Nightmares of the living

She sits like a zombie, staring blankly ahead at the computer screen. Her mind also feels blank or maybe not, because there are a number of random thoughts swimming in her head.

Lately, she has been bored with life. She feels like there is no purpose to her existence. She is living a routine life just to earn some money and survive.

Today, as she read C.K. Meena's 'Dreams for the Dying', she felt her life and experiences could just as well be those of the women characters portrayed in the book. An unmarried woman's unexpected encounter with a charming stranger in the train, a married woman's stray thoughts as she lives a dual life, an old widow's retrospection of 'what could have been' if she had acted differently during some of those rare moments in her past.

Coming to this city was a big mistake, she thought. It had robbed her of her happiness, and her eagerness for life and living. Or maybe, she was too much in love with the 'city of dreams' to give a fair chance to any other place in the world, she thought. But she couldn't help it, for she sorely missed the crowds, the spontaneity of life and the humanity in Bombay. Everything moved like clockwork in that bustling city. Nobody had time to waste and everybody went about their business like busybody ants. And how she loved to melt in the crowd and be just another face in that sea teeming with millions. Nobody stared at her, nobody tried to touch her; she felt free.

She had no secrets. Somebody or the other knew one or the other thing about her. She couldn't say, 'I haven't told anybody this', or 'Nobody knows this about me'. That was perhaps why she was a boring person, she felt.

Death. And life

To die

To just collapse and go with the wind

My moment will come when i push out the life inside me

A life for a life

AMEN

Monday mourning

It turned out to be a day of death and dying.
There was the office guy she couldn't care less about
But his mug in the obit shocked her.
Then there was the friend's mother
Whose passing away seemed a cruel joke.
And last, a father, on TV
Just an act, thank heavens.
It eludes you, when you pray for it
Starve yourself, court danger.
But when you seize the day
Live life to the hilt, happy
Death creeps up on you
Like a cold breath at the back of your neck.

On the rocks

He continued to devour her with an appetite that seemed unsatiated, after all these years.

To her, at best, it was unconscious coupling.

Love. Humbug!

Strange love this is, my love

Your love strangulates me. Intoxicates

I'm pained to the point of bleeding

Numbed to the point of dying

Yet, there appears no relief, no love

How much longer will we go on?

How much longer should we prolong?

Strange love this is, my love

Behold

The eyes know. They have seen them all. They have said it all.
They have a mind of their own. They are worse than the heart.
Culprits, they don't let you hide, they tell no lies.
You are defeated, betrayed, by your eyes.

Yet another day!

For Zaara who always kissed her mom and dad goodnight,
For Yamini who shared her father's bed so he wouldn't go near her paralysed mother,
For Xena who led her daughter down the aisle,
For Wahida who uses the weighing scale as a footstool in her loo,
For Vanitha who bit into her shoulder when the cop marauded her body, so her man could flee,
For Urmila who got through school and college cleaning floors,
For Thangam who hopes for a baby girl so she can finally have a doll,
For Sunaina who writes 'erotic literature' for her girlfriends,
For Rose who likes a good butt on a man,
For Qismat who thinks pink colour sucks,
For Palak who has a crush on her brother's girlfriend,
For Ofelia who runs into her mother's arms after school every evening,
For Nisha who longs for yet another glimpse of her neighbour's hot son,
For Meena who does not miss karate even during her periods,
For Lekha who wakes up every morning with heavy make-up on so her little ones don't notice the fingerprints on her face,
For Kanchan who likes to roughhouse with her girls,
For Jessy who took her uncle to court for molesting her,
For Indu who carries pepper spray in her hand-bag,
For Harshita who likes roti with manchurian gravy,
For Gayatri who is the life of every party,
For Fathima who went as her twin to the driving test,
For Eva who loves to do it on the dining table,
For Donna who hopes the boyfriend will remember the anniversary this year,
For Chanda who eats from her husband's plate,
For Bani who is yet to be kissed
And for Arunima who refuses to give up even as her mind and body desert her.
For all the women we are...

ON WOMEN'S DAY