Echoing Silence

Featured

Words

Words are strangers

on a busy train station

lending you some space

when you are stuck

with a heavy luggage.

Words are clouds

on a sunny day

when you forget

to take an umbrella.

Words are blankets

on a rainy night

warming you up.

Words are omens

that remind you

to stay calm.

Some words build bridges

for a better path,

While others transcend

as letters for your lost self.

Oasis

Oft between sunrise and sunsets

a smell lurks within you

absorbed in the mundanities of nothingness

it oozes out as sweat,

warm and moist

from the nape of your thoughts,

like dewdrops on leaves

to the palm of your heart

loosening the hook of your desires

drawing in and out

soulful lullabies of future perfect

down the thick chambers of longing

causing a soft ripple

tickling the senses

before unlocking the treasure

through the sole of your feet,

to be satisfied at least for a brief moment

like an oasis awaiting its traveller.

Covid Archives

An emergent moment

in a journey unknown.

A map rerouted,

towards the reconstructed interiors of solitary confinement.

A well edited script

drafted in the inbox

awaiting its reader.

Contents created with bullet lists read:

When this chaos subside

retrieved catalogues will display,

Mundane moments stitched up to keep sane.

Beads of small talk cuddled to spread warmth.

Frozen portraits piled up to sell emotions.

Teaching lessons necessarily in necessity.

A call kept on hold,

Feeding on the melancholy of past restraints.

Frustrations of a meal uncooked,

Leeching out expressions that are too less involved in the daily chores.

Sending radio waves to check

Unidentified corners of the house.

Digging up the backyard

To explode in exaggeration

Otherwise of an organic produce.

Snoozing time to meet false hunger alarms.

Floral dresses dyed to dirty aprons.

Idiot box giving running commentary on emerging trends.

While we engage in the tussle

between touch screens and tension servers

Coding and creating custom made solutions

to man-made frustrations

Selling common sense on the basis of political incorrectness.

Dropping our identity in exchange for posterity.

Liberating ourselves through insensitive banter.

Scrubbing our way into conscience of the masses.

By adding flavours in scriptures

to favour one’s outcome.

Later searching for update instructions

Only to hide our guilt filled bugs.

The seeds in my backyard

The seeds in my backyard have started sprouting.

Slowly yet steadily.

I don’t know how they gathered courage to open their eyes,

Yet there they are

Showing their presence

Marking their territory

Awaiting the climb.

Against the atrocities

Obnoxious Obstacles

Slithering tentacles

Crawling and creeping

like weeds

which grope and gape

past the line of control

masquerading to protect

persuading to uplift

thorning their way inwards

to feast on the nutrients

Without hesitation.

Alas, the saplings stand unafraid

Brave like soldiers in armour

With the firm determination of growing,

spreading their branches

strengthening their roots

savouring on the leftovers

while nurturing their bruises.

You see, they have a hope for a better tomorrow.

The assertion which induce ecstasy.

An oath they silently stand by

With a vision of fresh green leaves,

Mighty trunks, majestic branches

crimson flowers and golden fruits-

Bearing elixir of wisdom.

The seeds in my backyard have started sprouting.

Slowly yet steadily.

A sign of resistance.

Not so early in the morning when dawn rests on an armchair

I wake up to the conch shells of my mother screaming

and hurriedly open the windows to my backyard

examining the seeds I planted last evening

waiting for it to evolve

into a magnificent tree

with branches as vast as the sky

Only to crawl into the rabbit hole

And dig deep to create the wonderland

where lakes and rivers don’t think much on flowing into the sea

Where forests are allowed to breathe

Where trees can grow without any fear

Where animals are not caged

Lands are not disputed

Borders not ceased.

On such wonderland,

I shall breathe my last,

Metamorphosing into a pile of leaves

returning to Nature’s bosom

composting and crawling

back into her womb.

In her latest novel Anita Nair knits the tales of women leading complex lives through the index finger of her protagonist Sreelakshmi. Even after being a Sahitya Academy winner at 30yrs Sreelakshmi is considered a misfit or rather in the author’s words “damaged goods” in the society as she is unmarried. The title Eating wasps is nothing short of a metaphor to denied desire, respect and sexual pleasure. Nair makes her characters travel through untrod-den paths of inhibitions, desires and sexual liberation. The novel is told through eight parts with stories of ten women who are flawed yet brave in embracing their desires.

Set in a riverside resort in Kerala, the story is narrated by a dead writer who is still not able to leave the earth as her mortal remains(finger) have been locked up by her ex-lover in a cupboard. The story spans from the time when women had to fight for their education- to when the society realizes that sexual pleasure is also a basic right. Each character feels and reminds us of the woman next door. Eating wasps throw light on the unfair nature of society(includes her lover) towards women on taking their own decisions. Due to which Sreelakshmi can’t completely be free even in her death. It is Nair’s style of writing which makes the novel a compelling read. She doesn’t portray any of her characters as victims but flawed beings. Nair hooks her readers with her unconventional character formation. Her characters stay with you long after you complete the novel and push you into creating an alternate story line for each of them.

Eating wasps is a subtle discourse on sexual liberation in a male dominated society. It will unsettle and disturb you just like chewing a wasp.

As Nair argues”No one chooses to eat a wasp. But what if it were to fly into your mouth? Would you let it sting your tongue or bite down on it? Would you spit or swallow? Would you crumple or fight? The lives of women everywhere is about such decisions and the consequences thereof.”
Eating wasps

Collateral

A sour taste slip between my thighs
like hotwax on bare skin
whining impatiently of post coital dreams.

A liturgy shadows
the stench of ownership.
camouflaging,
Deep sighs and suppressed pain.

long prescriptions in the waiting room
Registered with surnames leading to surgeries.
overdosing and cleansing
faces and identities
unrecognizable with constructive upbringing.

fossils of a forced martial bliss
bottled up and hung
on my now decorated wooden roof
reminding me to breathe.