“If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,

Like this.

When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe

Like this.

If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don’t try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips

Like this. Like this.”


And then came his confusion. Is it right? It is unethical. It is immoral. No …I cannot do this. This is it. No more. A sudden stop. Somebody who was occupying 100% of my waking hours, said this is it, no more. I . turned into a zombie. The world outside was a torture; every day I would wake up and decide this is the last day of my life. I would cry and scream and bleed the whole day. But it didn’t stop. The days went on, agonizingly slow.

I met him one day in office. It was just luck. That day he was going almost 12000 miles away from me. Without a closure. I was hysterical to say the least.. I was in a real physical pain. It felt that my lungs had stopped pumping air in me. my heart had lost its rhythm, all my body was in distress. But still I went on.

The days and months that passed after this was a blur. I carried on somehow, putting a facade in front of others. Alone in my room, I would curl into a ball. The pain that came in waves engulfed me . I was helpless, and I was sure that I can never recover from this.  It was as if something was eating me from inside. But still…..It went on.


“I look to her in the simplest, smallest moments- when she reads or drinks her coffee or brushes her teeth and I am breathless – knowing it does not take a million dollar telescope to witness the crushing beauty of the universe.”

Live a lifetime in a moment.

Stranger than fiction

“Ssshhhhh….silence!” The judge shouted.

It was a courtroom, but not at all like the ones they show in  movies. It was dirty, dingy, full of old furnitures and endless piles of yellowed documents. The mood in the room was gloomy and…

“Deadly boring! Don’t you think?” Riya asked, with a huge yawn.

“It’s a court! What did you expect, DJ and vodka shots??” Deb shook his head in amusement.

“Just look at the pot-belly of the Judge! He’s hilarious…” They both broke into a giggle.

A lawyer seated in the front row came and whispered in their ears,” Don’t talk and laugh so much. The Judge will notice and postpone your date.”

Well now that was something serious. Riya and Deb were silent. For extra precaution, Riya put her handbag between them, to create some distance. This again brought another round of silent giggling.

“Next are you.” The lawyer called. The couple stood up. The Judge was bored and uninterested. He had only one question to ask,” Whatever is written here, is written out of your free will or not?” They nodded simultaneously. That was it, approved by the honorable Judge and the legal system of India.

After coming out of the claustrophobic room, Riya’s mood was visibly better. But she was not satisfied. “No questions?? The Judge didn’t ask anything!! Is it so common? It was all over in 10 minutes!”

Deb started laughing. “It matters to nobody, sweetheart. Now, what do you say, Chinese? Tung Fong?”

Oh yeah. The mutual divorce went really well.

The starting

To think of it, the starting was rather unceremonious. I was going to a different city for some official work. In the airport I met RD. He was also going on the same assignment, to the same city.

Our project started. It was different, difficult at times, taxing, quite engaging. I began to enjoy it slowly. The bad timings, the strict discipline, the unknown language, the local food, the cozy place I was staying in – I absorbed it all like a sponge. And after a week maybe, I stopped missing home. I stopped feeling awkward in a bunch of people all speaking different languages. I felt this is my place.

The dates started casually. Two like minds in an unknown city will obviously flock together, be it for movies or food or weekends. And then the conversation. That look in his eyes. The hunger coursing through. The slow forgetting of where I came from, what I was, what will people say. It occurred naturally. It was as if a drama was unfolding in front of me, and I was just a spectator who had no control over the events. On the beautiful backdrop of mother nature, the love flourished (I can use this word so casually because I have crossed some time since then. I was in denial mostly).

Slowly the outside world faded out. There was only these two living beings in the world. Each day we would do a countdown to see how much time we have left. It was a bubble in which we were living. Both were acutely aware of what was going to happen; it just made us more desperate.

One month passed like a moment….and the time came.

The Goddess-When she bleeds

Women in Indian society are lucky chaps – they are compared with Goddesses. A girl who excels in academics is Saraswati, one who is good in household stuff is Laxmi, and the corporate lady who rushes home to prepare dinner for husbands and kids is, of course, Durga. So unlike our Western sisters we are always in a better position. We stay safely on a pedestal, with the whole society looking up to us, respecting us, never ever doing the travesty of asking us for a drink (are you serious?) or casual sex (doesn’t exist in India!) .

In the north-east state of Assam, there is a famous temple called the Kamakhya temple. What separates Kamakhya from all the other goddesses is that she menstruates. Each year for three days in the monsoon season, the temple is closed on account of the yearly menstruation cycle of the goddess. A fair is held at that time, and after the three days, Prasad is distributed among the devotees, which consists of Angodak  (bodily fluid; water from the spring) and Angabastra (red cloth covering the body). Every year lakhs of pilgrims attend this festival and celebrate this festival of fertility.

The same doesn’t generally hold true for a Indian woman. Menstruating women are seen as unclean, filthy, even untouchables in some places. They are not allowed to enter a temple or to take part in an Anjali. In some parts of India, for those four days, they are secluded in a part of the house and forbidden to talk to any male members. In a lot of villages, women do not get the basic sanitary requirements; they have to rely on old recycled clothes which are troublesome and unhygienic, sometimes causing serious infection to the user. Even in urban India, still now, sanitary products are sold in black paper bags to hide them. The topic of periods is a taboo in schools, colleges, work places. But, ironically, in the same society, fertility is a big deal. So you should bleed silently and when the time comes, produce a baby. The Goddess can have it, but not a common woman.

Image Courtesy: http://www.menstrupedia,com

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.