Saturn Child

Bittersweet Orange

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 07:29:00 +0000

When I am with you
The life I know and am used to
Turns sublime
Faces turn radiant
And places release the smells of new soils
From deep inside their bellies
As if someone re-ploughed them
Overnight
People started talking marmalade
- and who doesn't succumb to the flavour of bittersweet orange!

I wake up eager and excited
Not to face what the day holds,
But to see its face,
Dreary, racing, peaceful, sinister,
In every shade and pattern
And I'm taken to realize:
There is nothing that resembles a straight line
Which also breathes life

Sometimes when I let my mind open
Things flutter in, bright and violent
With the speed of a reckless racer
Who has you gripping the edge of your seat
While his car waltzes with the asphalt
Drawing careening circles and tyres screeching
Because that's really how knowledge is:
Violent, it shatters your world

Sometimes when I let my mouth open
Things flow out, sweet and musical
With the disposition of a good dancer
Whose hands and feet find patterns in rhythm
Flowing in and out of it with purpose
So unfalteringly thread my thoughts and words
Not because I am more eloquent or wiser
But for the new meaning I have found
In my existence
Since I threw myself in with you

The lonely times of before were a sham -
I see that now -
The illusions of a mind bent on self-destruction
Fighting against an intrinsic nature
That demands love, company and respect
In ceding the victory of that innateness
And in losing my mind
I found you
And then I found everything
Exactly the way it should be

Transformation

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 05:26:00 +0000

Fallen Rock in a hidden cave,
Who will see you
now that the tide is high?
Who will graze their skins on your edges
now that you no longer hold your head up high?

Betrayed a mountain, didn't you?
Carved a niche for yourself,
but a scar to your kind
and lost all claim to worthiness.

Fallen Rock all that's left
is for you to die:
The sea will shatter you,
The wind will scatter you
while those that once protected you
will watch on guiltless.

All is lost, you might say.
What good it is
To buy freedom and lose yourself?
But some say there is joy
in not belonging
and yet belonging everywhere.

Fallen Rock, look at your fate,
Search for the Joys in your existence:
They are at the end of your paths.
Everytime, you move forward
they stay behind
content in themselves (can Joy ever not be?)

Only Isolation followed you,
only Pain knew the way,
only Rejection served you
when you died and became
Something new.

Raindrops or Teardrops

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 23:28:00 +0000

Have you ever kissed a raindrop?
A little one, a bulging one,
Just any one that fell from up there
And showered you
Celebrating life?

Have you ever kissed a teardrop?
A salty one, a bitter one,
Just any one that rolled down your cheek
And quenched you
Comforting hurt?

For today when
I beheld the morning,
My lips brushed both
Raindrop and teardrop,
And my heart betrayed itself
With the quandary
Of whose bride I would become.

Bare-footed

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 23:22:00 +0000

If hearts were fairer
You wouldn’t tell me
To walk bare-footed upon the sand
Where buried rocks
Sever soles of my
Beating nub’s footsteps
For once when I
Was brimming dare
To nest my hand in yours
You showed me stars
Then in a flick
I blinked and you were gone

Lessons taught
Remain unlearnt
As still I yearn to cross
The wobbly bridge
That buttons up
An ever-widening chasm of trust
My feet are sore

The Hunting

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 23:20:00 +0000

Atop a hill of sunburnt clandestine ruins bore
A brown, stony temple to creatures of gore
The chisel had much strived to keep them alive
One of them green, scaled and sublime

Hither, thither as one would gaze I did
A stalker just two-step behind detected
I scanned the floor but perceived no one near
Nor the walls, nor the ceilings nearby

One cautious tread and another, eyes shut
Fear clutching the echelons of my gut
A swish and a swipe, a long shadowy stripe
But no mortal to partake the crime

Colossal figurine adorning centre-square
Crown of vultures circling the upper air
Then the wind stopped still as a cry so shrill
Pierced the body of calmness

One must run when chased by nothing
A wrestle with emptiness is sheer losing
Down derelict stairway, sprint of frenzied sashay
Symmetrical beads of sweat of a deer, hunted

White sparkle from the dying setting sun
Offered my exhaustion visual diversion
My eyes traced the light only to meet fright
Dark silhouette cutting the ambers

Twilight mystifies the nascent weary mind
Wheedling idiocy into its realms and rind
Training the energies to the max of their faculties
If only to satisfy vulgar curiosity

My seeker had wings, the leap of a frog
Odourless, cold-blooded in every cog
Her penetrating stare stood the ends of my hair
Her message caked in challenge

My heart charged like an overheated kiln
Limbs bolstered with fresh shots of adrenalin
Wild instinct surged into each cell, torchbearer from Hell
My corpse purged off every limitation

The walls I scaled, and beams, pivoted
Each stone I picked, crushed or compacted
Thus night flowed by, moon’s tragic lullaby
And the hunter became the hunted

Daybreak came scouring the dwindling lights
Stealing of darkness, her invisible delights
My guise hardly kosher, footprints stepped over and over
Then my target held out a smiling paw

Bewilderment, like poison crept on steadily
The corners of my mouth contorted uneasily
She took my hand as if she had all this planned
And vanished in the wake of my reverie

A Poem on Tissue

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 23:16:00 +0000

I wrote you a poem on tissue
Isn't that the way our love
is too? Like tissue?

White and pure, soft
and delicate?
Soaking our experiences into
its porous fibre
and holding them there to
be cherished?

But let us be wary, darling,
not to overdo it
Lest our tissue soak
up much - too much -
and fall apart
into shreds:
the litter of memories

Day by day, let us
breathe too
and dry our love
that our experiences may hold
more than
just feelings

Let come from it learning:
It's the little spaces that
keep the universe in
One Piece

And our love, transparent
and light, will take us places
on wheels
that turn with
each breath of God -

He knows
how to handle
Tissue

Heartbreak

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 23:13:00 +0000

Oh I wish I had two hearts instead of one
So I could still live with one of them broken
Heartbreak makes me feel like this inevitably
God knows how many I've been through already

I'm one of those people who wear their heart on their sleeve
Shining and pulsating with jubilance and ease
Waiting to fall into the hands of the first handsome lad
But jumping out too early and hurting itself real bad

My friends call me "merciless mouth" and "Peter practical"
Vehemently believing me to be not an ounce sentimental
Truly in most matters I am incorrigibly pragmatic
But get down to the heart and I'm a hopeless romantic

Rejection is always followed by tears and depression
Suicidal tendencies tend to gain momentum
But this worn-out-yet-brave heart still dares to live
Coaxing Lady Luck to bestow another chance itself to give

Tomorrow's Girl

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 22:55:00 +0000

Why do you stare aimlessly
into my eyes?
Why do you not tire easily
of my charms?
The rest of the world is surely
more inviting than my arms

Why do you talk unceasingly
of our future?
Why do you not think warily
of our plans?
Scaling the Everest is definitely
more exciting than building clans

Why do you swap devotedly
'I' for 'we'?
Why do you chant endlessly
'I love you'?
Tomorrow I will have changed already
From the girl you love to someone new

Home is Where the Hearth is

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 22:52:00 +0000

Three degrees
minus wind chill factor
and no boyfriend to keep me warm
My ears quiver
at each whisper of the frost
My feet leave the sleet
with soft, wet kisses
My nose leads the way
home,
where the hearth is ...

Distance

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 22:42:00 +0000

Catch the dying ray of sun
And swing out over the ocean
like Tarzan
While the water sprays your feet
And flying fish snap at your toes.
Swing out to the sliver of moon
Meet its wide smile with a bear hug,
outstretched arms
Then cast into the vast space around
A moon rock as easy as they come.
And if you follow its path
You'll see it leads to me:
tiny speck
Standing down below on earth
Just a stone's throw away

Joy and Pain

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 22:23:00 +0000

I pine for you everyday
as I fold memories
into the creases of my brain

Each time I think of you
my heart surges
with both joy and pain

Joy, for those happy days
that I thought would never end
Joy, for those castles
that I built in the air
Joy, for each image of you
that I can recall

And all the pain in the world
for knowing that never again
will I ever have it all

Chanting 'Om'

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 22:19:00 +0000

Chanting ‘Om’, chanting ‘Om’
Twelve planets orbiting the sun
A thousand sun, a many moon
Multipart in unified croon

Chanting ‘Om’, chanting ‘Om’
Two seedlings apart were sown
I know not you, you know not me
Yet sisters be eternally

Chanting ‘Om’, chanting ‘Om’
The heirs to one Kingdom
Rainbows of string, threads issuing
The one Weaver nods all-knowing

Here Comes the Night

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 22:14:00 +0000

Here comes the Night!
Dispassionately black
Creeping up the trellis
Of the restless buzzing city
Dispensing her shadows
To every nook and crack
Here comes the Night!
To claim her monopoly

Here comes the Night!
With mischief in her face
Her satin-smooth lingerie
Tantalizing cruelly
She shrouds the future
Revealing just a trace
Here comes the Night!
Luring all with chicanery

Here comes the Night!
Her heart dipped in malice
...

As she whispers treachery
Into every which ear
The rogue, she favors
With assassins, she sallies
Here comes the Night!
With terror to sear

Here comes the Night!
Her eyes misty gray
Counting the beggar’s losses
Reviving dismal memories
The looking-glass cracks
When it catches her sashay
Here comes the Night!
To sing doleful harmonies

Here comes the Night!
Sangfroid she does whet
She'll sing you into slumber
In the cradle of your hearth
While she lathers you hungrily
To suck out your last breath
Here comes the Night! Beware!
She rules half the earth.

I Can Drown in You

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 22:01:00 +0000

Some nonsense poetry for fun!

Two solar eclipses concurrently
Embellishing the heavenly skies
Dark, deep, still pools surrounded
By the snows of Antartica
My mind’s beacon in your eyes
Which speak of a million stories
Your eyes as warm as buried sea-turtle eggs
Your eyes, your eyes
I can drown in them

Mount Fiji and Mount Kilimanjaro
Together and side by side
Sharp contours from their foothills
Like the bottom of the Nile
Depict with accuracy so precise
The shape your lips define
Your lips as juicy as garden-fresh red tomatoes
Your lips, your lips
I can drown in them

Like India protruding from Asia
A bud of land divine
But softer yet as a waterbed
On which making love is sublime
That bulge of your earlobe
That you can’t perceive
Your earlobes as tender as sour pickled olives
Your ears, your ears
I can drown in them

The Grand Canyon, twisting, fidgeting
With each gusty, windy caress
Lathered with milk and honey
Sloping down from the crest
Your neck bewitching my mind
And flowing to shoulders perfect
Your neck as smooth as a long white pumpkin
Your neck, your nape
I can drown in them

The numerous craters of the moon
Only turned inside out
And few large ones of earth
That wiped out the dinosaurs
Like your curves do to me
Making me alive to my senses
Your curves as sizzling as grilled jumbo prawns
Your curves, your curves
I can drown in them

This world a myriad of collusions
Your universe conspiring mine
Exploding with multiple nebulae
Lurking the cess of black holes
Our auras beating synchronously
Yours engulfing me full up
Your body as inebriating as sweet clear Chardonnay
Your spirit, your soul
I can drown in them

Pretty Flower

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 21:54:00 +0000

Pretty flower, I watch you
Rose, in petticoats of passionate pink
Holding your head up, indifferent
To my admiring gaze
Perhaps if you were still
Adorning your branch,
Not rotting away
In this swan-shaped white vase
You might have reciprocated
With shy acknowledgement

The Wind

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 21:46:00 +0000

Slightly
sweeps the
noon silver
of wind

Waltzing the
leaves in
one rhythm

wind, blow
firm, shoo my
cares away

weave me into
your floral
ballet

Soft Love

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 21:39:00 +0000

Love, touch me sweetly softly shy
Love, feel me what my thoughts belie
Love, show me all unimagined
Love, fly me on the wings of wind
Love, hold me till they scream: my veins
Love, hurt me till they bleed: my pains
Love, seed the flower over where I lie
Love, hover nigh as a butterfly

Letting Go

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 15:09:00 +0000

I tried loving and letting go and not just once. But it doesn’t make any sense to me anymore. Part of loving is ownership; the other part is responsibility. Ownership of the loved by the one that loves and responsibility of the loved for the one that loves.

There is no such thing as letting go, because the act of loving itself causes an exchange in the metaphysical universe. And there is no such thing as unreciprocated love because although love may not be reciprocated with love, there is always something exchanged: pity, tolerance, forbearance, contempt, disrespect.

When I choose not to reciprocate love with love, I must take responsibility for what I offer to the exchange, how I choose to treat another human being. In any case, making this choice will condemn a part of my soul to eternal loss. And in every life I live, with so many unreciprocated loves, I keep losing a bigger chunk of my soul. Until one day, I have no soul at all. And I cease to exist.

I hope that you will consider forgiving me for not reciprocating your love with love. Thanks to my actions, all I have in store for me is the suffering of eternal loss and the shame of knowing how I treated you. It will not bring me any happiness; it will only take away from any chance that I have at happiness. Knowing your capacity for love, you probably will not gloat about my situation. But I hope that it will move you enough to consider forgiving me.

I know it’s ironic how you gave before what I didn`t want and I`m asking you now to give again. But if you don`t, you have chosen how to treat me, another human being, and I`m sorry it had to be this way. Maybe things would have worked out better if you hadn`t tried to let me go in the first place. Because see, I`m still here and you`re still trying to let me go.

You say you`ve moved on, but you still own my memory. You say that life went on for you, but you still wince at my rejection. You say that you accepted my decision, but that was a part of me too. Please stop trying to let me go, because you know you can`t. Life doesn`t just go on; it takes everything along with it and doesn`t slow down to be more careful. It rushes headlong into the path of death and only then is everything really let go.

If you are bent on letting me go, you would have to die. And I would not be able to accept responsibility for that. I guess, given the circumstances, my only viable option is to love you right back. Thank you for allowing me to make this journey in understanding. And thank you for loving and not letting me go.

Two Fat Tomatoes

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 18:35:00 +0000

“Two fat tomatoes,
juicy ones, ripe red -
get me them. Will you please?”
he said.

“Oh God!
What a horror!
I want you out of my kitchen
By tomorrow.”

“But darling,”
he protests, “I
promised to cook.”

“So what?”
said she,
giving him the LOOK.

“Don’t you want me to?”
said he,
teasing with his voice
of burnt honey.

“Of course I do
but not like this.
Help yourself
pliss”

“But babe
don’t you see
how easy it would be
if two could work together as one”

“That’s just like you”,
she said turning on heel,
“Trying to get a bargain
On every little deal”

“I’m sorry that’s
The way you feel
But I’m only trying to connect with a part of me
That wants to peel

And chop and cut
And pare.
Now do you mind putting on the boiler there?”
“Oh I do” and she held up
her fresh manicure.
“I could ruin it if only you
would pay for one more”

“Alright, alright!”
He held up his hands
“I’m not going to start this fight”

“Smart move, wise boy.
Now back to cooking
Until then,
let me finish my Facebooking”

He came out
With a plate.
“Here’s your lunch”
“Well about time. It’s late.”

She tasted. He waited.
“Mmm, that’s good.
But it would have been better with tomatoes.”

“Why darling,
you may be right,
But incompetent little me,
With no culinary history
could only manage to season it with drippings from my nose.”

Ode to an Old Black Phone

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 29 Dec 2008 17:37:00 +0000

Tring! Tring!
In muted ebony,
Why don't you sing?
Do your ring thing?
Or are you just a phoney
shot in a pixel-rich Sony?

Do you have ringtones?
Dialertones?
Pushbutton record-ability
for moans and groans?
Mp3 playability
for Norah Jones?
Sms-ing for my doctor
or Baskin Robin cones?

Well I hate to come clean
But from this side of the screen
You're nothing better than a "has-been".

Being Lost

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Tue, 13 May 2008 03:36:00 +0000

What happened to the Child
Glued to its own shadow?
What happened to the Wind
That blew itself away?
What happened to the Time
Speeding on towards expiration?
What happened?

This man stands reading a map
Drawn in a strange pen:
His fingertip underscores 'Home',
But everywhere else is
The ‘X’ that marks his spot

This darkness is deeper still,
And the players are blind.
Victory chooses one side,
But who cares -
We are lost!

Too Late

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Fri, 23 Feb 2007 02:38:00 +0000

I watched you watch me
In a silent eye-lock
With your fidgeting hands
Tentatively reaching for
the idea I couldn’t see

I watched the colours
That flashed on your face:
Disbelief
Disgust
Disapproval
Dislike

Like a thin disease,
Like blinds shutting out the lights,
Like a haunted chasm sprung out of nowhere,
Like a freeway stretch growing longer and longer

Leaving me
With unspoken words
And my faulty instant
Damage-control plan

I watched and I stood,
An inert spectator
To the growing void
Between you and me

I watched even when
I knew it was over
Could something so precious
Be lost in an instant?
Your firm chin answers

What did I say?
What did you hear me say?
I'll take it back.
I'll withdraw it.
But I can't, can I,
Take back words
That have already
Changed our universe?

I watched “our universe”
Unbecome itself

I watched myself
Go back in time
To change a moment,
Swallow my anger,
Stomp my ego,
Not say anything,
Still have everything

I watched hope die
And knew then
That I’m all alone,
That it’s just
Too Late

Drowsy Noon

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Fri, 20 Oct 2006 05:08:00 +0000

I feel so light in the pit of my stomach;
perhaps my lunch has gone to my head.

The Coffee Shop at Blomdale

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Mon, 10 Apr 2006 22:10:00 +0000

The coffee shop at Blomdale was drab: white linen dressed the tables and tumblers made of thick glass stood upturned at corners. There was no one around. Even the waiter seemed reluctant to fill up the glasses with water. However, when he finally got to it, he placed the F&B menu on the table and vanished.

Janaki was only impressed by this last vanishing act. She hated how most waiters would stand over her shoulder making imperceptible impatient noises. Maybe this was the best thing about agreeing to the coffee shop rather than a Barista which was a five-minute walk away. She sipped the water and messaged Vikas. The reply said he would be there in ten minutes.

Janaki took a deep breath and sunk further into her chair feeling millions of tiny muscles stretch luxuriously and go limp. She set her bag in the next chair and carelessly smiled at the room around her thinking about how anonymous the room was. You could relax here, she thought. This was much better than the noisy Barista. Her apprehension about Vikas settled. She stopped doubting that he had any dubious motive in suggesting the coffee shop over a Barista. It was clear that he wouldn't have been able to find his way to the Barista on the main road from Blomdale where he had put up. After all, this was on her way and she would also not have parking hassles. She lazily glanced at the menu and smsed her boyfriend.

When Vikas walked into the coffee shop, she had fallen into an almost hypnotic state coming to only when he stood smiling at her for a few seconds. Janaki smiled and greeted him awkwardly. She almost gasped when he suddenly lunged towards her and pulled her into a firm hug. She did her best to keep the smile intact; they had hugged before after all.

"Would you like to come up to my room?" asked Vikas. "I can make us some chai, or coffee - whatever you like."

The question was worded innocently enough. There wasn't any suspicious body language or sign. He didn't deepen his tone or wet his lips. It was a polite invitation to his room at the hotel which she politely declined.

"No thanks. I'm quite comfortable here."

I'm very happy to see you, Janaki", said Vikas as he got into the chair opposite her.

He looked at her directly in the eye and she struggled to stop blushing. She told herself to grow up and mumbled, "Yeah, me too." critically considering whether that was the right thing to say. A 50 cent track started playing itself in her head: just a little bit.

The waiter appeared miraculously and took their order. Vikas asked if she would like to eat something; she declined. They began talking a little about him and what he was doing in Hyderabad. Vikas had a matter-of-fact way of talking about himself, about how rich and successful he was and how passionate he was about everything he did. Janaki knew about it already, of course. She had heard stories and whispers and gossip but that was nothing compared to hearing it from the man himself, how he started from scratch and went on to build an empire. Anyone would be easily impressed.

What was probably more flattering was the fact that he had wanted to meet her. He had messaged her before coming to Hyderabad and asked very modestly if she would be free to see him. Janaki had been curious about his interest in her and had agreed almost at once although she was a little perturbed that he was willing to alter his trip to her convenience. But Janaki was not new to the culture of 'air kissing'. She had taught herself to feign nonchalance towards acts of chivalry.

Vikas asked pertinent questions about her life and her work. Janaki was impassioned. This was what she could talk about for hours: her plans; her career; what she thought and speculated; the logical map of reasoning that she followed in making choices. Her eyes lit up, she leaned forward gesticulating. And then for no particular reason at all, Vikas stood up, crossed the table to her side and drew her into another awkward hug.

Through her formative years Janaki had painfully accepted that hugging had become a necessary social nicety. As a rule she never hugged for any reason at all, except maybe as a genuine gesture of friendship or comfort. But these days, just about everyone was huggable anytime whether you knew them since forever, or just met them a minute ago. Social hugging was easier for her when she was either drunk or just preoccupied. Now she was neither and she debated resisting the hug. But her memory took her back to the first time she had met Vikas. He had hugged her then many times, at every 'hi' and 'bye'. He had hugged a lot of other people too. He was simply one of those huggable rich and successful people. Janaki let herself be hugged.

But just as her mind adjusted to the idea of being hugged, Vikas planted a quick peck on her cheek. She liked to think it was her cheek but it was almost at the corner of her mouth. Her body stiffened involuntarily. Vikas drew back unperturbed and confident. He took his place and resumed their conversation.

Conversations, especially intelligent conversations were not something you came across on a daily basis. Janaki yearned for them everyday and she was in one. Vikas encouraged her overtures about her career plans. He dished out advice and tips. He was like a supportive elder brother, or a cousin, or an uncle, who understood what you needed and how you wanted to get it.

Frequently he asked her to apply for a job at his company; Janaki even suspected that perhaps the agenda of this meeting was more in the nature of a radical interview. But Vikas also reached across the table often to hold and squeeze Janaki's hand. Her feelings about hand holding and squeezing were not unlike those of hugging, a social pill swallowed with some difficulty.

Refills of their respective beverages were ordered and as the conversation progressed, Vikas had slipped in between chunks of career talk and advice a little jewel. "Janaki, I want to see you again. Do you want to?"

The question was innocent enough once again, but this time he had seemed to deepen his voice and he was wetting his lips - or just finishing his chai? Again she wasn't sure how to respond to this question. Perhaps her level of social sophistication wasn't high enough. So she mumbled again, "Yeah, OK."

A snake-like smile spread over Vikas's face. Janaki looked out the window next to their table. She hadn't looked at it since he had arrived. But now she saw it was dark. The slow discomfort that had been creeping into her mind since Vikas stepped into the coffee shop began to stay. She couldn't tell herself to grow up anymore. She was confused and only sensed a need to get away as quickly as possible.

Janaki knew she had a strong sixth sense, but she had never learned to trust it intensely. She had, however, learnt to give people the benefit of doubt. She had learnt to be optimistic. That was how she looked at it when finally Vikas offered to walk her to her scooter that was parked in the hotel's premises. They were located behind the building in a dark isolated area. In fact, a part of her mind was glad to have an escort.

The site of the scooter reassured her. It was her getaway from Blomdale, from Vikas. She put on her jacket and scarf. Vikas offered to button up her jacket, but she declined again. She was about to don her helmet when he stepped forward, held her shoulders and kissed her on her mouth through her scarf. She stood rooted with shock, still disbelieving that she was in the middle of what was going on. Emboldened, Vikas cupped her face and drew closer to repeat his feat, but without the hindrance of the scarf. Janaki turned her face away and quickly put on her helmet. There was a 'no' and a 'stop' muttered somewhere during that scuffle but she wasn't sure if they had just been thoughts or real words. The thought that she should slap him came as an afterthought, but of what use was an afterthought. There were also the significant afterthoughts of the parking being isolated and the traffic outside making a din that would stifle any scream.

The scooter turned into a primary target. She had to direct all her efforts at getting on it and being off. Vikas stood near smiling as if he had accomplished something or was close to it. His manner was crazily assuring in itself but consistently and increasingly discomforting to Janaki. It was only after she had passed the gate of Blomdale and was well on her way that she allowed herself to breath.

Bitterness swelled in her mind and anger at herself for allowing the episode with Vikas to happen. She called her boyfriend and told him about it. She told him how badly she wanted to revenge the shame, guilt and stupidity. But he annoyed her even further by laughing it off. "I told you so." His lack of concern was frustrating, but his sense of humour over the incident was appalling. A week later, their relationship ended.

Vikas and his antics settled on the back burner while Janaki dealt with the romance of a broken heart. She almost forgot about the intense shame and rage she had felt, until his wife smsed one early morning. "Why didn't you tell me that Vikas kissed you against your will?"

The memory resurfaced, but only partially. It was only later that she understood what had really happened to her. It was when Vikas smsed. "My distraught wife only just informed me that I had molested you. It seems your boyfriend told her. Did he have your blessings?"

She finally understood. She had been molested. It still didn't seem real.

Procrastination

noreply@blogger.com (raindanseuse) — Thu, 16 Mar 2006 07:57:00 +0000

Waiting for outcomes, relief
quietly, painfully watching
days, hours, minutes float away;
Waiting for healing

Waiting for resolution, clarity:
goodness stripped off
its bad disguise, evil
scattered in the wind;
Waiting for sunshine

Waiting for conversations, understanding
moments that share everything
naked, revealed unabashedly;
Waiting for the perfect body

Waiting for peace, serenity,
a mind reorganized:
thoughts on shelves,
feeling in drawers,
doubts packed in suitcases;
Waiting for success

Waiting for the right moment
to do and say the right thing
to the right person;
Waiting to grow up