Overlook the fragile hourglass figure

Beyond corsets and pseudo-beauty rules,

Endorse thy curves and stretch marks strewn,

The dusky skin and frizzy curls,

Braille like pimples on the face

Discoloration, bumps and pores;

This Body shaming, I shall pass.



Writhing in pain and humiliation,

Drenching in rage and insecurity

While I lie,

Society curses me

Defining and redefining my chastity;

'T was the crop top, the alcohol and the sly behavior.

You set the monster free and blame the ****

This Victim shaming, I shall pass.



Beige and ebony;

They call me names blatantly

Betwixt skin color and bleached smiles.

Laugh and scoff all you want.

Harass the Black, detain them,

Prejudiced minds rule your dystopian world.

This Black shaming, I shall pass.



Without creating a labyrinth of stigma,

And seeking refugee in collective blame,

Let's construct our utopian world

Acknowledging all freaks and flaws

This Shaming, we shall pass.

Airports are fascinating places, aren't they?

With the arrival and departure sections,

Having their own stories,

And their own embedded algorithms of emotions.



They intrigue and intimidate people,

Intensifying their emotions

Which gives them

Soft sobs of despair and regrets

Fighting the turbulence inside.

Or

Thrills for further endeavours.



With all goodbyes and welcome hugs

Filling the arena with

Beads of sweat decorating your forehead

To get past security check-in,

It's a journey in itself.

So I ask again,

Airports are fascinating places, aren't they?

Looking at the waxing moon,

I hum softly one of our favorites.

Blowing smoke rings,

You  look up at the starry night;

Counting stars and trying to figure out constellations.



‘It's an Orion’ you say,

Breaking the silence of the night.

I look away, skipping stones into the brook.

As the fog settles over,

Your Orion disappears beneath.



Distracted, you pick up your stranded ukulele

Adjusting the broken strings, you sing

“Apki nazron ne samjha;

Pyar ke kabil mujhe”

I chuckle at the parody.



Writhing in trauma,

I resent your poignant emotions.

Even after years of distress, you thought

You had me cold.



I shudder, brushing my vulnerability away.

Embracing the empty fog.

You lie down on the grass.

Sheathing myself from the toxicity around,

I leave.

Questions unanswered ,

Blanks unfilled,

I had many

But somehow,

Society could fill them all.



Who destroyed me ? Why did they?

I never knew

The moments of unfathomable pain, i knew

When they smacked me,

Shredded me,

Devoured me.

But somehow ,

The society knew it all.



Judgemental I call them,

Skeptic the society prevailed.

For them, imbecile

My blanks pertained.

Obvious Consequences

Of  hints I gave , they said.

Consequences of attire

And behavioral patterns, they said.

Whoa, Is our society for real?



Only one blank unfilled

For the society remained.

Section 228A was their complaint.

Such narrow-minded hounds, I exclaimed.



Justice tried to fill my blanks.

Could he ? I asked again

Shamefully , he took his eyes off.

Could my blanks ever be filled?

I asked again

They asked me to stop spiralling,

As I tried explaining them

Repeatedly,

How Uncle John hurt me,

Whenever he paid a visit.

Cajoling me,

He slid his hand

And tightened the grip,

Stalled for several hours,

By narrating Vikram Betal stories

And then offered me, my favourite toffee.

Chewing it, i tried forgetting the pain.



I would be

Victim-shamed throughout my life,

Due to our historically intense patriarchy.

Everyone would drag my name through the mud,

So they shut me.

Stepping up against him,

Would jeopardize my life

They thought.

According to their theories,

I was just another irrational feminist.

So they left me,

To live with it.

Haunting me every minute, every second.

It became my worst nightmare

And like a leech, it fed on me.

As they turned oblivious to objectivity,

Trapped in their pseudo-realistic minds.

Looking at all those,

Who love chaos,

Who set captions as 'sunshine mixed with a little hurricane' ,

Who are proud of being a mess,

Sobriety sat back in her rocking chair,

Gently sipping her cutting chai,

Mocked at them.



Many a times,

People mistook her as an introvert,

She questioned herself.

She questioned her dignity.

She excelled in conversing ,

With confidence, with graveness.

She was an extrovert but not a chaotic extrovert.

She liked arranging her sentences

With the correct metaphors , similes and oxymorons

And present them with perfect pauses.

Oh my,

She could mesmerize people with her conversations.



Being people pleaser 24*7,

Charisma was her thing.

A head-turner , a sweetheart

That's what others called her.

But then sometimes ,

She became a maudlin.

Something pulled her back.

People took her for granted.

Sometimes even she wanted to answer back,

But then ethics , she thought.

Kept quiet and weeped.

Forgave and moved on.

Her self respect was hurt ,

But then ethics, she thought.



She got jealous  sometimes,

When Attitude stole her thunder

She liked being under the limelight always,

Didn't approve when dudes were the center of attraction.

She wanted to snap back.

But then she would lose her dignity,

Ethics again she thought.

She was smart , but

Attitude was smarter.

She was bold, But

Could never challenge Attitude.



During school days,

They used to get along well.

But being the people they are,

They drifted apart.

Attitude bullied her in High School.

She used to bear it all.

She sobbed silently in the corner

But wore a smile on her face all the time.

Reminiscing about those days,

Gently sipping her cutting chai

She wipes a tear away.

They say,

I'm naive

I have never been in a relationship,

True that.

But still,

I perceive myself to be a hopeless romantic.

'Cause I'm kinda old school

For whom holding hands and

Soulful conversations mean much more

Than tinder dates and flings.



If I love you,

It would be

without clauses and pauses

Without tears and heartthrobs

Without terms and conditions

Without turpitude and regrets.

But

With roses and dates

With gifts and cheap thrills

With eye-contacts and telepathy.

With commitments and acknowledgements

With purity and transparency.

Call it cheesy,

But I call it romance.



Chase sunrises and sunsets with me.

Share your craziness with me.

Come for a stroll by the Marina with me.

Run your errands with me.

I'll be contented in my pseudo-utopian world.

But,

If you break my heart,

'Cause I'm kinda fragile,

I'll reminisce the times we spent,

The playlists and long drives.

No, i won't abhor you.

I'll cry in pain.

No, i won't curse you.

I'll sob in vain.

As your emotions turn turbid

And you become opaque,

I'll walk away

With despair.

And tethering emotions .



They say,

I'm clueless about love

I say,

Come out of your own

Stereotypes and idiosyncrasies

Love ardently.

Not based on infatuations

And momentary crushes,

Not based on your

Whimsical intuitions

But on your

Steady fidelity.

Because there's beauty in this

Adventurous venture of sensations,

Juggled by impulses.

On some days

I am like the butterfly.

Vibrant and colourful,

Fluttering my wings

Not settling for anything bland.



On some days,

I am like the firefly.

With my pulsating charm

And flickering lights,

Mystifying  the people around.



On some days,

I am like the rainbow.

A triumphal arch across the sky,

Between paradise and earth

Enticing dreams and musings.



On some days,

I am like the fire.

Wild and rebellious

Setting social evils ablaze

Leaving behind chars of

Stigma and stains.



On other days,

I am like the human.

Unceasingly aspiring but frivolous ,

Submissive but woke.

Contained by social media validations

And archaic judgements;

Finding my way

Through different thoroughfares of life.

Are shadows always faithful?

Dark and empty.

Dynamic and fragile.

To light a candle they say,

Is to cast a shadow.

Which dances merrily

In accordance to

Projections of our associations.



Which makes me ponder

What about silhouettes ?

Vague outlines as if

Someone dreamt an empty dream.



And reflections?

Blurred images of who we really are.

Without their own stance,

All of them

Owe their identities to light.



But then,

What's the whole point in existing

Without a self crafted identity?

All of them share congruence

Busy weaving

Misleading mirages of hopes

Or a mere oasis

Of dreams and dust.