Don’t say you touch my skin
My skin is not mine
It is my mind’s
A mind that thinks
A mind that feels
Thinks so much that it explodes
Feels so much that it melts
Tell me now
Now, do you want to touch me?
And if we had to, now
If we did,
How would it be,
If we made love?
मला तुझ्यात काय आवडलं?
तसे काहीच नाही.
वर-वरचं हसून बोलायला शिकलेय मी
माझ्यातलं माझेपण लपवायला शिकलेय मी
मी तुझं कौतुक केला असेन तर
त्यावर जाऊ नकोस
पण एक चित्र डोळ्यांवर ठसून आहे
निरोप घेऊन मी वळत असतांना
तुझ्या सावलीचा एक भाग दिसत होता
तू दोन क्षण थांबला होतास तिथे
त्या थांबण्यात ओढ न्हवती
काळजी होती
"ही जात आहे का व्यवस्थित?"
मऊपण होतं त्या सावलीच्या तुकड्यात
बाकी तुझ्या वर-वरच्या रेषांशी
माझं इतकं घेणं-देणं नाहीये
कळलं का आता
काय आवडलं ते?
-चा.गि.
13-10-18
"Are you afraid?"
"..."
"Of what?"
"..."
"It is okay to express; it is good"
"!!!"
"It is okay to be vulnerable; it is good"
"_"
"No, don't look down at those scars.
It is okay to have them; it is good"
"_#$_"
"Don't curse me silently"
":)"
"Now you smile!"
"The world is noise.
Sometimes, it is okay to be silent; it is good."
- 18-01-19
दोस्तों ने कहा, मैं पागल हूँ
घरवालों ने इसके सबूत इखट्ठा किये
मेरा तो खुदसे भरोसा उठ गया
मैक्रोफोने को पकड़े थरथरा रही थी मैं आज
गले से आवाज रोंदी सी आ रही थी
वह शायद सीने से रोना ही निकल रहा था
भाषण के लब्ज़ों में
लोगों को बुरा लगा
भाषण के बाद पीठ थप-थपाये, प्रोत्साहित कर रहे थे
शाम को तुझसे मिली
लैपटॉप के परदेह पर तू हिल रहा था, और जी मैं रही थी
अच्छा लगा
खुदसे मिलकर
मेरी मेरे पागलपन से पूरी पहचान हो गयी
मुझे समझ आया
जैसे माइग्रेन-वाले इंसान को रोशनी सहन नहीं होती
मैं उन्हें सहन नहीं होती
उनके माइग्रेन-भरे सरों में
मैं एक अपवाद हूँ
बीमार तो वो हैं मंटो
पागल तो वो हैं!
- चाँदनी गिरिजा
२८-०१-१९
Thank you.
Did you look above today?
Did you see the bird-shaped hole in the sky?
Flapping with your motion
Moving as you move
No, wait, I think it was the moon
Or was it my wound,
Revealed in milky momentum
On your silver-framed glasses?
I had forgotten how porous I am
Once touched,
The touch proceeds
Like filter coffee
To leak through
Through and through holes
Holes through holes
To dungeons
And whole hidden kingdoms.
I had forgotten,
Thank you.
I surprise myself
In my love for you
The simple unconditionality of it
When someone says you are adorable
I laugh
For I know you in a totality
A totality possible for a second consciousness
I see your darkness
I have been the brunt of it.
I have been through nights
When I have hated and despised you
Agonized over your utter selfishness
Petitioned on why, why you couldn't set a better example
I have wished you should have dissipated
Like water vapour
From my canvas
So I could empty myself from unpleasantness of stubborn, stale, talkative memories
But at turn of each of these nights
However long
A day has arrived
Bringing blue, crisp light
Cracking the shiny shell of my black eyes
Giving me ropes to climb out of my melancholy pit
And notice (again) the wider world
Breathe in its incessant creation
Its incessant destruction
Loosening the chords that bind me to you
Widening my canvas (again)
In which I grow smaller
And you,
An extension of me
Grow smaller alongside
And then I have found within me
The ability to laugh
To forgive your fallibility
Your humaness.
Seasons change and years roll
And I witness my love for you
Changing form
Evolving
It has learned your patterns
It has learned to be silent in face of blatant actions
Only the eyes betray
The twinkle of amusement
And quiet crinks in corner
Soft crinks of tenderness
Soft crinks of a strong, strong love
The single-cupped teacher of lessons
A totally unessential necessity of life
Like pickle, like paapad, without which the meal is incompletely complete
Tea is the mighty queen of frivolous panache
Commanding a whole meal-time created for her: the evening snack
And of course the breakfast couldn't be gulped down without her
To the religious ones, she is needed for clearing the sleep fog
To be alternately sipped with cigarette
To beat the cold
To beat the heat
To snuff the headache
To lengthen the happy octave
To cushion the blow (whichever type)
To even celebrate the brand new Urban Ladder coffee table
"Be lamps unto yourselves yourselves," he said
He said, "Seek not refuge in anything but yourselves."
And yet we seek
We find ourselves
And as the moment passes like a chugging railway station
The found bit stays stuck to the black plastic of the IRCTC stall dustbin
Our train moves
We want another station
We yearn for the smell of crushed ginger
We yearn to hear the boiling sugar crystals
The wafting brew breaks our resolve to stay chaste
Most of us
A lot of us
Do not progress to full cocaine
Only to the 'c' of it, like a lop-sided moon
One of which we hold onto
Another which dips into the never-ending pursuit
Of finding refuge
For a lot of us it is chaai
For some it is Old Monk
For some it is chicken biryani
For some, the 'c' dips not in the mouth
But onto flesh
Or onto their entitlements like: partners, children or friends
Or onto their accomplishments: like career, passion or travel
Or even onto great validations: like likes, comments and shares
Whatever the end of the 'c' end
We had rather seek it
Than bend our heads to look at ourselves
Or be still even after our station has arrived
I sit still on this white-sheeted bed wrapped by this beautiful blanket which I wish I could steal (such shades!). The wall-mounted table fan (such irony) gives me company in the silence of the dorm. My dorm-mates have gone for a night journey. Sleep beckons from some deep pit, its voice is feeble. It was innocently interrupted by an excited phone call from my younger sister. My throat is sore from all the speaking I have done today (such volume!). Speaking is a political act. Silence is too. Yet I realised the un-bailability of the former. One is trapped by what one utters. At least for a period. Silence is contemplative and spacious. Speaking, crowded and rushed. Silence = river of time = no end no start = unending. Speaking is time-bound and linear. It is the pebble that raises waves in the present and the future. And hence speaking is also ego-bound. More the 'I's in the discourse, more the illusion. Speaking is illusory. Speaking is also an untruth.
I remembered the goodnight probably belonging to one of my very meticulous dorm-mates. It is nice to be prepared. I switch it on. No mosquitoes now. Only mosquito carcasses. Or is it 'carcasses of mosquitoes.' Even contemplation has a grammar. :)
The 'zzz's of sleep now descend.
The river said, "there is no time."
But tell me
Tell me
How do I shape the thoughts
Of that ghost of epiphany touching me
Touching me almost
Teasing me :)
What words do I give it?
I have been running
The lone, diligent soldier
Running, running
Tripping, tripping
And then walking
Walking, walking
Tripping, tripping
And now crawling
Yes, Martin Luther King
Your crawling soldier for you!
I am emptied now
My flesh, blood and bones consumed
I am the ghost
The ghost is me.
I am two-dimensional.
I am staring at the river
I am not even gasping
That much breath, forsakes me.
I am still
Still, stiller
The river wouldn't take me
Give me her soothing coolness
She wouldn't fill me
Give volume to my shape
So be it.
I watch the ghost dangling on the water vapours
Teasing me
I am not tantalized!
If anything, I have learnt patience.
"I wait!"
Says Viktor Navorski of Krakozhia
I wait too
I am waiting
Waiting tenaciously
I have teeth of tenacity
I am tenacity.
River, river
Thank you for your lesson
There is no time
Nothing ahead, nothing behind
Only now
There is no time
Yes, yes!
And yet you flow
You are new and old at the same time
River, river
Flowing river,
Wait for me too
Wait only awhile
I am arriving! :)
