deviousways

"Shalu, open the door. For god's sake, let me see you. Please, can we talk?” She can hear the desperation in Ajith's voice. In the background, a child is crying loudly, their son. He is scared something is wrong with amma and appa. His hands, feet and neck are red and slightly swollen. The mark of an angry hand is clearly visible. Her hand.   She cannot open the door. cannot move, the pain inside her so full to bursting that only a greater pain can make it bearable. This hand I used to hit him, she mumbles to herself, this hand, I wish I could cut it off, if only...it will break, crumble into nothingness. Just like me, just like me.... She stops, body bruised and aching. Throwing herself against the wall again and again, to dull the pain inside, has left her knuckles grazed, but the bones are not broken. No, not so easy to break, she thinks. Not so easy to erase what I have done to the one being who is solely dependent on me. I am a monster. Outside the locked door...

I am dark skinned. Or to put it nicely, my skin is filter kaapi with a dash of cream. Growing up, I was scared to wear colour. Specially bright hues. An attitude coloured by those around me. Not my family, no. But neighbours and strangers, and yes, we children are quite cruel In a thoughtless way. Always, I would cringe inside if I wore a bold colour. And when it came to nail polish (before it became 'nail paint') I nearly always chose pastels. Something that would be inconspicuous Not call attention to the colour of my skin. But now that I am older and more confident in my skin I want to go bold. I want to embrace colour. I wear jeans in turquoise and another pair that's a beautiful burnt-red hue. I paint my nails cherry red, or sometimes, even a deep fuchsia (so much nicer than just calling it 'pink'!). Yes I still tremble inside a little When I sport these colours That are such a contrast to my own skin. And yet, and yet, I smile too. I lik...

She lies back with a sigh, eyes closed. It had been such a long day.  Wandering around Commercial Street, trying to haggle for better bargains, trying to soothe baby.... Thank god, she had that steaming cardamom chai from Bhagatrams. And of course, Ram had to be late picking them up... Men! Now, it’s 11 pm. She feels as tense as a bow string, ready to snap. She needs a release, but what if baby wakes up. God knows she doesn’t want to rock him back to sleep again. And yet, and yet, she wants, needs, to lose herself for a little while. Retreat to a place where she can let herself feel be free. No thoughts, no worries. Eyes closed, she does the straps off, slides the elastic down. Gives herself into sensation. Ah, Ram, she breathes, you know exactly where to touch me. So good to feel a supple body, her body. Still toned, even at 38. Yes, the workouts are worth it, she tells herself. All that sweat and pain, waking up extra early every morning, for an hour, no...

Does it excite you To see my back Undulate? Yes, I know it sways And that my breasts bounce When I walk. Yes, that leads you To make obscene sounds When I pass by. And when you have friends around You are bolder. There is safety in company, after all. You look at other women too Snigger, comment under your breath As they walk by. You reach out to grope, to humiliate. How degrading it must be To live the way you do. You don't see beyond the flesh. You don't care that we are Mother, daughter, sister, wife. More important, we are people Not just body parts. And yes, we own ourselves. Unlike you. Your actions do not diminish me. And while I can't stop you I can confront you or choose to ignore Your pathetic self. For you cannot stop what you are. Or what you do.

Every weekday morning, I stumble out of bed at the insistence of my alarm clock, wishing myself extra snooze time. Not that I wake up at the crack of dawn or anything, (like other amazing mothers I know). I get up around 7-7.15 am, because I have a little boy whose Lightning McQueen snack box needs to be filled up. And said little man also has to be given a decent breakfast. Accomplishing that, every day, leaves me feeling very proud of myself, to be honest The only problem is, once the little fellow is off to pre-school--bathed, dressed and fed, then the zonkness hits me. Even the enormous mug of filter coffee I prep my mornings with, has stopped working by then. That's when I know, I need to salute the sun. The sun salutation or the surya namaskar is a 12-step series of asanas, involving breathing right, stretching and general all-round limbering up. I started doing it last year, when my asthma had me using a very strong inhalor-- Foracort 400, which actually comes with it...

I didn't know it earlier, but I am a powerful woman. With these hands, I hug away tears Or make my little one cry. With my smile he knows I approve, that he's doing great. My frown says he's done something wrong. My anger worries him So much so he becomes skittish, tries to make me laugh.  When I shout at my husband, and he fights back When we trade harsh words, rather than blows, It still sears our souls and empties our hearts of happiness Then I know our little one is disturbed He looks at us, wide-eyed and anxious.  And invariably, he sleeps badly. I know now, that such power is a dangerous thing. If I'm upset or sad, or depressed or angry The negativity pours out of me To envelop everyone else. If I'm happy, and smiling My family is too. Yes, I am a powerful woman. And it scares the hell out of me.