a little romance with life

unfamiliarity with my skin baffles me even today there is a bruise on my toe i just noticed it’s old and healing and dry wild hair sprouts from my belly button it’s long and dark and mad why does the mirror say i’m still the same? the pimples of childhood have somehow vanished there is only aftermath of scratches on my face time has made me thick skinned, some tell me you're fat, you're fat, you're fat, they say imfat-imfat-imfat-imfat-imfat-imfat is that why the photographs say i’ve changed? i once took a mirror to the bathroom an exercise no adult would like to hear i opened my legs and looked right at my vagina my labia, my clitoris, my pubic hair i stared and i stared and i stared why do i not find a woman there?

i couldn't help myself. here is my version of on turning ten by billy collins on turning twenty three the whole idea of it makes me think likes it’s just another day, it’s just another number something like a Monday, any regular day or a Tuesday in the college attending classes a Friday night in comfy pajamas an anxiety-filled Wednesday afternoon a Sunday evening that gets over too soon you tell me it is time to be looking forward, but how do I forget the infatuations that came at sixteen and the complex intersectionality introduced by twenty two. I can crawl back and remember every year at twelve I was an artist I could make faces with only a pencil by concentrating for four hours at a stretch. at seventeen I was a poet, at twenty one a feminist. and now I am mostly at the laptop watching videos and then an article and a reading. back then it never felt so much the people who walked by my house and the illusions of doing good as it does today, all the pretentious...

well aren't you lucky, you fools in love to be so naked in the middle of winter and yet be the warmest of us all

there is something about a duplex which says a house can be one and still be divided everything an effort to be able to reach out who’s story sits in the corner-most room the flickering light that will not be fixed the cobwebs beneath chairs and behind beds who gets the mattress when two sharing a room fight who gets the AC, who gets the pillow, and how there is something about a duplex and the terror of stairs- from underneath the fear of a horror movie, a face staring from between the gap, from the upper floor the coming to life of a family drama you did not want to watch there is something about concrete and two floors that still cannot shield children from the shouts and cries, everything becomes quieter, the voices become clearer; the horror of stairs where you sit listening closely to the swords of words a battlefield, your childhood the collateral damage to a burning family; listening closely to the beating of your own heart there ...

the patterns of well-rehearsed fingertips hands remembering rhythms of the body like the beat of a song you’ve heard every day; who said a game for two (or a few) can’t be played by one?

the witch hunt alone in all godly hours she mutter spell under breath jibber jabber to world it is she who fell the rain it is she who drown the land it is she who travel the air it is she shake the earth it is she the wild hair stay unchained in wind it is she the laugh reach ear at night it is she burn in rising flame it is she who never die it is she in café-bar it is she who get drink it is she in library behind book it is she who get the wink it is she echo in hollow monument it is she fly in bird wing it is she who serve food with little long witchy hand it is she who give comfort with jibber jabber spell it is she whose breast you suckle it is she whose vagina you lend it is she whose milk you drink it is she whose blood you born.

काश तुम सुंदर होती दुनिया ना इतनी अंधी होती दर्द ना इतना भीतर होता हस्सी ना इतनी खामोश होती शक़ ना इतना गहरा होता काश तुम सुंदर होती रातें ना इतनी तन्हा लगती चाँद ना इतना फीका लगता बातें ना इतनी अधूरी लगती सच ना इतना कड़वा लगता काश तुम सुंदर होती कम-से-कम डर ना लगता चेहरो से भागती ना यूँ आईने से मुस्कुरा कर कुछ तो बोल ही लेती गिरते संभलते चल तो लेती कोई सहारा तो रहता सुकून के शब्द जो कहता अब बस यही सोचती रहती हो काश मैं सुंदर होती

there is a coffee stain (from a previous date) on the heart a cut that gets bigger and bigger after every wash there is a memory that refuses to go away but the details have been taken care of why lie and say nothing has changed you no longer fit like you used to tearing at the corners from my skin when did I get too much for you? tuck me in and say goodnight (goodbye) tuck me in and say goodbye (tell me to grow) tuck me in, don't say a word tuck me in and quietly go.

one corner of Mumbai is hot today, another lovely, another stuck in its room the walls move from off-white to blue, and so many shades of old jumping back and forth in seconds- from sheer honesty to pretense i like my whiskey most days of the week, it makes me happy i read and read and read till my eyes are sore, I’m boring spot the truth, spot the lie, play hide and seek with words i do not know the sound of your voice, the crack of your laugh is their dishonesty in your eyes, comfort in your cheeks? i do not know, do not tell me, please do not try one heart feels empty today, another too full, one is missing the messages move from long to short, to no words at all. a game of match, unmatch, bye.

O LET THE DOGS DIE NO WOOF WOOF WOOF LET’S TIE THEM ALL UP IN A BUNDLE AND PUNCH THEM AGAINST A WALL LET’S GO TO THEIR HOMES MAKE OUR HOMES THERE AND CALL THEM INTRUDERS AND THROW THEM OUT O LET THE DOGS DIE STUPID WOOF WOOF WOOF LET’S RUN PUPPIES OVER WITH OUR CAR BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT CARS ARE MADE FOR LET’S CUT THE TAIL LET’S SAW THEIR BONES FUCK OFF STUPID CREATURES O LET THE DOGS DIE WE DON’T NEED NO WOOF WOOF LET’S BE LOUD TO SILENCE THEIR NOISE BRING IN YOUR DJS, THOSE GORGEOUS CRACKERS LET’S BURST THEIR EARS LET’S SEE WHO KILLS THEM FIRST FUCKING DOGS, DIE                 O LET THE DOGS DIE We don’t deserve puppy licks We don’t deserve wagging tails We don’t deserve any kind of little Or lots of love From any puppy we don’t care of.

encounters with a menstrual cup the gorgeous cup the first time i tried to put a menstrual cup in, i was treading unknown territory. i did not where i was headed, where it should go, how it should feel like. my god, was there even space for that thing to fit it? i held the cup in my hands, unsure if those 800 rupees were well spent or was it just an impulsive purchase that would go waste? i had to google how it would go in, and what my insides look like.  the first day with a menstrual cup on, i forgot i was menstruating. there was no blood to be found anywhere. my panties were not uncomfortable, there was no blood in my pee, and i did not have to ask my friend to stare at my butt again and again to check for a stain. the day i wore a menstrual cup, i actually had to check if it was still there - could it disappear?  the first time i tried to take the menstrual cup out, i was sure it was stuck. i had already imagined the humiliation i would have to go through in goi...

falling in love with the wrong person come, walk into my book, a gorgeous fantasy there are chirpy chirpy birds, and bright bright sunrises the wind whispers poems in my ears, the trees are green green, and the flowers smell loud like perfumes it’s beautiful, isn’t it? come, look at the gorgeous man, his eyes, his smile here love is when he’s too shy to look at you or talk to you in front of his friends or be seen with you in public or be caught on the phone with you when he’s pooping alone at home here love is when he’s so nervous to talk to you about anything other than himself it’s not selfish, it’s love, he sticks to familiar topics to a life he knows, he doesn’t want to be caught a fool if hap stance you utter a word he doesn’t understand he’s a hero, a real one, the kind you can’t find in the real world but you have to *understand* him, his hurt, his pain everything that makes him like needles right now he does not bleed you to hurt h...

On Masturbation Dress up tonight in your sexiest outfit, or just stay in those pajamas, or even better- wear nothing at all; light some candles, or keep all the tube-lights on – stare at your gorgeous skin- open your legs wide and run your palm along the forbidden territories of the body; feel the mold of your breasts, your nipples awaken from the alarm of the pinch, and your mouth sigh at this casual intimacy; slip your hands into your underwear, or just take the damn thing off, rub the length of your finger along your clitoris, feel the thousands of nerve endings send electricity to your brain; move your fingertips in circular motions - both fast and slow, close your eyes and blank out the world, whisper and moan and shout any name you want (or not); feel the speed increase, the thighs tighten, the increasing pulse, the sound of bursting heartbeats, and keep your fingers moving till your body breaks into you, the head spilling with ecstasy for five sec...

When Meera died, they dissected her body looking for her soul Scratched layer after layer of her dead blue skin Shaved off her hair, took out the eyes Carefully carved out what was left her smile The left hand, the right hand, the right leg, the left leg Sliced and given to each family member to look into carefully Doctors were called to empty her torso, her soul must’nt get lost in the mush Of the small and large intestine, the slight smokey lungs The heart was the most important place, stories called it the soul home The brain was handled by a neurosurgeon for everything in there creates What is called the soul; the grandmother walked in and said It must have hidden in her clothes! Out rained her closet, all the colors so bright Duppattas in the air, patialas, and shirts Sumitra di almost found a sweater that smelled like her They found her 18th birthday red top, and earrings gifted by a person she truly loved The tailor-made pair of loose, long pants, and the beloved lehenga worn t...