PINK

Pink has always been associated with the fairer sex. Isn't that a stereotypical notion? Rightly, perfectly named 'Pink', this film is undoubtedly one of Bollywood's best outcomes, a great achievement that will be remembered for ages from now.

Pink is more than just a film; it is the true facet of today's Indian society, and maybe the same or worse for many other countries around the world.

I will not talk about a single scene enacted in this movie. Yes, no spoilers for those who haven't watched it yet. But trust me when I say this: this piece of reality-turned-movie is a masterpiece. Be it the dramatic storyline weaved intensely, or be it the amazing performance by the veteran actor Amitabh Bachchan; be it Taapsee Pannu and her two friends' heart-touching deliverance of voice and acting skills, or be it the director Aniruddha Roy Chowdhury's sheer dedication in making this movie, everything will strike a chord in your heart.

Pink makes us think about the feudal mindset people are still harboring within them. Pink makes us realize the consequences of remaining silent and in turn, empowers the woman in us. Pink gives us the courage to face the judgmental world and Pink teaches us to face even the worst of the circumstances bravely.

All the actors have done justice to their characters and strongly enacted scenes display the strength they had to gather to enact them out. Last but not the least, the concluding poem recited by Amitabh Bachchan gets you goosebumps and if you are a woman, you will surely walk out of the theater as a more empowered being.

Note: 'No' means 'No'. 'No' is a word that does not need further explanation. Learn to step back when you are denied of anything.
This is a subtle hint about what the movie revolves around and to better understand it, watch 'PINK'.

I am a Mess of the Heart's Litters

                                                                                                   

The air of realization says that

Wearing red does not make any difference.

These past few months I have bled enough

Enough for the red shawls to soak in.

My hair’s a pretty bun. Pinned.

My shoes speak of less walked soles.

The perfume that I wear carries my grace.

Yet, nothing makes a difference.

I am a mess of the heart’s litters.                                                     

 Does it upset you?

That I still walk straight into your mind?

That my memories still burn you between your thighs?

Even your upsetting does not make a difference.

I am indeed a mess of the heart’s litters

Like seashell necklaces

Worn by fisher-women

Adorning their raw fish-smelling necks.

Poetry Begins Where Tears Come to an End

Disposing the last moments before dawn
to the life-taking pain in my heart
I get a feeling that my dreams are losing their way
in darkness, and the fireflies imparting
the faintest rays of hope to them…
With no regrets but sadness
Taking the handful of life’s best memories
to be thrown into the deepest river
I realize that poetry comes to the lips
When tears come to an end.
The brightest rays of the sun are not what I need
to warm my freezing mind
But the full moon’s soothing serenity
to calm my dying mind,
Suffering from strangulation by
the handful of life’s best memories.

US..AND ALL THE BROKENNESS

His lucid verses giggle like the dancing brook,

Sometimes flow like a silent river

Figuring mysteries of the broken heart

And oftentimes, twinkles among the stars.

My verses tend to picture the dew-soft meadow

Looking at the blue infinity,

Counting birds and clouds,

Numbering the hearts that I have torn

and the many hearts

That have left their imprints on mine.

Together we are one.

The hundred words that form

a wreath of silent understanding,

Taking words to the dark infinity

Stealthily, carefully,

where dwells perfect peace!

TERRACOTTA TRANCE

Moulded beautifully into curves and edges
My dreams had their own palette of colors.
Some black, some white, some grey, some red
Some saddened, some gay, some thoughtful
And yet some shallow
My dreams had their own set of beliefs.

But each had a life of its own,
Photographic moments in them
My thoughts had their own place to dwell.

Some dawns turned into evenings
While I burned them slowly
In broad daylight, and some
Melted in my mind
Quietly into memories.
And even some remained there
Passively enough but lighting the path
That is taking me to the destination
That my earthy dreams are making since.

SILENT SCREAMS

“Hush everyone!” The English teacher of the third standard of B.H. Public School silenced the noisy class. Rimi, sitting in one corner of the classroom, oblivious of her surrounding stared through the open window, gazing at the trees. The leaves dancing in the mild breeze calmed her inside.

“Open your textbooks.” The English teacher said. And after around forty minutes the last lesson of the day was over. The last bell rang and all the children rushed to their respective buses, cheerful, shouting and laughing aloud. Rimi tip-toed towards her bus. Among her friends in the bus she felt like the marooned sailor in an island without a game to score.

After lunch she heard her uncle in the other room laughing aloud to a joke that her father cracked. The afternoon nap with her mother beside her makes her feel relaxed and protected to a great extent. And after the badminton sessions every evening she often comes tired but she is bound to study with her uncle while her mother watches her favorite TV series and her father manages his accounts or goes to the market. Deepak uncle hasn’t married yet and lives with their family as he is the closest cousin of her father and his business partner. And Deepak uncle is the one in the family who takes care of Rimi’s lessons too. Almost every evening. But the little girl has been silenced to a great extent since a few days. She does not understand that touch on her shoulders that slips down to her underwear while her uncle teaches her. His hand stops only at certain places in her body. She felt some kind of an unknown agony and her heartbeats became faster when she felt that intimidating thing between her uncle's thighs. Now her vulnerable soul was at the mercy of a dirty sensation almost every evening. Her innocence housed within her vulnerable soul was getting more and more acquainted with her own body that she had never explored before. Her uncle's hands threw her body shivering in a furnace of burning fear. She felt exposed to a merciless being, felt bare in a sense that she had never felt. If only she could cry, if only she could understand what the touch meant. If only she could ask her mother about it. Why is she stopping herself from asking her mother? She does not know any of these answers. She is terrified. She looked for god, but her god had deserted her. Like a bird that flutters when its wings are cut, she fluttered in her uncle's dirty gaze that penetrated deep down her soul. 

Years went by. She reached high school and learnt what womanhood is. She understood what it means to be a woman in the society and even today the lamp within Rimi flickers with fear, the tragic marks of a strange fire burn her still.  A gush of pain leaves her heartbroken even when she laughs. Many a times she feels haunted by a powerful stench of terror, a brutal hand and a dirty face that she loathes from her heart. The heaviness that she carries within has turned out to be the biggest burden of her life. The sobbing never helps, maybe screaming will. But after so many years? It seems like yesterday although it happened ages ago. When she was a little child. When she played with dolls and flowers. When she did not have the courage to let her mother know or when the words 'rape' and 'molestation' were not in her vocabulary. Today if Deepak uncle had been alive she would have made him answer for her tears. Maybe she would have screamed, maybe she would have lodged a police complaint or maybe she would have cut his dirty hands. As she chops vegetables she imagines what it would have been like to chop off her uncle's hands or that strange thing that penetrated her mind deep down!

Rimi is now the mother of two beautiful daughters. She has made it sure that her daughters never keep a secret from her. Her daughters are yet to be women but Rimi has made them understand how cruel the society is. She keeps them bound to her love and protection in the safest sense. Because one day they too will grow up and she does not want them to weep silently at night, under a dark canopy filled with immortals who wouldn't care much for their sadness. Rimi does not let any forbidding touch soil her daughters' smiles. She sees to it that they fly high, free from all peril under a blue sky devoid of despair.

TERABITHIA

She keeps her mind wide open, and dreams

She smiles, deep in thought, feeling

The air around her…

The endangered rope that hung from an ancient tree

She holds on to that and swings.

 And he swings too!

And they swing one by one and lands

On Terabithia!

 

She runs…and he runs…

And here they reach this battered old car

Shhh! There must be the dark lord here

And he would hear them…

“But we do not fear him!” they say.

Here is the tree house,

worn out in the sands of time.

But now it is their castle

Guarded by the dragon-fly warriors

From the giant squirrels and red-eyed vultures.

The dark lord would not hurt them,

For he is weaker than her and him,

The queen and king of Terabithia

Who freed his slaves to the songs of the wind.

Climbing high on the trees they can see the whole land…

The blue stream flowing with golden fishes

The magical mountains and the pine trees

The land of magical Terabithia

Open to their shimmering eyes and their beautiful minds!

P.S. The poem is based on the magical adventures of two children who build their own space away from the world they live in as represented in the motion picture BRIDGE TO TERABITHIA which is adapted from the novel with the same name by Katherine Paterson and published in 1977. The adventures are metaphorical but leave a deep impact in the viewer’s mind.

3:03 a.m.

November 26, 2013

ESCAPE II

A voice…from far away…

Shutting the windows of my mind

It is a soft, caring voice…

Killing the voids in my heart

It is a promising voice.

Like the sunrays of the late evening sky,

Like the shimmering stars of the galaxy,

Like the unforgiving broken promises of love,

Like a nomad’s curse for a mirage…

Such strong feelings this voice inculcates

In the listener’s heart.

Afternoons like the dove’s feathers,

Nights like the scarlet rose-petals,

Those days thus went by.

Exciting mistakes and unforgettable regrets to make…

A love beyond human understanding.

A HEAVY NUMBNESS

Dry leaves scattered all over

on the pathway

Withered, pest-eaten

Yellow, brown foliage.

And this brings into me

A heavy numbness.

Like the billboard of love

Inviting his women,

Like the mirage in the desert

Inviting thirsty nomads,

Such is destiny for beggars of life

For mothers of stillborn children.

And this in me

Brings a heavy numbness.

SUMMER SMILES

It's a beautiful blue, this color of the sky
as Aurora strikes an arrow
on the silent, sleeping earth
swiftly through the night.

Never did summer bring
such a striking day,
dew-wet grasses to walk upon.

Now I do not await the monsoon
for hails and rain
instead, in the warm morn
see the birds fly towards
dreams unborn!

(5:11 a.m., 24th May '13)

Are they really 'juvenile'?

The last sunset hues have spread throughout the endless sky. It had been a busy, tiresome day in the college. A while after some rest, two of my friends and I decided to eat out. As we walked past a Government Boys’ School, one of my friends cried “Ouch!”. When asked, she said that she had been pelted on her back with a stone. We looked back with a hope to find the culprit and lash him with strict words of discipline; only to see many school boys hanging around. It was difficult to point at someone randomly. Discussing how mischievous children can be we headed towards a roadside food stall. We were of the agreement that we could have taught the person a lesson had we known who he was and to lighten up our moods, started eating some delicious snacks.

Suddenly, two adolescent boys who overheard our conversation came up to us and said, “Didi, hum jaante hain kisne mara. Hum dikha sakte hain aap logon ko.” (Sister, we know who has done that. We could direct you to him).

 He was a little boy, hardly eleven years of age. With a hope to teach him a lesson and reform his ways we approached him in a stern, but not angry manner. We enquired as to why he had done that and his reply was not in the affirmative. He denied having done any misdeed. We warned him not to lie and that we could go to the police to lodge a complaint against him for his mischief. However this ploy was just to scare him and we did not actually mean it. But up came the horrifying answer from a boy who was almost ten yours younger to us. “Main chota hun…mere upar koi case nahi lag sakta. Police kuch nahi kar payenge!” (I’m a juvenile and no case can be registered against me. The police would never punish me.)

Just a month has passed after Nirbhaya’s gang rape. People are still protesting against the rapists nationwide and newspapers are still writing articles to bring a reform in the Indian Constitution about the Juvenile Law. And here in front of us a juvenile freely does whatever he wants and says that he would not be punished for anything he does by the law. We, three women, stood horrified. The ‘Nirbhaya case’ not only made people terrified and aware, but also made a section of adolescent people worse. This section realized that however gruesome and brutal act they commit, they would not be punished by the law if they are below eighteen years of age.

This might seem like a mere incident but if such incidents are not taken seriously today they will grow into bigger incidents in a few years, such boys will become men and commit heinous crimes. The eleven year old boy’s statement proves that if he could do this mischief today, he might rape or murder people after a few years if his mindset grows in the manner it is growing today. Surprisingly enough many young boys do not fear the police and the law anymore.  They have realized that the law is too shaky in this country, the police lenient, greedy and to some extent anti-women. They understand the Juvenile Law in a way that makes them more prone to commit crimes. If such incidents and worse than this continue to happen with women more and more ‘Nirbhayas’ will see their fates sealed, denied justice, and more and more rapists will walk freely on the streets of India.

AND YET THE CANDLE BURNS

The night is spread over the valleys

Like a dark blue shawl covering

 The day’s smiles and miseries

And in her heart there’s just a candle burning

Carefully surrounded by passion to live

yet alone…

In her mind cynical are the thoughts

That she is left to live alone

In this city of towers and smoke

That she is not wanted among the hills and waterfalls—

Her abode just a little while ago.

Wordsworth in her heart quotes,

“She dwelt among the untrodden ways

Beside the springs of Dove

A maid whom there were none to praise

And very few to Love.”

But erroneous she is at such times.

There’s one who walks with her

On the path of darkness searching for a light—

The candle that never blows out in the west wind,

That burns amidst all strife

That candle that still burns in her heart.            

A LITTLE PAUPER CHILD

He is a little pauper

Short, skinny and pale

Collar bones abnormally out,

Ribs seen through the dark skin.

Clothed in rugs and barefooted

He has his hair long, untidy, dry.

His eyes, sore with tears

Seek solutions to his miseries

His tale, a portrayal of his innocence

On every doorstep, he calls

With a hope to get something good,

With a strong desire to live

In this false, inhuman world

Of heartless, powerful people

It isn’t that he’s just refused

He’s made fun of, rather abused

Yet, he’s sober. He can’t fight back

Self-respect he’s supposed to lack

Can’t hum with the wind

To the warmth of sunshine, he’s blind

He knows the world as it is.

Every new dawn,

A struggle to keep his soul alive

But still, in his heart

He has a longing,

A longing to live…

Roaming about on the streets

From dawn to dusk,

He gets a chance to remain alive;

Silver coins from pockets

Of a few good hearted fellows

Fill his little bowl—

The only source of his meagre income.

Thus, this child fills his paunch

Keeping himself partly covered,

Shivering and shivering.

Sometimes little tears

From the corner of his eyes

Falls on his ‘vessel of hope’,

When the day’s bad

And the basin remains empty.

That night, he stays hungry

Empty stomach aching.

Such are his days

When people on earth

Are also dwelling in castles and palaces.

His roof is the zenith high,

And music is the zephyr…

Stars accompany him at night,

And the moon gives him some light.

"Honesty won't get you anywhere;sell it
For the want of bread, be one with the crowd
Bleed for your sake; for those who have ample
All they know and seek is to trample", he's told

No one questions him his origin, which

He himself doesn’t know,

And do not even like to know!

Realizing the futility of his existence

With an empty bowl as the sole comrade

He strides on, for his journey has just begun

With every rising sun!

-----Tezaswita & Bhaskar

UNTITLED

Tears trodden by thy mild touch

Yet my heart seizes every pain

Entangled in a web of emotions

Questions my heart, "Why such insecurity?"

Feelings live, inspire, die,

ruins love...

Yet thy caring hands hold my pain

and yet I seize every pain!

Creeping on the meadow of faith

Ceasing to believe in myself

I burn...

In flames of hope,

flames of desires, flames of 

unnamed fears!

Still I find momentary peace

Hearing thee speak in the night's dead

Tears then give way to smiles,

hearing thee!

Thy love treads upon my grief

Yet I seize every pain...

LOVE

As the dew drops sparkle like pearls on the petals

The whispering zephyr touches my heart

The smiling sun gets brighter

And butterflies fly about.

I love this air around

And want to run in the wheat fields

Where my cotton skirt would touch the ground

And my open hair would touch the wheat.

Today, I have found my soulmate

And I would like to be a peacock

Loving the monsoon rains

And rainwater would drench my golden youth

As I dream of my love! 

ESCAPE

In the evening sky bright with stars

The moon is a solitaire tonight,

partially behind the clouds, gleaming in glee!

It seems like the heaven tonight

Twinkles with the eternal souls.

Humming to myself

After ages of song-less nights

I feel the icy wind gushing through the trees,

pulling my uncared blue shawl away.

Sleepwalking through a dark forest,

I pray with my arms raised;

And dance round a fire

Like a witch practicing magic

Calling out to the hovering souls.

The spirits in the air, in the mist,
in the night-sky, come to me...
And I feel them making merry all around
Singing and dancing in ecstasy.

Suddenly among these thoughts

I find myself in a bright room, sitting

And scribbling words as if

In an escape to a corner of my heart

That shimmers like a morning star

In the unreal hills and valleys of my dreams.

IT'S DARK WITH ONLY CANDLELIGHT

In the dark new moon night

There’s little light inside

In this big, old room

Full of candelabra and paintings

and carpets worn out.

And I lie here

Upon the big armchair

With eyes wide open

Staring into the blackness

Where spirits and mysteries lie…

Here’s a little candle burning

A moth flies from nowhere

And like a houri, hovers gracefully

Tiny raindrops drizzle outside

And an ant creeps slowly into the intensity

Of the candlelight

In the same space and time

In this same dark night

When cries my soul inside

 And sleepy creatures come to life.  

SWEET SLEEP

As nectar pours down from your lips

In the form of a lullaby

I feel the fairy of sleep

Charming me with her wand.

I bury myself in your soft bosom

While your fingers brush my hair

Humming the sweet lullaby

With love like dew crystal-clear. 

A JOURNAL OF LOST DREAMS

Walking down this dark alley

Wrapped up in a woolen shawl

I go into musings…of my imagined reality!

Yesterday the book that I had closed

Lies open on my palms today

And Lo! There it is,

my heart that I had lost long ago.

I walk down the green path that runs

Along the pine boulevard of my dreams…

Instead of these wintry winds of the night

An evening breeze hums in my ears

Little raindrops fall upon me, and you,

And we hear the cuckoo of spring ‘coo-ing’!

My loneliness leaves me

When I feel your fingers crossing mine

I cannot let go this ambience that we create

And yet, I can see you leaving…

Now there are only dusty walls surrounding me

In this dark alley, as I walk all alone! 

CURSED NOSTALGIA III

You still cling to the trunk

Of the Great Old Oak

That stands above all the memories

Of those spring days of that cursed year.

You made me a vagabond

Wandering in search of your ruins

and the monuments that you had built

In the dark underworld of my dreams.

You are cursed.

The little child of the Old Banyan

Curses you and your great Old Oak,

Enveloping all the memories

Of the halfway houses of those

Drought-struck lands.

Like the west winds blowing past

the high tower on the hilltop,

Tonight the air comes creeping

Sweeping all memories forever,

Cursing the melancholy days.