Black and white beauty

 Written for poet and storyteller’s united’s ‘beloved companions’ prompt.

This one is about my furry friend Laika ❤️

Paati means grandmom in tamil.

Amorous Ashes

 

This post is dedicated to Deepika who has been a constant pillar of support. Thanks for always helping me painstakingly - be it my blog or love life or buying the right gift. You're the best! 

A Repressed soul

Shouting from inside no more.

I exude confidence in the

Smoke I puff out

Little do you know

I did it by

 burning my soul

And those Amorous Ashes

Won’t stay inside no more.

 

I want to pour myself

Unto a vessel like you

And hope you make sense of me

And whisper me my truth.

I can’t keep looking

for someone

Who doesn’t exist inside

no more.

 

Far too long

I have been comfortably numb

Make me feel

With your pinprick gaze

Pull by hand

Muscles floating in outer space

Rub my eyes

So I can see through the haze

Define reality

By sealing my lips

Drive me home

From this dauntless daze!

What once was

  

We are plagued by memories

By what once was

Ours to cherish

But not cherished.

 

To collaborate with &

Not compete against.

To break a for given bond

Without any thought given

Absent mindedly

Like how dusts of disinterest and distance

Began to gather over us

Together.

 

But we are still friends,

Still as dead water.

Of silent tears

Which were (never) cried.

 

The ventriloquist

Others

Living on the mandate of others

Is basically Life imprisonment

Yet we all bear through it

All Smiles through a gritted teeth.

A rite of passage of course

To come unscathed through the other side

Full of sudden wisdom and cryptic cynicism

Silently afraid to cut these choking umbilical chords

Nourishment and community and all

Convincing ourselves this is what it is

To Be Human,

Taking the place of the Others

Who won and lost

Losing our wonder

And wondering what we lost-

The essence of being ourselves

The hyenas feed on our soul

Only when it is exposed

Keep it intact tightly within you

Guard it like a watchdog

Fundamental rights and all.

Worship it like a temple and

Pray you don’t lose yourself

For the call of others

Whatever may be the cost.

Little Maryam

Indian fiction seems to be in two ends of a spectrum – One covered by the fancy Salman Rushdies and Vikram Seths of the world who weave magical and complex tales encompassing an astounding breadth of narratives and on the other end we have our humble Chetan Bhagats who write simple stories for the ‘average Indian’. This is actually true for all literary worlds. There is a tendency to look down upon these simple tales , more so if they are ‘love stories’. Given India’s crowded average love stories , I wouldn’t even grudge the critics so harshly.

‘Little Maryam’ on first glance might come off as yet another love story. And believe it or not it is exactly that - but with a small difference. It is good!  Like my favourite character McSteamy aka Mark Sloan says to Mcdreamy in Grey's Anatomy  “Cliches became clichés for a reason. Because they worked. It is great isn’t it”

McSteamy Approves (y)

Simple stories written well which make you feel things are the best!

 Revealing anything about this book might come off as a spoiler. The premise is a rooted little love story between Saadiq Haider and a girl called Maryam , the twists of fate which befall them earlier and later. The official tag line reads - A second chance romance with a shocking twist. 

 However , if you are an experienced reader you can see these twists come a mile away.. but it still won’t stop you from feeling the very real emotions pouring from it and that is what I absolutely loved about this book. 

I tried narrating this story to a close friend and she just started laughing at how ludicrous it sounded. However , in Hamid Baig’s words it is all too real, intense and believable. The initial portions might seem like a stretch but the care and craft puts in helps the punch land strongly later. Even the word 'little' in 'Little Maryam' has significance,

The book is laser focused on telling the tale of Dr. Haider and Maryam so much so that it glosses over parts like say winning of a nobel prize!At the same time thanks to the well crafted initial portions there is a sense of rootedness permeating through the book (maybe stemming from the Banyan Tree which it so lovingly portrays). The emotions are authentic and feel earned . I went from frowning at it to crying over it much like the person who the story is narrated to over the plane!

And for the all the people who read this review and thought that maybe this is  coming from a typical senti romance loving girl , I swear it is not! I remember crying over only two books before

 1) Paths of Glory by Jeffery Archer and 2) Oath of Vayuputras by Amish Tripathi. 

I just feel that the earnestness of the book has rubbed off on me, to give it such a glowing recommendation. There were a few places where I would have liked a more detailed narration and some words which didn’t feel like it didn’t belong in the sentences but the fact that it made me cry like a baby makes me wanna not care about it. This is great work by a debutante who I hope will only get better from hereon.

Verdict – Give it a shot with an open mind

Stars – 4/5

Unbroken Again

So post number #175 it is  

Unbroken Again

A cracked glass can’t be stuck again

That grandma of a person croaked.

We are in the age of Fevikwik and ready smiles.

So what if it is a plastered one

For the cameras?

They are better than fake candids atleast

The other day I realized

That my heart  got unbroken

I could feel only the feeling

That I couldn’t feel anything

And a twinge of sadness

 That I’m not a wailing idiot

His star crossed lover.

My smile used to be a band aid over a bullet hole

Now the hole is no more

And my smile is whole again

But then

Why do I still mourn the hole? 

Rockstar

I Rebel

Don’t compromise

Non conform

Break Glass Ceilings

Only for it to shatter all over me

Cuts deeper than wound

I persist

Keep flying towards the star

My scars sing to the world

That I am a rockstar

And now I wave down at them

Because I dared to climb up. 

Being Wo/man

Reinstating obvious things which are sadly not so obvious to many out there.

On this ‘women’s day’ I want to state the following things : -  

1) Feminism is not a bad word. It advocates the equality of all genders.

2) Like Emma Watson said , Gender shouldn’t be two opposing ideals but a wide spectrum accommodating every one.

3) A man is under pressure to be a ‘man’ too. He can’t show emotions , he HAS to provide for the family and  be tough and captain of the ship at all times. No one wants to marry a guy who is not ‘settled’. That’s sexist too.

What?!

4) If a woman wants to start a family and settle down instead of being career driven it is fine too. As long as one is doing something of their own will and not because of societal pressure it is absolutely fine. A man being a housemaker is nothing to be ashamed of. I was very surprised when my juniors were literally bullying their friend when she said her dream in life was to get married and have a family. Shaming is Shaming guys!

5) It is not womens day but women’s day. Please know the difference. Please stop using words like ‘feminazi’. It is a sincere request. It is a disservice to all the people who lost their lives and disrespect to all the feminists trying to express their original opinions.

The worst of the internet

6) While having a ‘day’ for something is a largely commercial concept to drive up sales and makes us ‘feel good’ , it does help bring the limelight on hitherto unknown views and problems. It helps create constructive discussion and debates and also improves awareness and make the issues commonplace. Only if you acknowledge it you can overcome it.

7) Saying that some issues which I feel need to be discussed more :-

• Acid attacks on women and men ( to a lesser extent)
• Marital Rape
• Objectification of men and women in mainstream media and public consciousness
• Legalization of Prostitution in order to curb Human Trafficking

The Predator & The Prey

So the midweek motif in Poets United was ' predator and the prey' and I couldn't ask for a more perfect opportunity to write about this .It is more prosey than poemy but i just wrote what came to my mind. Leave your honest feedback below or I will go mad that nobody cared. Putting myself out there.

credits - Times of india

I always never liked him

The guy who rode me in his auto to school.

He acted like he was my boss

Bullying and puncturing my soul.

Made me sit in the worst positions

In his overcrowded rickshaw,

On the handrest, above his seat,

Even had to share his front seat.

My parents never believed me

As I had a penchant for fabricating honestly amazing lies.

He used to hurl abuses at me,

Unnecessarily delay taking me home,

He even drank on duty.

No one ever believed me.

Then one day he started asking me for ten bucks

And pestered me incessantly

Till I gave him some.

This became a habit.

I gave up complaining to my parents altogether.

He used to make fun of me in front of others

But I wasn’t a silent victim

I learnt bad words to combat his verbal diarrhoea

I acted like I didn’t care

Got used to his bad treatment to an extent that he got bored.

He wasn’t all evil either.

He told me about his son in law who had cancer.

I saw him giving free lifts to the poor

( delaying me furthermore)

Buying tea and biscuits to the old and needy

With whatever he had.

He told me about his affair ,

About his wife.

About his life.

He treated me like an adult ,

Alarm bells should have rung then.

He started speaking to me about sex ,

I was 13 then ,

It intrigued me

But I tried blocking it out.

I always pretended to read a book.

Then one fine day ,

The predator decided to hunt its prey.

But the prey was agile like a deer

And cried out like a hyena ,

The predator was old , tired and certainly drunk

And got scared by the fragile looking one causing so much

Noise.

So it decided to act like it was all a mistake.

The prey told her parents and her parents

Finally listened this time.  

Apparently many preys don’t speak out

And become silent victims.

Parents were proud of their prey

And the prey decided to not be one

And decided to act brave.

It worked.

People believed I was strong

I believed I was

I eventually felt strong

And became so.

But those memories still hit me when I’m weak.

If only they had listened quickly.
If only I had told them earlier 
If only

8

Hi readers! Thanks for sticking around even when I don't write for months. I was having a writer's block of sorts and generally a rough phase in my life. The poem I'm publishing below is a very personal one and took a great deal of bravery from my side to be even posted. Many friends dissuaded me from sharing this particular chapter of my life. I have written on what it is like, to feel like a failure even when you know that you aren't one. It might seem like a small problem to most of you but I assure you that it has taken its toll on my life. However , I've recovered enough to talk about it now and share it with others , for I know that I'm not alone and want others to not feel alone too. This post does not intend to be negative , it just captures one of the darker phases of my life. There is always light at the end of the tunnel , I just chose to project the darkness this time. Thank you. 

People who get 98 start behaving like a 98

The poor ones who get an 8

Can’t help but feel like one.

Especially when you shower them with

Your 98 tonnes of optimism

It is not you , it is not them

It is the 8

Not the end of the world

But an 8.

Supposedly a learning curve

But unfortunately

Mostly a slippery slope

A direct downward spiral

Into the invisible abyss

Of mass mediocrity .

Which they have been trying to avoid ,

Even when they were at their

Personal Everest of fame.

What can you really do?

When your personal brilliance

Gets scraped off your skin

With the harsh gravel

That is your education system.

Don’t worry about your results.

Just give your best every time

Even if you fail almost every time

For faults that you never made.

Don’t worry , Don’t feel , Don’t care

Just play fruit ninja

And believe that it is not your fault

That you failed.

Keep playing fruit ninja ,

Knowing you did nothing to deserve that 8 .

Keep playing till you break all levels

Till you start doubting the veracity of your claims

Till you start doubting the obvious.

You know you did nothing wrong.

But where is the proof?

Who feels like shit?

Not that you know how shit really feels like

But you get the gist.

Who feels depressed all the time ,

Not able to cope with a seemingly

Erroneous failure ,

You or university or god?

Till the day of hopefully inevitable rectification

Who has to squirm every time they hear an 8?

The number you once loved

Because it was so easy to draw

Till you found out 2 O’s wasn’t the way anyways.

The number which you mastered

To apply for license .

The number you cannot help but hate irrationally.

Now.

If what happened was so irrational

As everyone makes it out to be,

Why can’t we have our own irrational outburst to it?

Functioning after a failure is tough

Even for the best of us.

It is like learning to walk

With broken legs

Which aren’t set properly.

Extending the stick called sensitivity

Is more than welcome.

It might be not as grave as it sounds

But it certainly feels that way.

Outpouring of grief on virtual paper

Might never solve anything ,

But what else can one do really?

No one can control anything.

Except the person who gives me

Marks it seems. 

Samyuktha Semi Jayaprakash