Unborn

She felt it grow in her womb
A life separate- yet so intricately a part of her
She could hear it breathe
And found relief in each heartbeat.
Her daily chores were performed by mechanical hands
Time was at a standstill
Nothing mattered except the life within her
A tentative smile lit up her face
As she fantasized about lovely times ahead
Yet, a shadow loomed large on the horizon
She clutched her baby
Smelling danger with innate motherly instinct
A figure materialized
"Abort", it barked
"No", she shrieked
Was it in vain?
Helpless, she was dragged to the hospital
The leering quack invaded the privacy of her womb
A howl erupted
Was it from within her?
The foetus squirmed and wriggled
The doctor's gloved hands probed further
The smell of disinfectant choked her
A black abyss appeared
She plunged in, not knowing whither to go
And fell....and fell.....And fell....
The path of despair was endless
The doctor's operation was not
She opened her eyes to a stark white room
Then why did life appear so black
Reality hit her when she felt
The absent bump in the smooth plane of her stomach
She clenched her lip—determined not to cry
The tears did not spill—her  eyes were dry
Unmarried she was, unfeeling she became
The pain so numbed her, she couldn't be the same.
Devoid of emotions, a robot was she
The murderer of her baby, who was he?
A knife was snatched with open hands
She snapped all unbroken bands
The next day, a story appeared
About the murder of a man, everybody heard
They said his jilted lover killed him
They were wrong
His unborn child had tolled the death knell for him.

The Family

The precipice was steep

She looked down

The vultures had descended

Tearing their flesh apart

Time had passed swiftly

For the stench was now assailing her

Borne as it was

On the wings of the breeze

Memories were evoked

They flashed past one by one

Like slides in a movie

Mocking at the characters

The mother- petite and vibrant

Dressed in flowing gowns

An ideal wife and mother

Or was it the wife alone?

The father- tall and handsome

Grown rich through hard work

Marrying an heiress

Was not an easy task

A brother also figured in the picture

Younger than she was

Strumming his guitar all day long

He idolized his sister

Hailed as the 'perfect' family

Perfection embodied in them

Her mouth twisted in a sneer

As she remembered the perfect imperfection

Emotions flickered across her face

The whole gamut of them

Pain, agony, shame, fear

Anger, madness, satisfaction

She'd dreaded those nights

When he would return home

While she waited to hear his tread

Ascending her stairs

She'd tried locking the door

After that first time

But the repercussions had been too severe

Her back still bore the welts

She'd then told her mother

Received a slap for that confidence

Labelled a whore and a slut

By the woman who had borne her

She knew it was a refusal

To accept what she must've known

He'd done it with others

Now it was her daughter's turn

She bore it silently

The tears hardened to pearls

More precious than real ones

In their desire for vengeance

She remembered the day so well

As if it were yesterday

Her brother had entered her room

And witnessed the silent rape

He'd not even had time

To register his protest

The outstretched hand was stopped midway

Muffled forever

Her volcano of anger erupted

Lava had spewed forth

The pain would come later

When she had had time to reflect

She had planned it meticulously

None of the easy ways out

She'd butchered him to pieces

One for each night

He'd begged her mutely through his eyes

Once she'd cut off his tongue

The lascivious tool of torment

She'd chopped off bit by bit

The bitch had also got

The dessert she deserved

No pity did she warrant

But a clean slice was enough

She'd waited in the dark

Knowing they would come

Today at the gallows she saw them

Waiting in the Underworld

Silence

Silent screams echoed

Rocked the house upside down

As the knife plunged silently

And twisted in the loud heart

Daggers of accusation

Emanated silently from her

She could hear the silent rip

The flesh cracked open

The colors of the painting

The patterns of the tapestry

Swirled in silence before her

Her eyes wept silently

The house was void of life now

Silent as a tomb

Padded feet trod silently

Even as the air stood still

Bones coated with flesh and blood

Celebrated silently

No hearts to disturb the silence with beats

He left with her wedding ring silently

Morning Rush

7:00 a.m.

The alarm rings. The bed creaks as weight is dragged across it. The alarm stops.

7:03 a.m.

The bed’s occupants peck each other on the lips before rolling over and getting off either side of the bed.

7:08 a.m.

A toothbrush in his mouth, he hunts for his clothes; a toothbrush in her mouth, she puts tea to boil.

7:15 a.m.

A quick perusal of the morning paper together while gulping down scalding hot tea; internal circuits revolt

7:30 a.m.

The usual scurry: tapping eggs over a skillet; adjusting the temperature of the shower; a quick rub; one leg and then the next into trousers before buttoning up shirts

8:00 a.m.

A veneer of civilization descends

Shaved and combed, both partners step out of the door and into their humdrum existence

Lamp

The lamp is there burning bright
It beckons me with its flickering light
So strong does the flame appear
Then why does it dim when I near
No illumination in this dark life
Where in this darkness—oh, where can I hide?
The darkness envelopes me like a cloud
What a fit material it is for my shroud
I scream, I shout- my lungs are burstin'
No sound emerges- my heart is hurtin'
A few smiles light up when I near
Then why does a smile, in my heart instill fear?
Is it because the smiles are so false
Enclosing me in their mesh like walls
I search desperately for one true face
But find none—as usually is the case
The wick is burning—my time is drawing near
Fate laughs at me—her face twisted in a sneer
A gaping abyss stretches before me, inviting
Its darkness, a beacon of lightning
I wish I could fly to the other side
Where sorrows and pain are washed away by the tide
Perhaps then I might be able to dip my feet in the river of joy
Even God owes me to haul me ahoy
The flame is dying, ready to merge in the melted wax
My hope dies too, leaving my body lax...
Forever...

Loss

The doors were closing
Darkness was engulfing her
The ground was treacherous
She tottered at the brink

Her silent screams shattered the empty house
The tread of his footsteps she heard
Running, she opened the door
His absence greeted her

The spiders were busy
Weaving cobwebs in her mind
Too long had she neglected to dust them off
The web of fantasy was too strong

A dual existence she lived
Lost in the maze of the past
Aware of only her destination
She followed him on his journey

The nights were the worst
She woke up drenched in sweat
His caresses were too passionate
For her to patiently bear

A constant tide of people
Washed over her
Like the rock she was
She did not respond

It caused a lot of consternation
Amid friends and foes alike
The whispers became statements
Isolation was imperative

They packed her off to the asylum
She needed the solitude, they reasoned
She went along docilely
He was always with her

They roamed about together
Through the corridors she created
Harmless to everybody
She died of electric shocks

Fear

It crept up stealthily
Like the black alley cat
Foraging for food
In the street bins

It pounced
The prey winced
Sinking its claws further
It purred in anticipation

It lapped up the blood
Satiated its hunger
The victim looked around wildly
Searching for an escape

The door to escape and freedom
Was conspicuous by its absence
The eyeballs grew weary
With all the rotating they did

Vitality was fast slipping away
Yet the heart continued to beat
Its resilience bothered both
The predator and the prey

Darkness was all around
An ally of the murderer
Allowing it to complete its work
Anonymously

No light illuminated the darkness
No star twinkled bright
The clouds provided cover
It made a decision

No more of this slow murder
It bared its fangs completely
One swipe was all that was needed
To finish the victim off

Its work over, it left
Melting into the darkness whence it came
Day broke and hope arrived
It was already too late

Escape

Fire erupted all around her
Bringing peace with it
Its approaching flames licked her
She was aroused

Her husband's touch had never felt like this
As she had lain pliant and yielding
The nights brought no fear now
That had been so long ago

Hexed by the shrew in the day
Fingered by the leering old man
Raped by the monster they'd begotten
The nights had passed away

Deprived of her one friend—childhood
Thrust defenseless into that hell
Her lack of dowry had set
The mark of death at her door

God had appeared a month before
Released her from her sorrow
Valium had endowed her with valour
Ecstasy had left her just- ecstatic?

Popping pills into her mouth
Life continued to spiral out of control
Until one day, that hope crashed
The husband took it away

No more joyful moments of forgetfulness
No more release from reality
Its clutches were strangling her
When she saw her escape

Why hadn't it struck her before
This was the union she'd always craved
The flames were caressing her now
Death came disguised as orgasm—the only one

Destiny

New vistas, new horizons beckoned her

Thrilled at these prospects, she followed them

Dazzled by the city lights

Blind she became

A new way of life

Memories relegated temporarily

Old threads broken

She lost herself

On a high she was

More elevated she became

Inflated with her own ego

She moved ahead

Drunk she was

Drunker she became

Inebriation was blown up

By the agony of shame

A new resolve was taken

In the daylight of comprehension

But day is always followed by night

So was it now

Each dawn brought it

Each dusk weakened it

A tidal wave was emerging

It would have to break asunder

The wait is endless

It has fatigued her

Is this her destiny?

The question torments her

Accepting it as her fate

She has decided to live on

Yet conflicts keep arising within her

She suppresses them ineffectually

Her heart is like Medusa

Sprouting a thousand emotions at once

She slays one with the sword of reason

Doubt creeps in as the heart’s salve

A vicious cycle it is

She’s caught in it

Each day turning

The wheel of misfortune

O Death, Can't You Wait

A pebble still to pick up

A walk still to tread

A word still to utter

O Death, can’t you wait?

A word of care here

An expression of love there

All gestures undemonstrated

O Death, can’t you wait?

So many tasks undone

I need to see them through

An incomplete life left

O Death, can’t you wait?

The shingles are to be mended

The walls need to be plastered

The roof cries out for repairs

O Death, can’t you wait?

The sea beckons with its calm waters

The sand wants to abrade my toes

The grass seeks to soothe my callouses

O Death, can’t you wait?

A cup of hot tea

A conversation with a friend

It’s all still left

O Death, can’t you wait?

I feel your presence now

It’s not as clammy as I thought

You’re really quite enchanting

But

O Death, can’t you wait?

Colors

Black: the color of life to come. Bleakness.

White: the color of numbing, agonizing, torturous pain. And noise. Noise to drown out the pain.

Grey: the color of her skin when I saw her at the morgue.

Red: the color of the boiling rage at having my daughter raped and then killed mercilessly.

Yellow: the color of daffodils and daisies and sunshine and her hair conditioner.

Orange: the color of paperwork. Files and folders to be buried and lost. And stained staircases of police stations and court houses.

Brown: the color of my ineffectualness against the ‘system.’ All washed up and dried inside. My pathetic efforts to get justice for my daughter. Dried blood. On my hands.

Green: the color of the last dress she wore. Stained with red—lots of it. Bought by me on her sixteenth birthday last month.

Blue: the color of the sky on the day she was raped. The sky on the day she was killed. The sky on the day the perpetrator of that heinous crime went home. Scot free. The color of the bloody sky always and forever.

Pink: the color of ‘his’ shirt the day I followed him in his brand new Beetle.

Purple: the color of the shadows in the police station when I was arrested on a murder charge.

The Embrace…

I...

The breaker charged towards the shore. Too long had he been fettered to the sea. He sought freedom, craving to severe the umbilical cord that bound him to the seabed. An accident of a tempestuous relationship between a typhoon, or was it a tornado or a hurricane or a gale or simply a storm- one of them in any case, and the sea, he had been abandoned to his fate from the moment he was born. As a result, he had spent his entire life rolling from one co-ordinate to another, trying to figure out where he was.
II...
During his childhood, he never displayed any inclination to mix with the other illegitimate offspring that his mother had strewn all about. Instead, he frolicked with the schools of fish and dolphins, often accompanying them on their long journeys.
III...
With youth had come longing, the desire to escape. The ships that traversed the sea's course evoked hitherto dormant feelings in him. The champagne of voices and laughter that trickled down his parched throat only served to exacerbate his thirst for company.
IV...
Then had come the chagrin of having swollen to twice the size he had been in his younger days. The loneliness had gnawed at his heart, leaving a dull throbbing pain. Now, when the ships passed by, he no longer tried to keep pace with them. Instead he rolled along silently and ponderously, sometimes even parting to let them through.
V...
He had seen her for the first time a week ago. Tall, willowy. Her emerald green a contrast to his topaz blue. He knew he had been waiting for her all his life. She stood there, proud and tall, amidst the rocks- like a princess guarded by soldiers.
All he wanted to do was to touch her. Once. He charged towards the shore, aware that he would meet his death at the hands of the rocks' jagged spears. Galloping in a mad canter, he smashed against them and vanished in a mist of spray...hoping to take the tree in his dying embrace....

Of Birds and Bees

I

The window-sill was encrusted with decades of bird shit. The eaves overflowed with straw, the result of arduous efforts of uxorious husbands. Roof tiles and shingles vied with each other in their attempts to prise off their neighbors and rattle hauntingly in the slightest breeze.

II

The breeze sat on the window-sill debating whether to enter the house or not. Should it enter as a disruptive gust, leaving havoc in its wake, or should it flow softly, like lapping waves, kissing the baby’s hot cheeks and drying the mother’s tears.

III

The mother’s eyes were riveted to the window pane. Layers of dust and grime coated its surface. She traced a pattern with hesitant digits. Two eyes and a smile gazed back at her. A sigh escaped her lips and moistened the face on the window.

IV

The eyes in the window stared at the baby in the cot. It was a beautiful baby- with a golden halo and blue eyes and pink lips and white, oh so white, skin- the angel child spawned by the Devil himself. Beads of perspiration stuck to the down on its upper lip, its tiny fist crumpled into a ball and pushed against teeth not yet emerged. Its dimpled knees winked at the face in the window causing it to smile wider. The baby gurgled.

V

Little gobs of drool trickled down its chin. The baby opened her eyes and saw the creases of worry on her mother’s brow. Hers crinkled in replication too. The soft skin learnt the first lines of worry that appeared there and then smoothened out. The furrows would be etched deeper with age and there was no hurry to reach there just yet. The baby looked at the face and smiled back.

VI

The smiling face, reminiscent of a laughing Buddha she had caught a glimpse of in the toy shop that he had taken her to when they had first met at the local fair, where they’d tumbled into each other’s arms and intertwined legs and locked lips and made ‘her’- an “offspring” of their unbridled passion, now looked at her mournfully.

VII

She raised a finger to dry her tears but found that the soft breeze had caressed them into submission, rousing her to the same passion of that long forgotten night. It rustled through her heavy tresses and the flaxen curls on the baby’s head, bringing with it a brief respite from the agony of burning shame which remorselessly haunted her.

VIII

The breeze went back to brood on the window-sill and wondered afresh about the close proximity of hives and nests suspended from the eaves in mid-air in a time-space continuum. The birds and the bees hummed and buzzed while she reflected on birds and bees and thereof.

Monday Morning Musings

An empty stomach...an empty mind...

Pangs of hunger...sharp shooting pains where the fists had pounded....

Swollen welts...breeding ground for flies....they do the buzzing in the head...

Raindrops pelt body....tatters...the sky is my roof....

The smell of rotten fish and eggs...sumptuous breakfast....

Flaccid belly.... pallid eyes.... placid soul... rhyming words...

Tears... wide open ones and round liquid ones... across the cheek and down the cheek...

Whipped.... cream and eggs and back...

Shivers like shackles.... they rivet to the ground.... ague and fear...

Restraining fetters of sleep... tenuous hold on dreams...

Dust everywhere.... motes and grains and lumps... eyes are dry... parched throat...

Red and blue... up and down... old and new... Life and Death...

Six feet of ground rises up to embrace its inheritance....

The World’s “Ho”

I

I was born into that most royal of families—Kings and Queens and even Governments bowed before us unequivocally, catering to every caprice and whim. Yet I was stamped and marked the very first day—my destiny predetermined. No other course of fate was permissible; no other path could be tread. I was already paid for—to be bought and sold throughout the rest of my wretched existence.

I grew up with my siblings in an environment where everything was measured in pecuniary terms. Greed and avarice reigned supreme. No ethics were permitted to permeate our pernicious household. Our skins were polished till we gleamed and were flushed with our own radiance. Virgins we were, all of us, with no skills or expertise. Yet.

Men would visit, of course—day in and day out. Gaunt ones and corpulent ones, dry ones and oily ones. Some clucked over us, fussing like hens and some rubbed their oily hands together in what can only be described as undisguised glee over what I could imagine was anticipation. Some leered and drooled over us with gaping holes where teeth should have been. Some self-professed connoisseurs determined our worth by running their promiscuous hands all over our bodies, searching for any bumps and projections and rubbing them lasciviously when discovered.

I distinctly remember that ‘first’ visitor- a decadent, and for lack of a better euphemism, ‘gentleman’. He was different from all the rest. Garbed completely in black, he looked, nay, he was the devil incarnate. His skin was sallow and he carried a cane, which looked as if it were itching to be used. His fingers were calloused which was surprising for everything else about him including his nails was immaculate. And then he came to where I lay.

My sisters clustered around me, trying to protect me from his stripping stare. But their feeble attempt was easily thwarted. Like William Tell’s arrow, his eyes found their target. Without hesitation, his fingers wrapped themselves around my frail body. He stared at me as if my luminance distracted him and then without another word, he claimed me. I was branded now.

II

My life had changed as I knew it. No longer was I a virgin. He had defiled me and the remnants of his touch nauseated me. He made me spend nearly five years at his side, treating me like a slave. There were times when he would bet me as the spoils of a gamble but inevitably, he would win me back. My heart would be aflutter each time he placed me as the cynosure of those devouring wolves. Their eyes shone with an unnatural gleam and they would drool all over me. But as long as my ‘protector’ was there, they would not dare to paw me. And then one day my master’s fortunes were reversed.

He had visited a new tavern- one not thronged by his usual cronies. This time the people were of a lower strata—merchants and traders who perspired like pigs and had small mean pig-like eyes. “Pig people”, I called them to myself. And then I heard my master haggling with one of them. The pig was eyeing me greedily, like a vulture had just seen a dead rat for the taking, while my owner held on to me possessively. They finally reached an agreement and I was handed over to this parsimonious looking nincompoop without a word. My first owner did not even spare a glance at my beseeching eyes as he left.

Now I was in the hands of a new breed of ‘animal’—for a man he was not. He looked at me with such intensity that I knew my suffering was just about to begin. The first thing he did was to lick me from tip to toe. No inch of my body was spared this excruciating agony. His breath was dank, and I felt I was covered in slime. His nails had years of accumulated grime under them and with these, he scratched my body trying to leave deep gashes as a mark of his ownership. This process was repeated so often that I soon resigned myself to it. But everything in this world is transient. So was my suffering.

One day, nearly a decade later, when the Gods were smiling down upon me through the golden halo of the sun, I heard the ring of a bicycle. It seemed that the baker’s son had arrived and the usual haggling over the month’s groceries was on. I wondered idly if he would be able to afford me. I had often caught a glance of his acne-covered pug face from my window. In the midst of my speculation, I was ‘signed over’ to him. The silent imputation that my will was of no consequence did not bother me in the least. By now, I knew that my life would always be controlled by others.

Life took on a new dimension now. For the first time, I knew care, if not love. He would inundate me with the drivel of an adolescent, but I bore the deluge calmly. One day, his girlfriend- the butcher’s daughter- invited him to a dinner of pork chops.  Her parents would be out of town. He figured that screwing her would become easier if he made use of the considerable assets I had at my disposal. So that night, for the first time in my life, I helped another lose his virginity and earned his everlasting gratitude.

III

These were just the first three. After that, men entered my life with clockwork regularity and jettisoned me out with equal ease. The one thing I can tell you is that none of them wanted to part with me willingly. Ever. Sometimes, even women would desire me. Their hands felt softer on my body. Some kept me cuddled against their heaving bosoms; some liked to feel me down the length of their body, clamped tightly between the folds of their skin.

I saw the world changing but always through others’ colored views. Then, one day in the year 1800, I was ‘acquired’ by a Sultan. He placed me in a harem with others, most of whom were older than me. There were a few snide remarks and covert glances but otherwise they left me pretty much alone, choosing to dress themselves up in all their finery to keep the Sultan not only interested but also stimulated. The Sultan, a famous numismatist, would often visit and spend time with some of us, bestowing favours in this voyeuristic place. But he almost always skipped my chamber and I was glad for God’s small mercies.

By now, I had lost the vigour and charm of my youth, but my companions assured me that I looked as beautiful and radiant as ever. Today, my value is beyond compare. Only the most exorbitant sum can acquire me. After all, I am one of the first few gold coins ever minted in the world.