A raped woman speaks

Go rape your mother first
She deserves to see the real face of the monster she gave birth to
In your childhood
When you sucked at her supple breasts, did you bite them like you did mine..with the same demonic glee?
Did you shove your thing inside her like you did inside me?
If you think it makes a man out of you..go do it to her...
Give her back her love ...along with the interest of your barbarity
If boys are boys let your mother be the certifier of your manhood...she deserves it for spouting out filth like you...
Not me...no I didn't ask for it...didn't want it...now I won't let any other man love me...for I am yours for life ..whether you want me or not...I have a right on your thing...I will hack it up into so many pieces that your tiny brain will not even let you count...
But not before it goes inside your mother...from where it should never have come out...so go on now...prove that you are a "man". and I will rejoice in not being cursed by that evil identity... For I can create what you can only destroy..
Rape me a thousand times and each time I will rise...not as your victim but as the mother you betrayed...

Mujhe nashe me rehne do!

Mujhe nashe me rehne do
Main nashe me hu to kya
Par nashe me mujhme 'main' nahi
Gar is mai ne mujhse 'main' ko nikala
To is mai se bada duniya me koi nasha nahi

Glossary:
Main: me
'Main': Ego
Mai: Alcohol

Beginning of Ram rajya?

Six thousand lives for six percent growth
Not a bad deal, sirjee
Not bad at all!

He gave us Gujarat
We need development, right?
Never mind Godhra
A blot on the hinterland
Even the moon has spots

He will make a man out of us
Teach us to leave our wives
Wear khakhi shorts
And embark on yatras to annihilate histories

Textbooks will be rewritten
Ram temples will be rebuilt
Ram rajya will return
When Lord Ram himself will lord upon us

We will bomb the bloodsucking neighbours away
They gave us 26/11
We will rule them 24x7

Billions will come rushing in now
Our ratings will soar
FDI, FII, the sleeping sensex will roar

Who cares if the 10% live or die
We can do without them
They are a dark spot on “shining” India
We will shove them away
Sahranpur banega Shanghai
Let us go the China way

What if its their home too
But damn them, they are so few
Let’s build a few more nuclear bombs
And  of course we will subsidise their tombs

A lament for modern times

Shining iphones with a million apps

Wafer thin handsets, the promise of a zillion pixels

I live in a land of subway surfers and candy crushers

Where our phones are smarter than us

It’s got an eye at the back and a mirror in front

Yet it doesn’t show me

But hey it got 47 likes on facebook, must be a ‘nice’ pic, no?

Let’s burn all the faceless books out there

And download free ebooks

Otherwise what’s the use of that ipad I got

Oh it’s so easy on the eyes, and so many options too

The other day I browsed through a hundred titles

But couldn’t decide on one

Don’t want to waste time on mediocre stuff you see!

Why are the damn birds so angry?

I used to envy their flight once

Tried to emulate it as well

But what the hell

I learnt to tweet instead

#afarewelltosanity

The other day, the mirror asked me

Are you all right?

Did you have a breakup?

You haven’t changed your display pic for like a week!

Gosh, I must unfriend that bitch

Don’t worry, I told her

I’ll get over it

Try Black Label, she said

It’s a girl’s new best friend

The world consumed in a race to click the best selfie

While the self lies alone – unheeded

Shrinking into an abysmal wretch

How many friends does it have?

How many likes?

STRANGER

Custom made on an assembly line
An owl staring into the sunshine
A one-faced coin in a sea of head and tails
A sly serpent slithering away from its scales
I may be velvet in a cotton mill

A bird with clipped wings
Is a bird still..

NOSTALGIA’S CHILD

Pierced by the fresh, the old gold inside turns to dust
Fresh sounds sound like noise from a damaged radio
Murder, victory, conquests, evolution
Love, power, revolution…
All algebra to my dyslexia

New tastes singe the soft tongue
Bring forth a liquid torrent from the drying eyes
Touched by new flames, I shrink like burnt paper
Retreating to the cold comfort of nostalgia’s cave

Cave of visions – broken mirrors – some bite, some excite
But the pain of stepping on them, I recognize

A medley of sunken sounds
Old songs with new meanings
Old poems smell as fresh as dew
Broken words fall from a string of meanings

I scurry after them like a bounty hunter
Afraid of losing the map to my treasure
Scared they too might desert me like my 4’am dreams

Memories wash me like hot water from a geyser
I am building a tomb:
Of unripened truths, baked myths and nascent mysteries

Pray, when finally exhumed
I am taken there to be buried
It shall be worthy of me
And I of it….

A bookish love story: My Entry for the Get Published Contest

Kabir, an unusually shy guy in his early twenties has recently started working for an MNC in the capital city of Delhi. One day, he goes over to the house of his sister’s friend to return some of her books. He has seen her and talked to her on a few occasions before but never found her attractive. But now, as he finds himself sitting in her drawing room, looking at her approaching silhouette; a strange feeling of calm passes over him. He forgets to be anxious – something he can never avoid in the company of an unknown. But is she really an unknown? He wonders for a moment and then loses himself in the innocent wonder of her eyes…watching her lips gently form words…words he does not hear that day, words ringing hollow behind the din of his wildly pounding chest. They exchange a few pleasantries before moving on to the topic of books – the only topic they are both comfortable with and passionate about. She, a literature student aspiring to be a writer; and he, a secret admirer of the written word who never quite had the courage to acknowledge his dream, let alone pursue it. They open up to each other like a young bird opening her wings to take her first flight – nervous, but wildly excited at the thought of flying in the free air. She starts talking about her poetry and acting, and he sits there like a log. Suddenly, he remarks quite coolly that he also write poems. She insists on reading one and he promises to bring it for her on his next visit. Quite bewilderingly, she asks him to write it down the next time instead of getting a print out. That’s weird, he thinks. Let her try her luck with my horrific handwriting, he chuckles to himself and says his goodbyes. This short visit leads to a series of meetings, culminating in the coming together of two strangely awkward personalities. Both lost in their own ways, each waiting to be found by the right eyes – eyes that don’t look past their dead faces, but eyes that look inside the inert façade to see them as they are. Without trying to change, without trying to judge. Both looking to come across love, unwilling to find it……….. An old world love story about two simple souls finding solace in each other, what makes this story enjoyable is the attention to the protagonists’ feelings and their deep awareness of emotions – their own and those of lives around them. In the end, I believe what matters in a love story is how much it makes you remember from your own life – that adolescent crush, that adorable someone, the excitement of getting drenched in the rain …..simple emotions etched on the canvas of our strangely complex lives. This is my entry for the HarperCollins–IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs fromYashodhara Lal and HarperCollins India. Total no. of Words - 500