I hear stories of an ancient land so pure.
I see photographs of bluer than blue skies
over a lake of molten gold.

I drink kahwa flavoured with almond and saffron
and add honey, sweetened by bees from the valley,
my hips swaying in a crewel work on wool skirt.

I hear songs of freedom, I know people who fled.
The muezzin prays for peace over bloodstains and tears
while children still play under walnut trees.

Clouds gather to pray at Shankaracharya Temple
on a mountain dipping its toes into water
while empty shikaras speak of visiting ghosts.

Mothers whose eyes never tire, looking over the sunset
for long lost sons; wives who still lay out their husband’s
slippers on a carpet with frayed edges.

Postmen deliver letters to addresses long abandoned;
a generation of elders, eyes of agate, gnarled fingers, brew tea
surrounded by memories of children killed, daughters *****.

I write for all people who live in war.
I write for the age of innocence to return.
I write for soft rain to wash away sin.

I write for the return to reason.
I write for peace to flutter gently through groves
of apricot, almond, apple and walnut.

Feel the pain. Hear the refrain. Smell the emptiness.
This is now. This is now. This is not in the pages
of a fading history text. This is now. This is now.

A lifejacket whistle becomes a toy
Instead of a call for help

Chilling new games on the beach
Lives in limbo

While politicians and governments
Change their mind by the second

And young men whose muscles ache to work
And women who were used to wealth

And children who had a favourite stuffed bear
And a best friend who they shared lunch with

Are all equalised
A new label called “Refugee”

Stamped across their very being
Dismissed for having an expensive cellphone

And a lifejacket whistle becomes a toy
As they are rocked from shore to shore

i have fallen in love
with the blush of the cherry blossom
the delicate scent
the bloom on the branch

i have fallen in love
with the cascade of the cherry blossom
the clusters like grapes
and patterns of light and shade

i have fallen in love
with a pink so pink
fresher than strawberry ice-cream
or revlon’s baby pink gloss

i have fallen in love
with cherry blossoms in the breeze
petals flutter and hover
like snowflakes in the night

i have fallen in love
with every day, every season, every flower
every birth, every death, every sickness
because life changes and alters

i have fallen in love
with life, with love, with pain
i have fallen in love
i have fallen in love

Floating, like a specimen,
in a bell jar in the Chemistry Lab
of Grade XI in Lucknow.

I am suspended. I am floating.

Everywhere is blue.

I hear bubbles and see them rise.

I open my mouth and water rushes in,
salty and warm. I can’t speak.
I can’t cry out.

I am drowning.

I think of Varanasi; skulls
that float. Why do dead
skulls float? Why do the living
sink?

I want to rise. The sea
is inky black. An octopus
floats by. A school of clown
fish gaze at me curiously.

I think of swimming
like the fish in a warm ocean
in the Andaman Sea. I hear
laughter, I feel the sun on my
shoulders.

Oh, the sun. I miss the sun.
I crave heat. It is so very
cold. It is so very cold.

I feel something warmer
on my lower back. I look.
A dolphin is smiling.
Yes, smiling!

I look down at myself.

I am a mermaid!
My hair is blonde, my waist
is tiny, and my *******
are encased in shells.

I laugh gleefully.
The dolphin, as if on cue,
swims below me
and I mount him.

And then, like we have been
doing this since time immemorial,
our bodies in sync,
we float upwards.

Joy abounds. An effervescence,
a lightness of spirit, a playfulness
that heals.

The water is getting warmer
and paler. We playfully swim
with all the time in the world.

And as I surface for the air
that I don’t need,
I am full of peace.

as the morning breeze wafts
over fragrant jasmine and bela

and the parakeets roost
in guava trees

and the slant of the mango tree
welcomes the sun on dewdrops

i hear the call to prayer and my heart supplicates
my body trembles and i kneel

my hands fold in prayer
my fingers run over the holy beads

and as my body surrenders
to words as old as time is told

i feel the rivulets of sweat down my back
my body continuing it’s dance of offering

and as i hear the raucous chatter of the birds
and the sounds of the house stirring

i give thanks for another morning
and give in to the pleasure of being

I wake to the news of another lynching
As our boys scream Bleed Blue
And over the border, the Green Girls rejoice
And somewhere in Jharkhand
Two families mourn the death of their men
Cattle traders? Terrorists? Muslim?
With cloth stuffed in their throats
And arms tied behind
Hatred showing in the mob mentality
Another dark blot on our secular fabric

And I watch a short film, India, India
Of a young boy on Tuesday selling ganeshas at a temple
Another image of the same boy on a Friday
Selling taweez and chanting Ya Ali
Outside Mumbai’s Haji Ali
And on Sunday, the same boy singing the praises
of the Lord outside a church, selling amulets
And I smile
This is the India I love, the different faiths
The acceptance, the co-existence

As the morning drones on, I watch and participate
In the endless debates on Facebook and Twitter
Of people posing, taking sides, sounding pedantic
While they sit comfortably in their homes
Sipping ginger tea made by an underage maid
While their Labrador retriever is taken for a walk
By their Nepali driver and the Muslim cook smokes a bidi
In the garden with the Bihari maali where their son plays

But what will happen to the sons of the lynched cattle traders?
What will happen to the brothers of the women *****?
What will happen to the mothers of the sons killed?
What will happen to the fathers of the unborn children
Killed for their mistake of being a girl child?
Is this the India we want to grow up in?
Is this the India we want to have children in?
Is this the India we want to grow old in?

Wake up, my country, it is still dawn
The road is long and far and we have miles to walk
Towards peace and freedom and love
Towards acceptance and equality and oneness
Get off that sofa and make a difference
Participate, vote, empower, create, enable
It’s up to you whether our country goes this way or that
So, wake up, my country, it is still dawn
Wake up, my country, it is still dawn