Virginity….matters???

There are various issues we feel shy to talk about;

and committing it is like a crime in our society no doubt,

a 26-year-old girl on the verge of matrimony;

is facing a commotion of mixed thoughts resulting in agony,

her excitement is climaxing at two levels, on one hand, she’s awaiting stepping into a realm of new relation;

on the other, her ‘virginity-status‘ is adding to her pre-wedding agitation,

she is getting sleepless nights wondering what if her better half comes to know that she’s not a virgin;

will he accept her if she dares to bare the truth that she has kept within,

however, she’s not alone as there are many women;

on the verge of tying the knot who face the same dilemmas be’cz of some orthodox men,

not everybody understands the temptation to take the plunge becomes tough to resist;

in a day and age when sex comes naturally in relationships,

some broad minded couples have no qualms in accepting that their partners;

may have gone the whole way in their past affairs,

but there are still those who relate virginity to morality and for them the bond of the unbroken hymen;

still scores over the bond of love and commitment,

it is our body our rule , everybody is free to love and choose a partner;

its a personal choice or decision and it is not for others to judge in any matter,

virginity and chastity are not the only measures to base a happy marriage on;

honesty and trust are far more important traits that both partners should possess life long.

Talent!!!…finally founded

                          I don’t know a lot about poetry but sometimes I tend to write. I write when something stuck my mind or something is boggling or troubling my mind and I am not able to say, share or convey it to anybody. That is the reason why I have the subtitle on my blog as “sometimes poetry gives you the voice”. Yes, it has given me the voice, the voice to say from anything to everything that I feel or believe or want to share with others.

                          I don’t remember when I started liking poetry. From the childhood only I used to see and observe my classmates that everyone was good at something or the other but I always wondered what I am good at. And the answer which I always got from myself was probably “nothing”. I remember I have heard many times that “everybody has a talent you just need to find it” by my teachers, neighbors even on television programs and I was always like “all this is bullshit” but then, when I grew I found that I too can do something which everyone can not. Yes, I founded that talent in me of writing English rhymes. Probably I was born with it or was fascinated by some poets I don’t know really but I was happy that I have finally founded the talent which somebody has said once consoling me, “don’t worry what if you are not good at running or painting or dancing, you must be having some other talent which you need to just find out”. I wrote my first poetry in eleventh grade, and began publishing my poems online in my blog few months ago.

                          When I walk down my memory lane, an image stands out large and that is how much effort one of our English professors used to put into explaining the poetry of renowned poets which were complex and obviously we didn’t like the one which was more challenging. But mine are not such, anyone can easily understand what I am trying to convey in my poems may be because I am just at the beginner’s level.

                          Whenever I post a poem, I get a lukewarm response and I often wonder – is it because of poetry? Till now I haven’t reached 1000 views may be because of two reasons. One, that I haven’t promoted it enough. Two, prose can be an effortless reading unless it is stream of consciousness writing, poetry can become quite boring if we are not familiar with its techniques and tones. So there is a decrease in numbers who read poems. Sometimes even I have to read twice or thrice the poems of great poets to understand the undertones that appear enigmatic initially. Who has the time and the inclination to read and re-read a poem in this fast-paced world? Probably very few, only poetry lovers do! so I understand.

                            Despite getting critics and less traffic on my blog, I continued to like poetry and slowly discovered that it doesn’t matter to me how many people have visited my blog. This is my passion and I will continue doing this. Many people have even asked, “why you haven’t pursued your career in this if you are so good at this” and my answer to them was, “I don’t believe in making my passion as career because the minute you invested your passion in your career you will start loosing interest in your passion and gradually you will loose your passion as well as your career”.

                             Some of my poems are ambiguous. Probably they relate to my past or buried memory, which I wouldn’t like to reveal like “An introvert” yet they are just to give a vent to my emotions through writing. Some poems carry a profound message, which remains eternally relevant like “Delhi’s nightmare“. Some poems are meant to inspire others to rise against injustice like “Let us be” while some just sooth our disillusioned minds like “Bro! its my choice“. Some highlight the arrogance of those who have always tried to oppress others like “Most legal rape!!!“. They leave an everlasting impact on sensitive souls. Poetry needs a bit of tenderness while reading.

                              I am not a renowned poet, so what is poetry I might not know. I merely try, I try when a bunch of words on my mind, provokes me, to come drape them, with my randomness. Alan Rickman has said, “talent is an accident of genes-and a responsibility”. So find it early, brush it up early or else it will be getting wasted.

Father’s day secial

From infancy, girls draw conclusions about what men are like;

and that too from the first men in their life,

as I traveled through my elementary school years;

you made efforts to spend time with me and taught me how to live in this world without fear,

most children develop a sense of in-dependency as teenagers;

and the title of “Daddy’s Little Girl” often loses appeal at this stage, but mine was catching gears,

you were always available to listen;

and always been there though I needed you often,

I remember you were standing alone outside the operation theater;

when doctors were operating my eyes to make them better,

when I was in pain be’cz of that cut on my thighs;

not less were the tears that rolled down your eyes,

it is just as important for men to hear and be shown;

affection from their children as it is for women, it’s known,

although I try to do this whenever possible;

yet I am writing this for you to make it memorable.

Delhi’s nightmare

Delhi is unsafe for women no doubt;

and its unsafe level is increasing day by day as a sprout,

having lived in Delhi for almost two year;

I came to the conclusion that I am as much to blame for the lack of safety and ridiculous fear,

fear that our gender experiences as the next ruffian eying me at every corner;

why? Be’cz the minute someone pounces, pinches or comments on me I, like every other woman, have two choices, but i choose one that is easier,

one, to retaliate and make it clear that it is unacceptable;

two, cower down, look for the shortest route home and make a mental note to avoid that particular corner whenever possible,

by deserting the city in ‘unsafe’ hours and passing judgements on those who become victims we make it a cakewalk for a criminal;

to try whatever they feel like and that too with the least sense of fear of law and society being anti-social,

the issue of rape being tied to a country or a city is something to be ashamed of;

and to be an upcoming global superpower with the 2nd highest number of rape cases pisses me off,

the thought of stepping out late at nights fill fear in the minds of young women;

no longer can they trust that an evening out with friends who are men,

the capital may have the reputation of being India’s most unsafe city for women;

but the protests against sexual assault that have rocked the country and forced the government to enact new legislation were also led by Delhi’s women,

the establishment often forgets to ask what gives any man the license of raping;

no matter what a women may or may not be wearing.

Child abuse

Child abuse is the result;

of mistreatment by an adult,

culprit can be a family member, uncle or well being;

and at least here the girl child is not blamed for inadequate clothing,

in fact over half of the children;

are abused in their own den,

it can be physical or sexual;

simply a neglect or emotional,

it is not how bad the mark or injury is;

but its traumatic penetrating the child’s vagina or anus by penis,

it can be oral sex or child prostitution;

rape, yelling, teasing or rejection,

even after ‘child protection act’;

issue of child abuse is still intact,

those who force a child for sexual activities;

should be ready to deal with penalties,

if the child doesn’t tells you and you are unsure;

please try to ask and make efforts once more.

Let us be

In a country where the definition of modesty changes every few kilometre;

there’s still a thread that binds us all together,

we have to counter the stripping vulnerability always,

which we feel with that piercing male gaze,

our natural body and its curves are made to feel;

like an embarrassing outgrowth that puts down our zeal,

our bra strap is made to feel like our dirty secret;

we instantly tucks it in and pretends it never existed,

the one layer of opaque clothing provided by the ‘churidaar’ isn’t enough;

God forbid, someone sees the natural form of the human being, it sucks,

never truly running that race on the sports day with all our heart;

Be’cz our breast can’t look like the forces of nature they are,

slapping scarves onto short-sleeved tops for trains, or worse yet;

spending fifty times the amount of money and time on a cab if we wanna met,

but the men have never once had;

to plan their travel based on their clothes, its glad,

instantly tugging at the neckline of our ‘kurti’ while walking through a dark round;

as men in shirts with the first five buttons popped open asses our moral ground,

we can’t seem to wear or do anything that quite fits the idea of ‘modesty’;

may be the definition is the problem not us, so ‘let us be‘.

Periods!

The word everyone runs away from;

isn’t something to behave like a storm,

it isn’t meant to hold us back;

or to restrict us in a sack,

it gives us power, the strength of being a women;

the strength to produce a life in our abdomen,

this life giving process is as natural as breathing;

but still period shaming everywhere in the world is streaming,

in India, the subject is such a taboo;

as if it’s a crime in having periods too,

even in a fairly educated middle class family;

women took great pride in following the custom of 5 days isolation willingly,

there’s a separate mattress for the menstruating woman;

even if she touched anything by mistake, some clean water is sprinkled to purify it again,

pursuing any sport or swimming, elders never allow;

all this shaming and the horrendous experience stays with me till now

my little mind decided it was best to hide period,

so, I just didn’t tell anyone the next time I bled,

what exactly happens inside the head of a teenage girl when we period shame her;

we are basically telling her that she and her body is dirty like a beggar,

all the itching, rashes were already a trouble;

now irritation and shaming are also a constant struggle,

I remember mom’s answer to how to buy a pad;

tell a chemist sheepishly, he will wrap it in a BLACK polythene bag,

not many women use cloth pads now;

but then it has to be dried in a dark, dingy place where no one would see it anyhow,

now Women have a HUGE role to play here;

by making periods shame free without any fear.

Opposites attract

Yash and Rita were totally opposite;

Rita was stubborn, Yash was apologist,

Yash wanted to fly high and rise;

but Rita always used to compromise,

Rita was not but Yash was anti-feminist;

and thus they fought a lot over it,

Yash yell a lot in their fight;

While Rita chose to remain quite,

Yash loved dogs and had one named Shadow;

Rita, scared of dogs still wanted one to be named Rambo,

if Yash was proton;

then Rita was electron,

but as the science says;

opposites attract in anyways,

so after every fight they hug tight;

and hence prove the theory right.

Blame game

From son to daughter;

from father to mother;

from brother to sister;

everyone blames one another,

whom to blame whom to not;

when things don’t go our way, we boycott,

the reason why we blame;

really sounds quite lame,

its just that we don’t wanna get ashamed;

so we keep our mischief self contained,

I know it requires guts to accept your mistake;

but please don’t blame others for God’s forsake,

so try to make an apology at least;

rather than blaming and becoming a beast.

Taboo

Breaking a taboo is extremely objectionable;

and in society, totally unacceptable,

although taboos are many;

one of them is terminating a pregnancy,

another one is alcoholism;

which is in no way less than cannibalism,

many more in the list like infanticide;

or having a pregnant bride,

from urination to menstruation;

from sex selective abortion to defecation,

from belching to slavery;

from spitting to pornography,

not only one or two;

all the above comes under taboo,

no no, the lists not ends here;

there are many more to fear,

inter religion marriage or masturbation;

homosexuality or miscegenation,

an act may be a taboo in one culture;

but not in the other,

now surely and certainly it depends on you;

whether you wanna follow or break the taboo.