To Shreya 

Credits : Instagram

Dearest You ,

As I watch your bare spine convulse  ,  and your breath  tests if  my hands are a  good place to speak up ;   I know you’re unhappy , deeply unhappy  with whatever that happens and whatever that doesn’t .


You should let go , is what everyone  tells  you  , just the way they told you to ; a year ago . (The same .)  But you don’t let go , relentlessly . Unconditionally . As many thesise that you may read  and believe that explain coolly , about  how well you’ve let go of things through your bohemian fuckoffs and  rude feigning ; are lies .   Lies .

 You’ve made  things lie to you . Because you’ve needed  an end  , an easy alternative.  Pain  is not a thing to run away from . And that is absolutely what you do , with your head   out of the blanket , daydreaming how amazing it could have been , if things were right   .

 It couldn’t have . Nothing could have .  This is not how you let go of , anything . Pain exists . And it reclaims ,  slipping around every inch of you . No matter how rude you are to yourself and the world . No matter how much you kiss the cold wall  , in the washroom  . And no matter how lifeless your lips feel on the touch of it .

Be kind to yourself . Because , you are kind . And this is the truth . And if you don’t  give in , to this  as you’re sung a lullaby with my fingers clutched around your wrists  , I’ll stop crying  and kiss your forehead and leave.  Because this is how things are  going to be  anyway.

Trust me .

Trust me , the solution is healing .

Healing is fine.  Healing is safe  .

Heal for me . No matter where I am , who I am .

Because I exist .


Yours ,



11:30 p.m


I am afraid .
Afraid of the perhaps and the casualties.  Equivocally .  And where does this fear come from ? From the bones and the blood and wherever they reside , in me , and in you . Also wherever they don’t . Strangely in me and in you.   I think I do know where this fear could take us .  Or maybe I don’t .  But shouldn’t we first contemplate where the fear intends to go , intends to take us .Because it is this fear that makes us one , and even if we are not one , we are one . Or at least we have a casual reason why we can try and not try .  Reasons want us to run and save ourselves  , but what if we do not want to be saved.  What If it’s our nature to drown  ?  Drowning is this universe , in your tears and in mine.  Everything is of the same sane colour . But then , why am I afraid ? I think I cannot tell you . I think I do not trust you enough , as much as you do not trust me . But this could never be the solution  . But this could always be , that I never seeked a solution.   I never seeked it .  What have I been searching , then ? Fear.  Cold dark fear that stays and stays , unlike you and your happy times.   But I cannot find it anywhere around you. Why can’t I ? I am afraid .
Afraid of the perhaps and the casualties.

A .



My scraggy little boy
runs in the backyard and
I watch him dance to
the winds as he plucks
seven untouched
daffodils and throws them
into the mud ,
right after
he kisses their aroma
one by one .

And when I
walk upto him , he
picks them and suffocates them
in the small stagnant
that passes .
And then he tries
to put each of them
back as they weren’t
ever plucked .

I sit on my knees and
he runs away to the dark
corner to scrabble
something out like
every other afternoon . But he comes back to me and
I feel that same old void in my stomach and
I need to run away as
his Father with his crooked
smile stands in his place .

In a flash I see
him charm me , him pluck my soul
him suffocate my baby .

I hold my breath
and my tears as
everything calms  but doesn’t .
Back there again ,
hangs my son
with his arms flung open .

” Don’t touch the flowers again . ”

I scowl .
He’d never understand .
He shouldn’t ever understand .


Bestial Rituals

Picture : pintrest

Dii ( दी) picks up the
red alluvion in her tiny
hands and smells it as if
it’s life and smiling she calls for me. I come running
in dirty halfpants and with the stick in my hand , I draw a circle
around her
just enough
for her to sit and  weep . And she sits and smiles .

” I’ll sit here babu , just like Bua does in that dark room . ”

But I leave her there . I never cared for her . I wasn’t ever taught to .

I wake up years later , on a fine morning , late just
when the noon begins and my eyes
And my skin burns too .
I see Mommy stride ,
With Dee’s hand clutched in hers’ ,
And it appears Dii holds something in her hand  that is pressed to her skirt .

” Walk fast Anu . I don’t want a scene here . ”

She stops near that same dark old room where Bua stayed for some days ; every month .
The other day ,
Dii screams
just the way that I don’t hear her ,
and demands Mommy to let
her be the goddess for a day
like every year . Mommy pierces her nails into Dee’s pink hands ,
and slaps .
Disgust and tears bestrew her little face .

” Who do you slap ? Me ? Yourself? Maa Durga ?”

She’s served with a bestial beating and a half bowl rice . Leftovers .

I am furious and I am bribed and I am sent away for :
I don’t bear how Dee comes out of the room
three days later ,
as dead as ever ,  every month
leaving  happy parts of her  inside .

I  don’t see her for  ten years but one  day , it aches hard and
I bestride emotions and countries ,
just to return to the same butchery ,
Just to see Dii .

Butchers clog around with
Familiar faces , as I fall on my knees ,  seeing Dee ,
the least
dead and
the most free .

” Not a trace of red in her pale face .  Menorrhogia , probably .”

I collapse
dead , but my voice chokes
but I don’t speak for it’d
another  the shouts
that have stayed there
in the voids :
for I am my Father , and I am his,
who could never care
for their daughters or their sisters ,
for they were never taught  to .



He remembers
his dream and
rubbing his closed
hands over every stone
and each of the flower
that comes his way
but finds her and gives
pieces or fullness
of his heart he holds .
But she bats her
eyelashes and pushes him
into an Abyss ,
unkissed .


To the Voodoo Woman


My overlong beard
itches and something bites into my skin . I struggle to stand
and I trot pretending
that it’s a Sunday Morning ,
like everyday .
But when I run
a little more than what I think I’ve ever run , and
look at her straight ,
she flushes crimson , and when I run upto her , and see her not looking at me but talking , I think I know her . She’s a voodoo doll
for :
everything in her face smiles ,
and frowns ,
all at once .

When the next day , I walk her home and try to
believe that
she might remember our
verses and my name ,
and probably look back ;
she does not.
I run around a Lexion
and actually run back with
White Lilies . And when it rains , I jump in it
with a smile and flowers and make it look like a dance , she sits on a dark chair and watches me .
Amusement and enigma
folding and unfolding in her hands .
She comes out
For me and speaks as I breathe stale cacophony ,
And heavier it pours ,

” A tonic for you lover
Rambling muted buffer
Exonerate the capella
And light toes of bella
If to hold was such a pain
You may now on refrain
From swinging in the rain
And cursing the music vain . ”

I hand her the lillies and manage my blank verse :

” I would
and I’d shave this fatherly moustache too , if only
you’d stop smiling  to the window pane , right through which
you see me dancing . If only you’d hold him in your abdomen ,
a little less and talk to him lesser for he sleeping ,  while still inside you ,
our little blip is  as moody as you and as misophonic to my typewriter as me. ”

She laughs like she’s always wanted to
and then she strides back straight , as the rain stops . And I sit here and it doesn’t ever rain . And that Voodoo Woman never does look
back .


Picture: pintrest

You see
a maid  walk
clumsy , in oversized clothes ,
over cautious and you reason,
her carrying old books with
worn out covers , to
every faded thing
of her face .
But if you could actually go
And touch her and see her jump as her brow sweatens and she hides behind
the pillows , and hear her say “No” ;
then you might know
how afraid she does feel when
parts of
her soul and her toes intwine and writhe , as the bathtub in which
she sits , innundates with
what seems like water but doesn’t touch her .

She might whisper to you and you might hear
how much her breasts pain
and how much she wants to cut them off her ,
everyday when
infront of the mirror
she sees her elder brother rip them apart and  laugh ,
as with them rips her teenage ,
her chastity .

And every night
when she screams
to midnights , to a little movement in her bed ,
for she’s over-mad at her
for they didn’t save her when he ‘ disciplined ‘ her for six months .
And how to have forgotten all that is still delusive and enervating to her ,
after three years.

And if you can hear all this and
still know how to kiss her ,
trust me ;
You can resuscitate . 


Joyesh Thakur

Joyesh Thakur
( A Half-cured Autistic Adult )


Joyesh stirs and
wakes up and his scowl joins late , as he clutches my hand
and tries to hide into my saree as if he was a child .
And only
when I pat his back
and let him breathe , he looks
at me
green to brown and stumbles but speaks
enough loud :

” I-I-I saw Momma ,
that same cold as she was and I saw myself hiding behind her
staring at my toes . She bled but I didn’t  save her . ”

We keep quiet and he
peeks at our baby .

Our little moppet ,
runs and stops and I
Choke but he smiles and he picks up his maggot jar . ” Arush ! ” ,
but he wishes them as
we enter the apartment .
Three years and nothing
changed , and not did Joy .
He never  needed to . He sits
on the same old chair and
wishes Arush not
looking at him , but smiling .
” Played with your mag-mag-maggots ?” Arush laughs  and right then ,
In black thump in ,
two furious men with a stiletto ,
And one of them catches Arush ,
and he cries and so does Joy . But I freeze and signal him to hide behind ,
but he doesn’t and crying,  harder he sways his head
and runs and falls
with the black men . He hits them , unafraid ,

” Don’t touch my s-s-son . ”
and both of them run out .
And I still hold my breath ,
until Arush speaks finally :
” Daddy you saved me and Momma !” .

Joy peers at me , and then to him.

” I saved Momma. ” .




Settle somewhere near that couch or anywhere for
my wife’s quiet and I
like it and I
can bear it.

Look , this is what happens :

It was Sunday , and
she was supposed to be
the ” Good Girl” but barely did I walk in , or suffocate my toil ;
she  pushed her thongs with herself into my flesh
And held me right by my waistband .

I knew :
I’d kiss her mouth and
drown in her eyes , and watch
her breathe and quiver ,
to every rise and fall ,
and call for me .
And that was what happened ,
and I felt more weak ,
when she collapsed
yes more than her .
But I  held her like an animal
and pulled out of her flesh .
she laughed and I could bear it too ,
but then the motherfucked  dogs
barked and she mimicked them,
with pretentious cough .

So whatever justification
as you may seek ,

I picked up a knife and
cut her throat and mimicked her too .