain stranded in between…I scream…A very happy birthday to me.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
For You...
The blank screen gapes, it almost feels like a voyeur, staring and judging while I try desperately to type the right words and as usual fail. The alphabets look like nothing more than signifiers, signs impregnated with thoughts and feeling, while I seek to represent the raw gnashes itself. But I am condemned to write, it is the only way I know of defining this existence and getting rid of the hurt. I am damned. It is fate that I repeat the same mistakes. What am I hoping for as I shout these futile words into the cyber jungle? It is in vain that I cry. I am claiming recognition when I have no right.
I am reminded of some old songs I wrote of love. This feels nothing like it. Do I love you? I wish I knew. Words escape me and time fleets away. But I hang on to hope. I deceive myself as I frantically search your face for a sign of tenderness. I misinterpret all you say. I almost believe that I know you…
I despise you for what you have reduced me to. I blame you for not knowing but it doesn’t matter, nothing does, for I know you don’t care. And so I remain silent. I watch and I don’t speak. It is to escape the sneer I know you’d give me when I say that I deserved it, I deserve your love and more…. I loathe you. I’m addicted to you.
I am reminded of some old songs I wrote of love. This feels nothing like it. Do I love you? I wish I knew. Words escape me and time fleets away. But I hang on to hope. I deceive myself as I frantically search your face for a sign of tenderness. I misinterpret all you say. I almost believe that I know you…
I despise you for what you have reduced me to. I blame you for not knowing but it doesn’t matter, nothing does, for I know you don’t care. And so I remain silent. I watch and I don’t speak. It is to escape the sneer I know you’d give me when I say that I deserved it, I deserve your love and more…. I loathe you. I’m addicted to you.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
On times like this I feel alone,
Standing on an empty street,
Walking with shadows
Eyes seeing, gaping, judging,
But seldom understanding,
And the hand that reaches out,
Feels just like skin
And nothing more.
Some friend tries to save me,
Protect me from me,
But I feel it coming again,
This time it’s on a roll,
Something chokes from within
The feeling is overwhelming.
You felt like home to me,
But I no longer care
And I ain’t blaming,
I guess you didn’t know,
So many times you hurt me,
Still I didn’t show.
But here by the sea
Everything’s washed away,
Except this emptiness,
And the cold cold tears.
I’m leaving the city,
The people, the lights and all.
Sight has lost meaning
And sanity sense
Spirit calls, the wild beckons
I’m tired of existing,
Just smiling lies
The strings strum
While I drown in song,
Everything’s reduced
To an overpowering surge
It brings the traveler home.
And even though I fall,
The waves catch me
It offers a salty kiss.
My memories are gone,
The nights of sleeping alone.
And as the last bubble fades,
Sleep, peace, darkness follows...
I wake up with a gasp.
Standing on an empty street,
Walking with shadows
Eyes seeing, gaping, judging,
But seldom understanding,
And the hand that reaches out,
Feels just like skin
And nothing more.
Some friend tries to save me,
Protect me from me,
But I feel it coming again,
This time it’s on a roll,
Something chokes from within
The feeling is overwhelming.
You felt like home to me,
But I no longer care
And I ain’t blaming,
I guess you didn’t know,
So many times you hurt me,
Still I didn’t show.
But here by the sea
Everything’s washed away,
Except this emptiness,
And the cold cold tears.
I’m leaving the city,
The people, the lights and all.
Sight has lost meaning
And sanity sense
Spirit calls, the wild beckons
I’m tired of existing,
Just smiling lies
The strings strum
While I drown in song,
Everything’s reduced
To an overpowering surge
It brings the traveler home.
And even though I fall,
The waves catch me
It offers a salty kiss.
My memories are gone,
The nights of sleeping alone.
And as the last bubble fades,
Sleep, peace, darkness follows...
I wake up with a gasp.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Lost Rites
This is a story I wrote for a Woman's Day competition. The words "This is what being a woman means" had to be there in the text.
The peddler had scarce disappeared around the bend, his cries could still be heard surfacing above the lazy drone of the winter afternoon.
“What a life!” she thought, “hawking carpets from door to door.”
It seemed hard but invitingly different. The stream of sunlight washing into the room was illuminating the dust particles and transforming them into millions of tiny diamonds that glittered all around her. She caressed the air and its scent of latent activity. She liked the calm, it reminded her of her childhood. The telephone rang, piercing through the stillness and putting an abrupt end to her reverie. It was her husband, Mahesh and he was euphoric.
“The Doctor called Lily, he has confirmed, we are having a baby….everything’s going to change now, you’ll see. But we have to celebrate. Be ready, I’ll take you out to dinner.”
She held on to the receiver, even after the phone line went still. It was her Cinderella story but where was the happy ending?
She and Mahesh had fallen in love back in college and during their prolonged period of courtship when they often talked about the future, she had made it clear that she didn’t want a child. And it was all right.
“Anything you want” he said, “it’s ok with me.”
But things changed during the fourth year of their marriage or perhaps it had always been that way. Mahesh wanted a baby and she still didn’t.
At first he tried convincing her.
“A child will make our family complete, it will add to our happiness, its not like we can’t support one!”
And when that failed he tried reason.
“Logically speaking why don’t you want a child? You have nothing to lose, you don’t work, it wouldn’t harm your career.”
But she didn’t have an answer.
It was precisely at this point that the self-proclaimed protector of the Sengupta dynasty, Mahesh’s mother took it upon herself to forward the family interests. During her month long visit, she utilized the time trying to make Lily ‘understand’, whined to friends about the absence of an heir especially when she knew her daughter-in-law was within earshot and finally delivered sermons to her on the importance of women in society as child bearers. Lily’s parents too joined forces.
“It is children who make the most important bond between a husband and wife.” Her mother explained.
This irritated her however she soon learnt to live with it. But slowly and especially after his mother’s visit Mahesh’s “why don’t you” transformed into “why shouldn’t you”.
“Why shouldn’t you want a baby? Aren’t all women fulfilled in motherhood?” Why can’t you be like other normal women?”
Doors slammed, tears rolled and the unanswered questions haunted her, enshrouding her mind like a dark shadow till one day the unspoken was said. “Wanton sexuality” was the term Mahesh used and Lily spent the entire night crying on the sofa. It was towards dawn that he came and begged for forgiveness. The strange expression of vulnerability in her husband’s strong jaws made her afraid.
“I’ve always dreamed of a small hand clutching mine. A baby is something of you and me, it is a part of us and most importantly it is someone who would inherit the family name, I am the only son Lily, why don’t you understand?”
Lily was tired, she didn’t understand, she didn’t want to but nothing seemed to matter anymore, she simply replied ok and tried to stop thinking as Mahesh lulled her to sleep.
Months passed and yet Lily didn’t conceive, she couldn’t as they found out later. Tests showed that she had polycystic ovaries. It was as though her body had refused even though she couldn’t, Lily laughed at the irony.
The Doctor prescribed a strict diet with liberal amounts of exercise. It was expected that the recommended hormonal tablets would work but if they didn’t she would require a laproscopic surgery. All her life Lily had dreaded going under the knife. She patiently bore with all the side effects of the medication but the possibility of an operation scared her. For a year she tolerated unending nausea, bouts of constipation and abrupt hot flushes but that was the easy part, it was harder to satisfy the pointless but insatiable questions that friends and relatives raised. “Yes, I am infertile!” Lily often screamed to herself wanting to do the same to the world outside. And now she was finally pregnant. Lily felt relieved.
The maid was knocking at the door. Lily answered her. But as she turned her eyes fell on her wedding photograph, it stared back from the table. And suddenly Lily found herself asking what was her role in this family. It surprised her that the question had never occurred to her before.
“Was her sole purpose procreation? Was that the reason of her existence?”
“Is that what being a woman means?”
The peddler had scarce disappeared around the bend, his cries could still be heard surfacing above the lazy drone of the winter afternoon.
“What a life!” she thought, “hawking carpets from door to door.”
It seemed hard but invitingly different. The stream of sunlight washing into the room was illuminating the dust particles and transforming them into millions of tiny diamonds that glittered all around her. She caressed the air and its scent of latent activity. She liked the calm, it reminded her of her childhood. The telephone rang, piercing through the stillness and putting an abrupt end to her reverie. It was her husband, Mahesh and he was euphoric.
“The Doctor called Lily, he has confirmed, we are having a baby….everything’s going to change now, you’ll see. But we have to celebrate. Be ready, I’ll take you out to dinner.”
She held on to the receiver, even after the phone line went still. It was her Cinderella story but where was the happy ending?
She and Mahesh had fallen in love back in college and during their prolonged period of courtship when they often talked about the future, she had made it clear that she didn’t want a child. And it was all right.
“Anything you want” he said, “it’s ok with me.”
But things changed during the fourth year of their marriage or perhaps it had always been that way. Mahesh wanted a baby and she still didn’t.
At first he tried convincing her.
“A child will make our family complete, it will add to our happiness, its not like we can’t support one!”
And when that failed he tried reason.
“Logically speaking why don’t you want a child? You have nothing to lose, you don’t work, it wouldn’t harm your career.”
But she didn’t have an answer.
It was precisely at this point that the self-proclaimed protector of the Sengupta dynasty, Mahesh’s mother took it upon herself to forward the family interests. During her month long visit, she utilized the time trying to make Lily ‘understand’, whined to friends about the absence of an heir especially when she knew her daughter-in-law was within earshot and finally delivered sermons to her on the importance of women in society as child bearers. Lily’s parents too joined forces.
“It is children who make the most important bond between a husband and wife.” Her mother explained.
This irritated her however she soon learnt to live with it. But slowly and especially after his mother’s visit Mahesh’s “why don’t you” transformed into “why shouldn’t you”.
“Why shouldn’t you want a baby? Aren’t all women fulfilled in motherhood?” Why can’t you be like other normal women?”
Doors slammed, tears rolled and the unanswered questions haunted her, enshrouding her mind like a dark shadow till one day the unspoken was said. “Wanton sexuality” was the term Mahesh used and Lily spent the entire night crying on the sofa. It was towards dawn that he came and begged for forgiveness. The strange expression of vulnerability in her husband’s strong jaws made her afraid.
“I’ve always dreamed of a small hand clutching mine. A baby is something of you and me, it is a part of us and most importantly it is someone who would inherit the family name, I am the only son Lily, why don’t you understand?”
Lily was tired, she didn’t understand, she didn’t want to but nothing seemed to matter anymore, she simply replied ok and tried to stop thinking as Mahesh lulled her to sleep.
Months passed and yet Lily didn’t conceive, she couldn’t as they found out later. Tests showed that she had polycystic ovaries. It was as though her body had refused even though she couldn’t, Lily laughed at the irony.
The Doctor prescribed a strict diet with liberal amounts of exercise. It was expected that the recommended hormonal tablets would work but if they didn’t she would require a laproscopic surgery. All her life Lily had dreaded going under the knife. She patiently bore with all the side effects of the medication but the possibility of an operation scared her. For a year she tolerated unending nausea, bouts of constipation and abrupt hot flushes but that was the easy part, it was harder to satisfy the pointless but insatiable questions that friends and relatives raised. “Yes, I am infertile!” Lily often screamed to herself wanting to do the same to the world outside. And now she was finally pregnant. Lily felt relieved.
The maid was knocking at the door. Lily answered her. But as she turned her eyes fell on her wedding photograph, it stared back from the table. And suddenly Lily found herself asking what was her role in this family. It surprised her that the question had never occurred to her before.
“Was her sole purpose procreation? Was that the reason of her existence?”
“Is that what being a woman means?”
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
It must indeed be coincidence that I have fallen sick in the same week for two consecutive years. Last year around this time I was down with chicken pox and had missed the arts faculty fest but most importantly Benjamin Zephania, he was all people were taking about for a long long time. And now I’m nursing a severe food poisoning (not that someone actually poisoned my food as one friend, Mr. Arnab Banerjee to his utter shock and dismay believed). I’m missing college, I hate it when I do that, and few classes which I for a change want to do. Picklu da’s taking up Bladerunner and that is one film I adore. Not to mention Shanta di (we all know what that means), I have never in my life missed her classes before. So I’m sitting at home bored and disturbed, Supriya di’s term paper is taking its toll on my mental health but that’s just a part of life, like so many other wanted and unwanted things. To think that two weeks ago we were mass bunking Manash da’s class that too infront of his very eyes. He’s a good man, I feel guilty for having done that to him. But what can we do? Man is never happy with what he gets (and by writing this I’m denying all feminist conventions for gender neutral language) but that’s basic human nature. We are but slaves to it.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
It was eleven in the morning, broad daylight and a busy street, I was retuning home from the store, a man groped me. My father and bro were with me, they were walking a little way off, this guy didn't realise that, he came up to me from the back and afterwards smiled, cooly rolled out an apology and started to walk away. I caught him by his shoulders and was about to give him a dressing down when my dad realised what had happened and flew in a fit of rage. He caught hold of the guy's collar and slapped him. By this time a considerable crowd had gathered and were enjoying the spectacle. No one said a word, some even supported the guy. "Tai bole erom bhabe marbe " said one. ( Would that mean he will beat him like that.) "Mohilara ja bolbe tai prothishtito hobe" said another.(Whatever women say will be established as fact.) We live in a small town, my father has grown up here, almost everybody knows him so no one dared say anything to him directly. But later when the guy was gathering sympathy he did recieve the multitude's support. This is the world we live in and the irony is that today it's International Women's Day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
