We Are All Weather
You said we are all weather.
Always changing.
Bound to the cycle of
joy, grief, boredom, solitude
and the many other moods and feelings
we probably never asked for.
I am simpler than most people.
I just keep fluctuating between
heat waves and snow storms.
I cannot differentiate between
the many shades of happiness.
I only know the anticipation.
And the storms that follow.
So, my dear, if we are all weather,
I am one which challenges Life.
I am the reason for death and extinction.
And you…you’re the wind
that somehow seeps through
and survives the storms…
Happiness
When I first met Happiness,
she had a strong American accent
and used to irritate me by dragging words.
Stooooopppp, Pleeeeeeeeease…..
But then Happiness made me proud
at the end of the year
with her hard work and A+.
Happiness liked to think
that ‘onomatopoeia’ is a figure of speech.
But then Happiness is ready to learn
and writes wonderful Shakespearean sonnets.
Happiness sometimes has a messy ponytail
and uses ‘stuff’ when she can’t find
a suitable word.
But happiness made me believe in hope
with her beautiful short story.
Happiness arrives at the middle of the term
but manages to catch up without any fuss.
Happiness submits her homework on time
but makes a face when she hears the word ‘classic’.
Happiness often forgets to do his homework.
Sometimes Happiness is too lazy for homework.
Sometimes Happiness asks irrelevant questions
and never pays attention.
Happiness has a terrible handwriting.
Sometimes Happiness has a good handwriting
but it is neutralized by his terrible grammar.
Happiness often bunks my class.
Happiness sometimes needs extra classes.
Sometimes Happiness hopes that I would fall sick
so that he can escape from the dreaded ‘test’.
But Happiness gets worried
when I don’t show up for two days in a row.
Happiness loves me sometimes.
But most of the time Happiness just tolerates me.
I love Happiness sometimes
but most of the time I’m just concerned.
Between this Love and Tolerance and Concern,
I know that I cannot own Happiness.
Happiness is destined for great things
and I am just here to give that push.
But I do know that Happiness
will always remember me.
And that is the valuable gift
Happiness has unknowingly given me.
When the Nonconformist has to Choose
When asked to choose between pink and blue,
for the walls of my room,
I wondered why not both?
And on second thought,
I pointed at a can of green paint.
Bright, fluorescent, standing out…
And when that sweet neighbour asked me
which one of my parents I loved more,
I found it silly.
Of course, I loved both! Didn’t everyone?
But then I was not ready
to speak for everybody.
So, I just smiled and passed that question.
When I booked my first ticket
At the crowded railway station,
the ‘gender’ column made me wonder
whether everyone is either male or female.
But that didn’t make sense.
So I concluded that
only males and females are allowed to travel.
Others probably don’t.
I have been wondering ever since
about why choices always come in pairs.
Never less, never more.
Tea or coffee,
Barbie dolls or GI Joe’s,
Books or Kindle,
Poetry or prose,
War or peace,
Introvert or extrovert,
Happy or Sad,
Good or bad…
Sometimes I want to choose both.
Most of the time I prefer neither.
And it’s totally okay.
Because the best things in life
do not come in pairs.
Like that set of poster colours
I got on my thirteenth birthday.
Like that wagging tail of the pup
I fed on the street yesterday.
Like all those magical worlds and fictional characters
who made my childhood awesome
and continue to make adulthood tolerable.
The photographs from childhood
and memories of desserts and cakes.
Like the summer rains and winter sunshine
and the colours of spring and autumn.
The stars and the countless universes out there.
Like the melancholy that stays after a heartbreak heals.
So, it’s okay
to not choose
what is offered.
It’s okay
to neither fit in nor stand out.
It’s okay to be infinity
in a world of binaries.
Loss
I died but you’re fine,
said the tainted memory
of the long lost child.
The Concealer Stick
I bought a new concealer yesterday.
It came with promises of perfection
and swept my entire life’s savings away…
keeping hidden the marks of rejection.
I bought one a shade lighter than I am.
You see, I have dark circles and a tan,
years of neglect and treatments that were sham…
Scars that came before the CFC ban.
But it makes me look very fair and fake.
I can see the lonely scars peeping through
making me look like an over-iced cake…
the circles under my eyes a light blue.
I broke the new concealer stick today.
To hide scars there must be another way.
The Divider
I recently asked a colleague,
What that extra compass-like thing
exists for.
You see, when the purpose is unknown,
the name doesn’t really matter.
She told me that the name said it all.
The Divider, helps divide.
By measuring small distances
leaving tiny scars on immaculate papers.
For me it has been a multipurpose device.
When I was eleven,
I used it to pierce papers after an exam.
When I was fifteen,
I used it to engrave my name on a tree.
When I was seventeen,
I carried it with me while commuting
to and from college.
To hurt groping hands.
I don’t carry it anymore.
I just avoid public transport.
You see, I live in a world where
I need to be more concerned about safety…
more than I ever can be about geometry.
Us
I
unwanted, lost
Hoping, falling, breaking;
Desperation, Melancholy, Love, Solace.
Knowing, rebuilding, living;
loved, found
You
