Assigned Work

I haven’t finished what was assigned to me

My mentor will ask, “Why am I stuck? ”

I have no answer, so scared I am.

I am sure she will out rightly know the truth

She will scan me from me from top to bottom

And at any time blurt out the word

Liar, which I am not.

 

The work assigned to me wasn’t hard

But last time it sapped me like a hungry child

sucking every drop from a juice pouch

Inspired by lazy afternoon, I got a little slower

She has every right to inspire me to work

But shouldn’t use the word

Idler, which I am not.

 

“You should finish the work by tomorrow”

These words echoed in me as if someone

testing the depth of a new well

I lured, buttered my rebel heart to go against

it’s wish to stay on the track

But my heart, like greedy human brimming with lust

demands more

which when caught by others, it yelled

Briber, which I am not.

 

Like nails meshed in foam of my mattress

With an ulterior motive to interrupt my sleep

The work with its tension kept me awake

as if I’m on binge watching scary movies

A sharp cutting pain in my head and my red eyes

The night after

She had every reason to call me

Drinker, which I am not.

 

When I failed at work, I hid myself from

everyone in the lab, behind the refrigerator

In hideout, I got very confused if they ask me

What to expose and what to hide

Only a few people had the courage to speak

on your face

I face each and every one of them

Not giving them any reason to call me

Skulker, which I am not.

 

Two answers to the simple question

First a simple and flat No

A word to sour my mouth and her day

Second, the explanation

I couldn’t be able to do it despite my repeated attempts

with blah blah reasons

At last, I decided against my second option

To give my mentor the choice to make a decision

what I am and what I am not.

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Blood Goddess

 

Temple statues haunt you in your dreams

Someone dancing on her husband’s body

Scarlet blood drops drips from her tongue

A garland of severed heads hangs from her neck

 

Books re-write several of her origin stories

With the themes of celebration over darkness,

Change, renewal, and freedom from patriarchal values

The blood that make her a goddess 

Cycles out of us every month

The blood that stops you from visiting her temple

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Ajamila’s Predicament

Who are you?

Ajamila asked on his deathbed

Yama’s messengers!

Those  creatures answered him

Why are you carrying me?

Heaven!

I haven’t done anything to deserve heaven.

You chanted the name of Lord.

No, I didn’t.

Didn’t you called Narayana just before dying?

Oh! But ‘Narayana’ is the name

Of my good-for-nothing son

Ajamila explained

 

You’re making some mistake

Ajamila challenged messengers again

They stopped midway between earth and heaven

And made a call to Yama

Yama as usual was busy so he put them on hold

 

In the meantime, Ajamila spoke

If you drop me from right here

I will happily land in hell

They asked him

When everyone is bribing the gods

Why don’t you want to go heaven?

 

All my life I haven’t done

A single thing scriptures told me to do

Rather I had been a thief, drunkard, liar and

Had sexual liaisons with a prostitute

Never did anything for anybody

Remained selfish throughout my life

Still my friends loved me and didn’t bother to change me

I didn’t remember calling Narayana

That was me calling

My son Narayana for some water

 

They tried to persuade him

You would have riches of life in heaven.

 

Riches never satisfied my hunger on earth

Why would I need them again?

 

They tried one last time

You can live close to Lord

 

Ajamila asked

Will I find my friends in the heaven

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List of Misfortunes of Pritha/Kunti

 

Her real father gave her away

As a charity

Her adopted father made her to

Sleep with a sage.

Her impotent husband wanted

Babies from her

Sex with three unknown strangers

Gave her three unique babies

Which along with two of

Her husband’s second wife

She mothered.

They were called the famous five

For a war they fought

For the land and the humiliation

 

At the same time

She fought a different war

In the silence

A god impregnated her in her precocious puberty

What was she supposed to do with her first born?

A mother helpless to even love her son

Abandonment came natural for her

She gave her first born to the river

A wound on her chest kept oozing the pus

Until it became a canker of her soul

 

Nothing cured her wound

Until she held the severed head

Of her first born to her bosom

Killed by her other son

At the end she was burnt alive

In a forest fire

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Bhisma of Turbulent Times

 

You have been stuck all your life

Because of promises –

You made to others

You shouldn’t have to make

You made to boost your fragile ego

Sucking up your time

Leaving no time for your promises

Colored your hair silver

Because of them

You hardly recognize yourself in the mirror

 

Your dreams cry when they see

Others dreams running ahead of them

Your dreams turn into teardrops to tell you

How could you, O fearsome,

Never promised to love yourself

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Rama O’ Rama

 

Neither have you broken a bow

Nor have I been picked from the furrow

Quite simply

I met you in shopping mall

And

Your sweet talk had me hooked

 

I keep staring at the bird of

Ambition which took you away

Faraway

A salty sea of tears filled

With deadly serpents

Stretched between us

Sprinkled with sharp mountains of

Wounded and bloodied egos

 

The seed of ruin sowed

At the time of your departure

Watered with tears

Fed with fertilizer of guilt

Gave rise to a tree

Under which

I took refuge

 

No monkey could help me

If your phone is always busy

Talking to someone you met in a faraway land

By a stroke of luck

Sursa believed how much I loved you

She spat me closer to you

 

Distance between us was erased

You shied away from me

When I wanted to hug you

Either you had become childish

Or I had grown obsessed

I felt we were still in different time zones

 

You said you’ve

Adapted to a different time zone

That didn’t deter me

‘Am I not the same girl

You met years ago?’

It doesn’t matter

Then what happened?

‘You aren’t a virgin anymore

I have heard

 

I turned away thinking

How could I go to Sursa alone

Who believed so much in my love?

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Arjuna’s dilemma

He doesn’t have a friend like Krishna

To teach him about what is right and wrong

While fighting the battle with loved ones

His own Kurukshetra

There are no cuts that ooze blood

No wounds that suppurate the skin

Not the memories but

Staggering internal conflict

Which oscillate every breathing minute

Taxes his brain

How can his loved ones understand a simple thing?

Like him, they can also be wrong

Alone

He wonders

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Temple Run

In front of temple

Females stand in a queue

Carrying a tray

With a milk packet and vermilion 

To touch a phallus

Encircled by a vagina,

Splattered red with vermilion,

Ejaculated milk dripping down the drain

 

No they shouldn’t have talked

Such impure things

While standing in the queue

They wouldn’t have been on a run

Had they not disparaged the temple

With their talk of menstruation and birth control

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Harishchandra’s Heaven and Hell

 

Stripped off from his kingdom

Noble king Harishchandra

Sold his wife Taramati to

An elderly man

Himself became a slave 

And worked in cemetery

To pay for Vishwamitra’ yagna

 

Few weeks later

When his wife came carrying

Their dead son in her arms

True to the fault

He demanded cremation fee

From his wife

But a slave has no money

 

After testing the king on every step

Of his life 

Vishwamitra finally said to him

“You will get a place in heaven.”

 

If something like this happened today

Honest Harishchandra must have said

“Who gives a fuck about heaven, old man?

You made my life living hell.”

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God and Dog

Ecstatic I was to see Him

So when I found God wandering

I followed Him

He was so much like us

Except for plastic monkey face,

Cheap flashy yellow clothes

And a tattered tail

To add to that

He wielded a plastic mace

 

Elders passed Him by without giving a look

Girls looked at him in suspicion

Knocking at the every door

He smiled with eyes

For the fear of dropping prosthetic

Or the character

Household owners shooed Him away like a mangy dog

 

Though children watched at Him in awe

Wondering whether all of their bedtime stories

Could turn out to be true

Yet they pondered

How could the one

Who was called ‘Problem-Solver’

Has no solution for dogs chasing Him

 

Somehow saving Himself from chasing dogs

Adjusting his tattered tail

He sat next to me on the chair in the cafe

Removing His face prosthetic

He asked for a hot tea

And fried bread stuffed with potatoes

 

“Silly people!”

God mumbled staring at people flocking His temple

Rather than Him

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