Growing Up

He said, "I see you growing up." 
And suddenly I realised,
The drops of Youth were beginning to
Dry on the rim of the Life's cup.

There is silver in the clouds dark
That were once tresses
And lines of life and heart are on the cheeks, not palm, alongside my birthmark.

My large heart and narrow waist
Have exchanged place
And strongest in my mouth amidst all others
Is this new acrid taste:

The taste of complacency, of growing older and growing sober, of falling in line and losing that shine, of apologies and failed ideologies, of safe play and dried clay, of polite smiles and unwoven wiles.

Yes, I'm growing up.

Love and I

Love and I- 
We don't see each other any more. 
No sir, we don't see eye to eye.
He used to stay just down the street where I paced every evening.
Love, was his name, and he had eyes mischievous yet stunning.
He caught my eye, once in a while, and tipped his cap.
And suddenly one day, my heart was his, as if in a snap. 
We walked the clouds, we sailed the blues
With our destinies, we made a truce.
A lifetime later I found him gone.
I waited for him from dusk to morn.
He came back with a scent unknown
And I knew that the diamond had become a stone.

Ever since, Love and I do not get along with each other.
He is not to be trusted.
And I do not really bother.

Et Cetera

Show-worthy things get mentioned, while the rest clubbed as 'and the rest.'

Et cetera is not irrelevant 
Nay, far from it.

Acknowledged in anonymity, 
et ceteras are your being in collectivity.

Nobody knows the pain of being pushed to margins
More than the et ceteras.

Et cetera is the demure wife of a sailor
Patiently weaving the yarns of desire
Only to unravel them in the nights sapphire.

Et cetera never speaks, never complains,
You bundle it out to the margins where
It licks its wounds and dresses the pains.

The one left behind on a crowded platform is et cetera
And the one that got lost on a journey
is another et cetera.

Words slipping from the corner of your mouth and drowning in the coffee mug;
The faint laughing lines on your face
-A face that is otherwise cold and smug;
Green Dhaniya leaves in a bowl of daal
Or a television series named Chaupaal
An unopened packet, a broken dart
Or my memory buried deep in your heart

Et cetera,
They are just that- et ceteras. 

Diwali

मन मंदिर में जब कल साँझ दीप दमकते होंगे,
तो एक लौ की छाँव में अलसाते कुछ स्वप्न तुम्हारे होंगे
नीले, कुछ धानी और कुछ सुर्ख़ लाल होंगे

The Peacock Bra

The cold night of Diwali

And the morning aromas of

Chulha, leepa and saani:

Suddenly they all come alive

And drown the din of trial rooms.

Holding the peacock bra in my hands

I am sitting and weeping

In one of the many trial rooms.

Hot stream of tears on my cheeks,

“How do I look?” pouring in my ears

Filtered down from different directions in different voices,

And an entire lifetime in my liquid eyes:

The peacock bra and I in one of the trial rooms.

When he first unhooked, with fingers fumbling  

There was a reward awaiting,

I remember how in a matter of few hours, a lifetime changed.

Years later, I miss the fumble and sob

Clutching a peacock bra in one of the trial rooms.

She smiled, sucked and slept:

The pattern she followed clinging to my breast.

Now, she runs and recites, she consoles and fights.

I see me in her, and snippets of her in myself

She bangs the doors, to find me, of the identical trial rooms.

   

Dancing peacocks, fumbling fingers, moist lactating teats,

Childhood treasures, grown-up pleasures

Pains of childbirth and all else that is worth

Remembering and cherishing

I remembered and cried

Trying the beautiful peacock bra in one of the trial rooms.