Equal

We are retold so very often
By folks our parents’ age
How we are all the same
Restless, wired up mistakes.

It is not as they say,
You are not me or the other way
Never has a generation come along
So wanting to be different

We aren’t turning out to be alike, I realize.
In appearance or otherwise
But every time I cry
From the misery which bias tags along
I wish we do.

Don’t get me wrong, I like being special too.
But I don’t want to be separate.
I’d rather be alike.

Alike.
No glass ceilings holding me back
No eve teasing scaring me
No history to prove wrong
No closed doors to step out from

Alike.
When you can’t make out whether I am a woman or a man
Would love at first sight still count?
When you cannot make out whether I am black or white,
Would you really be thinking of ways to hurt?

Alike.
I wouldn't mind that quite
To not love based on race, status, façade, gender.
I want to fall in love without love laws
I want to fall in love with what you have or have lost.

Alike.
When I am done falling in love with your story
Then maybe you can tell me your gender
So that I can figure out whether I am straight or gay.
Instead of having to start out the other way.

Alike.
Viewing the world as a blind person does.
Without any presumptions to make on sight.
Maybe, make a little with smell and noise.
But mostly on chatter and poise.

Alike.
When I hold your hand in mine,
And when I raise that hand to make a line
Or drop a blow, I recall that we are fellows
Identical but with different truths.

Alike.
Maybe someday I will more than brown
And my mind will be more than my body
Maybe someday everyone will finally see me
And I will know what the word equal means.

Why I write

To be the thing they call “timeless”
Like the night sky full of stars or a kid’s laugh
It will always move you, no matter your age
or the era the world exists in.

To be the thing they call “soothing”
Like a bowl of khichdi or a nap on my mother’s lap
It will always relieve pain some, no matter the hurt
Or the wars the world dwells in.

To be the thing they call “pointless”
Like a walk down memory lane or the pursuit of art
It will always be worthless but for your soulmate
Or the world that values pain

To be the thing they call “beauty”
Like an overcast sky or a gorgeous man
It will always vanish but in the eyes of the beholder
Or the world that the writer creates.

To be the thing they call “history”
Like a sculpture or Rembrandt’s paintings,
It will always be relevant as an evidence of humanity
Or a world that changes with every blink.

And I write to remember every moment that made me sigh.

(Inspired by an artcile Why I write - by Reginald Shepherd: http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/why-i-write)

Dogs

When I was a little kid, I hated anything that moved besides humans. Actually, some humans too. I was never an animal lover and this feeling magnified after the following incident.

I was "blue house" prefect in the fourth standard. And prefects in my school wore white uniforms. Everyone else wore brown uniforms. So I was pretty cool in shiny white shoes and my shiny white pleated dress and my blue tie. I usually walked to school with my brothers or my friends through a 'galli' which took me 10 mins to reach it.

It was open house day. My brother, my mom and I were walking to school when I suddenly remembered that I had left free coupons to buy story books at the school book sale at home. I insisted we all walk back home but since my brothers had pretty much learnt to ignore me by the time I was 9, my brother refused, saying that he was late for the open house. So I suggested that I would walk back myself and get them while they could go ahead and I would meet them in school. It was a mere suggestion. I didn't think in my wildest dreams that my mother would agree. She did.

So I walked back home quite easily, picked up my coupons and started on my way back. When I entered the galli, I noticed some sinister looking dogs checking me out. The galli was full of them but it also had houses so I knew I was safe and nothing would happen. I started walking. They started following me. I thought it was their normal path to take to their usual loitering business so I continued. But then a thought struck me, a terrified 9 year old in white uniform seemed like the perfect target for loitering sinister strays.

So I started running. I think that is what I do when I am scared, I run. So I did. And to my horror, the dogs started running behind me. About 4 of them.

When I narrate this story I make sure, it sounds like a story of terror because it is. When my brother repeats the story, (which he of course does) it sounds like a funny one. It is not a funny story.

So I still remember with vivid details, the dogs running behind me and I running for my life. After a good 2 minute run which seemed like a lifetime, I fell on something that was metal. I hurt myself and was bleeding profusely, while simultaneously crying like only 9 year olds can. At the top of my voice.

The dogs stopped near me and were about to bite me to pieces. (The dogs stopped near me and started sniffing me.)

When my saviour arrived, dressed in a blue saree, she threw a stone at the dogs. The dogs ran away. She picked me up and saw my knees and elbows bleeding. My uniform looked like it had been washed in blood. My shiny white uniform was red.

But I survived.

PS: I did get tetanus injections though. And my brother has been repeating that story ever since. But I survived.