The Fault Is In My Vagina

These ‘Feminist Types’ may snarl at me but I have Indian culture and traditions to back me up when I say, The fault is in my vagina. I’m the fortunate one that was allowed to at least be born with it (unlike the infanticides), is not burnt (at least not as ‘Satis’) or is thrown a grand celebration before I am sent over to another man who can sleep or slap me against my will. Therefore, I should be content to crawl through this great rule of men as a shadow. I am the abomination that god had to create for creation and so unless that role is involved, there is no reason for me to be seen or heard by anyone. Dear Foolish Women! Why do you think Curtains were invented? Not to block the scorching sun rays but to hide a monster like you that is rumored to ensnare the lust of helpless men. Sorry, my apologies. ‘Helpless’ is a synonym for ‘Her.’
Talking about ‘Her’, she has a Vagina. The modern fools may say its a reproductive organ like a Penis that has blah and blah biological functions. But they are just fools. Tricked by the devious devil of science. Its actually a factory of kids that accidentally or on purpose are created by these proud penises that mighty men have. In poetic words I’d say, Its a well ( you know since it has a hole) that echoes the unknown whispering of lust that makes a man helpless and is forced to enter it, unable to hear the cries begging him to stop that echo in the same well. But the lust is obviously bigger than consent, right?
Fathom the audacity of these modern day women who shout, ‘Its our body. We have the right to do what we want with it. The size of my skirt doesn’t measure my character.’ Here I am wondering, how deluded these fools are? Its obvious that the skin revealed in a ‘saaree’ is traditional and the legs shown in a ‘skirt’ are a treason. Its against the long established patriarchy that regulates the society that you were born in. Pleasure is a taboo for a vagina and how dare you ‘Feminist Types’ complaint? We (The religion) has even gone to the extent of circumcising men. Yes the ‘Mighty Men’. So if we have ruled out the very word pleasure, you think an abomination like you should even dare to say the word?
” Science has no validation against Sanctity.”
The wise men know everything and you must believe with all your faith when they say, ‘ A vagina is a social entity, its vulva walls ( though they surely will find a more poetic term than me), the components of this female reproductive organ forces young, old, angry, excited or anything that has a penis to go climb and break these (vulva walls) for the hole that is covered by them is a black-hole that sends out an invitation. It is to be noted that the invitation is very implicit. It hides behind the smile of this beautiful monster. The clothes she purposely wears to tempt you. The calculative move to walk alone at any time of the day or night. The biggest weapon being the word, “NO.” For when she says that, it ignites the helpless male ego that wishes to have what it wants.’
I mean it makes total sense when they say, ‘If you keep a delicacy in front of a hungry man, he is bound eat it.’ Verily, both ‘Chicken Biryani’ and a ‘Chokri’ (Girl) doesn’t know the human language to argue if they want to be eaten or not. In fact, do these ‘ Feminist Types’ not see how normal it is to compare women to food. Both have one primary goal which is ” Satisfaction of the Men.”
“The ascent of your supple breast is the descent of your will. The smoothness of your skin marks the rough path you shall tread until death. The limit of our generosity ends at sympathy.” ( A Reminder To a Vagina)

To be a fair, I must voice a few opinions of the behalf these ‘ Feminist Types’, for with their rising arguments, I too stand confused. Since men know the best. May I ask, “what is a vagina?”
Is it a reproductive organ (like a penis), as said by biology ?
Is it the synonym to cussing (abusing) that’s as natural as breathing to India and the World?
Is it the pride of the family, that has to be protected from defiling ?
Is it legitimizing factor for the atrocities inflicted upon women?
Is it the mystery of the unknown that is best controlled, stitched or knifed? ( conditions may vary as per the demand of the guardians)
Is it the object of worship in the ‘Kamakhya’ temple in Assam?
Is the bearer of all the sexism, the insults, the cruelties, the hushed revolts, the shackles put from birth, the conflict between two women or the the mirror to the monstrosities mankind is capable of ?

Apologies if I asked too many questions but I’m sure somewhere in your big heart you can tolerate my audacity and not rape me. After all, who cares about what I say or write. “I too am a woman and the Fault is in my Vagina”.

A mad woman behind a glass window.

​There is a madwoman dripped in blood, breaking dishes across the kitchen floor. Her heart slashed from the sharp pangs of lies devised by herself. She’s desperate for help, for someone to treat her wounds and put her insanity to sleep. So she runs towards the giant glass wall that looks over to the world. It has all the beautiful things she would like to be. A family having a dinner at a small restaurants, lovers kissings under the street lamps, grandma teaching her grandson to swim in the sea, a boy looking up to the stars beside his sister. A dad taking his daughter to the bowling Alley. Oh! The world is so beautiful. She’s hesitant at first, for they all so look so neat and gay. She’s afraid to shadow their smiles. She feels unworthy to be a part of such a beautiful world. But she’s wants one of those many things too. A hand that walks her over the bridge. A voice that puts her to sleep. A smile that absolves her sorrows just for that evening. So she bangs on that glass window with her bloody hands. She tries to break it with whatever strength she has left in her but she cannot. Many look at her and pass a pleasant smile as they walk by. While some stop in front of her, complimenting as to how beautiful she is or how they want her. They offer her their lust, their friendship, compassion some even go to the extent of calling it love. Yet they fail to see why she cannot take their hand. As though they cannot see the glass wall. The voices on the inside are continuously laughing. Saying you have no honor in you to expose your vulnerabilities so shamelessly. Begging for too much. Although she tries her best to ignore them and scream as loud as she can. Her faith starts diminishing. Her voice going fainter, making it difficult for even herself to hear it. 

She walks over to the table and accidentally drops a glass of water on the floor. The glass shatters and there is silence in the room. She looks up and all her friends are looking at her. 

She looks so vexed. Unsure of where she is. 

Are you okay? You look so lost? Did you hurt yourself? 

No, I’m Okay. 

The waiter comes with a broom and a duster. With an apology to the waiter and a goofy smile to her friends, she goes on to be her pretentiousness sane self.   

And just like that the mad woman is someone again, back to some world. Back to reality. Where movies interest people more than murders that one commits upon themselves behind that glass door.

A four letter word called LOVE.

​A four letter word called ‘LOVE’

Romanticized beyond and above.

The true meaning of which slowly decays 

Altered and mutated in most perverted ways.

A poetic joke , a social chore 

A tempestuous devil, a frivolous lore.

In its gentle breeze, it sucks your very reason

In in magical spell, soldiers often commit treason.

The greatest magician with an invincible trick

Play upon two strangers whose hearts instantly click.

But what about the kind that had many king dethroned

From the kingdom of sanity that they once had known.

Yet forever shall mankind sing this archaic song

A archaic legacy passed by poets even when they are gone.

Do You Remember?

As silence slumbers in the ravenous cradle of the night

As my mortal curtains conclude the day’s show

An actor falters upon the stage

Drunk  with the wine of delusion

Delivering  a forgotten monologue.

Do you remember for I do.

The starry night and the drunken song

Those harmless kisses and the casual morn.

The warm smile that made me blush

Those wild dreams painted by your tender touch.

The tea gardens yielding the morning light

Those stolen sunsets that beckon the night.

The comic film that bore our laughter

Those kisses on the hotel’s rooftop very-after.

The first morn waking up to a dying kiss

The cursed silence that once danced with bliss.

The broken houses with not so broken dreams

Those cold nights in which now this heart screams.

The lies I would still like to believe

Those sermons of deceit that can no longer relieve

The pain of my dying faith gasping through our drifted paths

Voice that once tore my heart now has me believed

That we are better apart.

 

What is a life well lived?

What does it mean to live a life well lived?

Uncertain my footsteps maybe
Unknown my destination maybe
What I do know dear world
It will be the most beautiful ‘Maybe’

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The First Step

As the morning dawns I smell the new possibilities in my black coffee, its as dark as the preceding night that echoed my fears and sorrows but its rich smell calms my soul singing to the bright hue of a new beginning.

A lot has been lost and a lot is yet to be found but what shall always remain the same is that first morning breath of a new possibility.

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Her and I pretty much the same. The only difference being she’s much braver than I am.

We both know that we see the world differently, that there are more colors to this world than the naked eye has been taught to see. She sings the same songs of madness as I do. Yet we stand on different sides. Our positions with and without our choice. She’s embraced her madness and stands free and alone. I am still hiding on the other side, liked and tolerated by the ignorant ones. The only commonality we share is the truth of our madness that is exchanged in a smile.

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She is scared of the unknown but is curious to take the first step. Her friend from the shadows mocking her for her foolishness as the wise thing is presumed to be otherwise. To turn a blind eye to anything unknown, to learn to love the chains everyone wears.

But she knows its too late, she will be a free bird a slave to her curiosity and not the society. She knows the world is infinite. Its only a matter of time before she decides to pay the cost for it and learn to embrace the change.

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He’s just as crazy as her, maybe a little braver. They are in love but not with her goofy smile or his charming smile but with the craziness that tells them that they will change the world.

They are  mere humans, the perfectly flawed beings but have sworn to their curiosities before their love for the other. It is thus they shall always be lovers but never in love. Never together,  for their insanity can easily engulf the other. But as they say its better to love and be hurt by it than to never love at all.

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As she stands on the last door that ends her great adventure, she stands victorious.

For she lived a life with more mistakes than regrets. With sorrows that taught her the lessons she needed  to learn and laughter rejoicing the healing the wounds which once would hurt. She is still a madwoman reminiscing the mirth of her madness and patiently she now awaits that final moment where her heart would take its last breaths, her life flashing before her eyes for one final time as her death congratulating her enviously saying, Damn! You sure lived an epic adventure!!

To all those who ask me What do I want to be ?
Ask me How I want to live.

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I will stand on the top of the highest cliff and announce;
I wish to live a life that is proud to be lived .

A note to my dear father

Happy Birthday Papa. A little rose was sowed onto this earth.  The seed was just as imperfect as the two plants. The seed was given water, food and the obligatory sunlight. Yet it lacked warmth that it needed to blossom. So it grew with chipped petals, often wilted yet surviving, for the plants loved the […]

Happy Birthday Papa.

A little rose was sowed onto this earth.  The seed was just as imperfect as the two plants. The seed was given water, food and the obligatory sunlight. Yet it lacked warmth that it needed to blossom. So it grew with chipped petals, often wilted yet surviving, for the plants loved the flower in their own earthly way. Today the bud has become a flower; it knows more of its smell, its colors and its purpose on this earth.  It knows it has to bloom to tell the world of a tale that sings of all the years that the farmers put into it. Stealing a chapter from that tale, it shall tell you of the imperfect bond it shared with the male plant.

The seed meant everything to him as it germinated from him.  It had its smile, its bone structure, the lines from his forehead and most importantly his blood. The seed meant the world to him yet not more than the world. So he raised the seed in unintended isolation. He forgot to embrace the seed in the love that bestows the beauty to a flower, the world adores. The seed was his reason for living but he forgot to live with it. He knew that the seed, growing as a bud had its struggles but was incapable of taking its hand upon its journey. After all every man’s battle is his alone to fight. The seed blamed him for a long time for the isolation that wrecked its essence. The void making the bud different than the others. Today things are different. Today as the bud has grown into a flower, it knows better. Yet the flower is still a rose. Born with the thorns that its parents too bore.  Maybe the flower will write a different story, maybe it will learn to love without pricking its loved ones with its thorns.  But for now it hides behind those chipped petals singing in secret and loving in disguise. This is the message from that flower.

Dear Father,

As I sit in front of my computer writing a justification for my cruelty, I think of you more than ever. You are but an hour away from me. I wished you in the morning over phone but I make more efforts for my friends on their birthday than the kind I made for you, my family. I want to surprise you with a cake, go on a daughter-father dinner, tell you all the stories from my travel and enjoy the smile you have for making you happy. You have tears in your eyes, overwhelmed by the love you have for me. You pull me in an embrace and place a kiss on my head.  Yet here I sit spinning a dream I could turn into a reality yet I don’t. I do not know why but until I figure it out just know how I feel.

I imagine as we sit over a coffee, I tell you how blessed I feel to be your daughter, that I know you meant nothing but the best for us. How proud I am to know a legend like you, who rose above his great battles, living each day for his kids. I know you have tried to give us the best; you wish to see us grow, to be happy in life. I know you broke through your barriers to accommodate the challenges our growing up imbibed. You tried again and again to set things right but we are too broken to be fixed so soon. My mother has been in isolation for too long to know what she’s missing without being with us. My brother is coping through our tragedy in his own conspicuous way. He loves you too, maybe more than me and so does my mother but is just as restricted as any of us. It is sad that I do not much of my childhood with you, but one memory shall always stay with me until the end.  The details though blurry are from a picture from that shall now be immortal.

It was a sunny winter morning. It was the time of Diwali (the Hindu festivals of lights). You came to visit us at my maternal grandparents’ house. We had just woken up and we ran to see you in the living room as soon as you arrived.  You brought chocolates and fireworks, a luxury we craved in that small town. We must have talked for a while but were soon distracted by the newly arrived fireworks. We laid a mat outside and fried the firecrackers in the sun. Sitting outside displaying our fire crackers to our cousins. Somewhere in that day you took that picture of us with our lovely cousins.  Those faces smiling to the camera with messy hair, winter cheeks holding wide teethed smile shall always be dear to me. I have no one but you to thank for that memory. Today we are conflicted than before, we have our own battles to fight. I am more aware of my love for you than I was as a kid. It is for this reason the struggle is harder than ever.

Instead of a gift, I shamelessly request you for time. I ask you to not lose hope, until we all have walked for a while to meet at this one point. The crossroads where we know as much about love as you do. The point where we smile again, together. Boasting our happiness in yet another Polaroid.

Until the day I plan a surprise on your birthday instead of a sad note. Until the day I am brave enough to love. Until then just know I love you.

A note to my dear father

Happy Birthday Papa.

A little rose was sowed onto this earth.  The seed was just as imperfect as the two plants. The seed was given water, food and the obligatory sunlight. Yet it lacked warmth that it needed to blossom. So it grew with chipped petals, often wilted yet surviving, for the plants loved the flower in their own earthly way. Today the bud has become a flower; it knows more of its smell, its colors and its purpose on this earth.  It knows it has to bloom to tell the world of a tale that sings of all the years that the farmers put into it. Stealing a chapter from that tale, it shall tell you of the imperfect bond it shared with the male plant.

The seed meant everything to him as it germinated from him.  It had its smile, its bone structure, the lines from his forehead and most importantly his blood. The seed meant the world to him yet not more than the world. So he raised the seed in unintended isolation. He forgot to embrace the seed in the love that bestows the beauty to a flower, the world adores. The seed was his reason for living but he forgot to live with it. He knew that the seed, growing as a bud had its struggles but was incapable of taking its hand upon its journey. After all every man’s battle is his alone to fight. The seed blamed him for a long time for the isolation that wrecked its essence. The void making the bud different than the others. Today things are different. Today as the bud has grown into a flower, it knows better. Yet the flower is still a rose. Born with the thorns that its parents too bore.  Maybe the flower will write a different story, maybe it will learn to love without pricking its loved ones with its thorns.  But for now it hides behind those chipped petals singing in secret and loving in disguise. This is the message from that flower.

Dear Father,

As I sit in front of my computer writing a justification for my cruelty, I think of you more than ever. You are but an hour away from me. I wished you in the morning over phone but I make more efforts for my friends on their birthday than the kind I made for you, my family. I want to surprise you with a cake, go on a daughter-father dinner, tell you all the stories from my travel and enjoy the smile you have for making you happy. You have tears in your eyes, overwhelmed by the love you have for me. You pull me in an embrace and place a kiss on my head.  Yet here I sit spinning a dream I could turn into a reality yet I don’t. I do not know why but until I figure it out just know how I feel.

I imagine as we sit over a coffee, I tell you how blessed I feel to be your daughter, that I know you meant nothing but the best for us. How proud I am to know a legend like you, who rose above his great battles, living each day for his kids. I know you have tried to give us the best; you wish to see us grow, to be happy in life. I know you broke through your barriers to accommodate the challenges our growing up imbibed. You tried again and again to set things right but we are too broken to be fixed so soon. My mother has been in isolation for too long to know what she’s missing without being with us. My brother is coping through our tragedy in his own conspicuous way. He loves you too, maybe more than me and so does my mother but is just as restricted as any of us. It is sad that I do not much of my childhood with you, but one memory shall always stay with me until the end.  The details though blurry are from a picture from that shall now be immortal.

It was a sunny winter morning. It was the time of Diwali (the Hindu festivals of lights). You came to visit us at my maternal grandparents’ house. We had just woken up and we ran to see you in the living room as soon as you arrived.  You brought chocolates and fireworks, a luxury we craved in that small town. We must have talked for a while but were soon distracted by the newly arrived fireworks. We laid a mat outside and fried the firecrackers in the sun. Sitting outside displaying our fire crackers to our cousins. Somewhere in that day you took that picture of us with our lovely cousins.  Those faces smiling to the camera with messy hair, winter cheeks holding wide teethed smile shall always be dear to me. I have no one but you to thank for that memory. Today we are conflicted than before, we have our own battles to fight. I am more aware of my love for you than I was as a kid. It is for this reason the struggle is harder than ever.

Instead of a gift, I shamelessly request you for time. I ask you to not lose hope, until we all have walked for a while to meet at this one point. The crossroads where we know as much about love as you do. The point where we smile again, together. Boasting our happiness in yet another Polaroid.

Until the day I plan a surprise on your birthday instead of a sad note. Until the day I am brave enough to love. Until then just know I love you.

Living the Uncertain Life

I ain’t the kind to write a journal or a travelogue but with a fresh year demanding fresh start, I decided to follow its call. 2016 was everything but certain or stable. I got my graduation degree, fell in love, got my heart broken by my understanding of it, fell again but in love with myself. It was year that marked several dramatic and life-changing steps. I took my first step into the realm of backpacking, exploring not just places, other lives but mostly myself. I worked with my demons and gave them the closure they always begged for, accepting them with my greatest sympathies and exorcising them with hope. The road was kind and cruel at the the same time, a roller coaster of emotions, some guided by me while rest by others. I confronted my ego, the vices that resided within it. Surely I am still confronting it and it seems to be a never ending task. I felt the sacred feeling of gratitude for being alive, for fellow humans that helped me survive the road. I learnt how to love without the innate tendency to posses. One of the most important things I realized was that “we often romanticize fresh starts so much that closures are left unattended. My thoughts are just as hazy and unclear as ever but here are a few highlights of the realizations I acquired in the emotional journey of 2016.

  1. Wish it, believe in it and you shall have it.

Life in it humorous way taught me that if you wish for something for something, dream about it, crave it more than anything else, you will get it but in the most unexpected form. Be it backpacking alone, waking up to a new city, bar tending at a backpacker’s hostel, celebrating new year at the full moon party with strangers and then making some of the closest friends from all over the world were surely some of the things I had dreamed of but what’s more interesting is I received these presents when I least expected them.

2. Gratitude is the key to happiness.

In life we often take things for granted and sadly people all the more but I was blessed to break through that barrier and am now able to feel gratitude towards life, people and situations. It pulls me up from all the sadness the inevitable mishaps bring with them. Someone bringing you medicines when you are sick, getting worried if your phone’s switched off for long, being angry at you for not taking care of yourself, looking out for you when you are being young and stupid. All of these gestures reminded me of the goodness that still breathes in human soul and to be able to receive, while you see someone didn’t overwhelmed me with gratitude. he latest example of that being the Full Moon Party at Koh Pang Nam. Attending my first festival of that scale and meeting people that looked out for me all through the night was definitely one of my most cherished memories as the next day I hear that a few drowned and some died in a bike accident. The only thought that crossed my mind was “if only they had someone looking out for them”.

3. To love one self is the biggest gift you can give to yourself.

Months of heartbreaking process of denial and acceptance finally brought me closer to loving myself and thus others. I am much more comfortable in my skin and heart now. I still have several insecurities but I know its okay to be insecure, to doubt yourself but what’s more important is that you give time and effort to each of them and rise above them. The world is imperfectly human, one’s emotions, perceptions, journey changing every single minute.

4. The world is infinite and so are you.

The loop of Change and Infinity are the universal truth of this universe and life that resides in your core. Your victories, defeats, happiness, sadness,  regrets and the experiences that mark them are changing endlessly and will always do. Nothing is permanent, so you must embrace this dynamism and make it into an armor of hope and humbleness. Life is like climbing a mountains, experiencing pain as you do so, reaching the top with euphoria, a new view of the world and then coming down feeling numb, greedy and lost. Life is repeating this process again and again. But with every climb your legs get stronger, your heart more grateful and content and lesser regrets as you walk down. If not so then your hope becomes stronger for now you know the view may or may not be great or as per your expectations but you have the strength to climb.

5. Unlearning is way more important than learning.

Ever since as a kid Learning has been the prime goal for me and everyone but what about unlearning what is unhealthy, not needed or harmful to your body, mind and soul. Unlearning old habits of ignorance, arrogance and persistence. You need to realize that to go somewhere new you need to leave from somewhere. To love again, you need to let go of the broken one. Goodbye are often undermined but make sure you bid all your adieus before you say a new hello.

Finally a big change of perception for me was the in the ideology that guided my adventures. I realized that one can never finds oneself but only creates. Travelling gave me the space to do that but the truth is that the process happens everywhere and everyday. Surely the push is needed and in a setting of your dreams but post that the process simply has to be carried forward. No matter where you are, what you are doing just don’t stop creating yourself.

A little letter called Love

The greatest controversy that surrounds humankind is love. The term is often misunderstood when seen through the lens of expectation and possession. The many shades of love like  affection or kindness are often separated from it by being affiliated to the manmade concepts of family, friendships and romance. It subconsciously becomes a mean to legitimize possession and control. Whenever you see a flower you love, you pluck it, immortalizing it in your diary, or at least that’s what you think you do. This highlights the tendency to possess the things you love, refusing any other person to love the flower that you fancy. However in this small reference you see how flawed this mindset is. Love should be a medium of growth, a freedom to be appreciated by many. Rejoicing the memories of the beloved and not caging them in the name of love.

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Like any other perspective, mine is personal and flawed. It took me many attempts over a long period of time to harbor this definition of love that guides my actions today. Love lies in small deeds and not big gestures. Love lies in caressing a stray, even if its only for a few hours, feeding it and loving it with all your heart to leave it where you found it. Love demands the act of giving without an expectation of any gains. That’s why its so difficult for one to truly love something. The human mind is accustomed to barter ever since civilization was created. Yet in the span of a few hours that you bestow affection upon that stray, your heart is filled with this unexplainable calmness, an upsurge of affection that is yet unspoken of. The tinge of sadness that acquaints your heart as you leave it back on that street to its mother, is the defining moment of love. For you wish it the best, you only cage it in your memories.  Thus, to offer a short repose to a vexed heart, while you experience solace yourself. This is the act of love for me.