Falling through the dots...

...I am sometimes haunted by the thought that nobody really knows what it means to be you. Nobody. not your friends, not your family not your lover can see or understand the whole world like you do. Somehow talking is just not enough. 


Experience eludes transmission in words in pictures even in sharing it with someone. The moment I start describing my experiences they become alien to me, because I am struggling with memory, reconstructing something that has passed in time. I cannot even connect with myself; the person I was a year ago, a day, a minute ago. I cannot live it again.


In my head as memory, yes.But my memory is fragmented and my self is broken. My experience is broken between the people I share it with, in time. There is no wholeness.


Sociology has a fancy term for it.. decentering of the subject. I am actually living it... connecting the dots of my life at each moment. I am the thread, but increasingly I am aware that I can choose not to connect. I want to feel whole so I do it.. out of fear of falling apart of not being able to recognize myself. But there is no self to save! 


I am alone in my head. As you are in yours. And all your experiences become real in your head. I feel unreal sometimes.


Even those who read the words above will do it. Try and connect the dots in the words above. Make a picture, try and get to what is being said. But you can't get there. You will get somewhere though ... not my island but another place in your head. 

The Broken People

There is a land, a land of the broken people,
where dreams have crumbled to sand,
where the sea is playing truant with them,
and the broken people
build sand castles to be whole again.
and again

There is a pain, the pain of the broken people,
which flows from their very hearts
which is blowing in their faces,
and the broken people,
breathe in it so they may feel again.
and again

There is a God, a God of the broken people,
She is holding a candle to their pain,
Turning their tears away
and the broken people
stand a cross her path again.
and again.

There is a music, a music of the broken people,
they see Her in it,
that which they can never touch,
and the broken people,
clap to capture its beauty again.
and again.

There is a poem, a poem of the broken people,
its finding its way to them,
piecing them together
these broken people,
living like nothing could ever be broken again.
and again.

If you are happy and you know it :)

I wonder sometimes if I would be happier working in a corporate job, making loads of money and partying three weekends outta four ( and crashing the fourth!) rather than being where I am, at the margins of the economy still ploughing my way through books, answering random exam questions and waiting to be marked stupid or otherwise.. at 23. At 23 people have the best in life.. the best jobs, holidays and alot of stuff that would look good on their matrimonial ad and facebook pages :P

Then I curl up with a book I know i have the leisure to read ( we all take liberties in the name of intellectual pursuit :) ) with my favourite music humming away into my ears and I know the however much I suffer from the grass is greener syndrome, in this life there are no lesser forms of happiness or human beings.

Disown

Would you disown me if I disowned the rules that bind me to you?

The cut of my hair and my religion too?

Would you disown me if I disowned the rules that bind me to you?

The shape of my body and my perfume too?

Would you disown me if I disowned the rules that bind me to you?

The trajectory of my career and my number too?

Would you disown me if I disowned the rules that bind me to you?

The colour of my towel and my sexuality too?

Would you disown me if I disowned the rules that bind me to you?

The love of the Family and of grammar too?

Would you disown me if I disowned the rules that bind me to you?

The truth of Science and of friendship too?

Would you disown me if I disowned the rules that bind me to you?

The need of Money and honesty too?

Would you disown me if I disowned the rules that bind me to you?

The rule of owning and of meaning too?

Could you disown me if I disowned the rules

That make me ‘me’ and you ‘you’?

Being Human

I realise I am guilty of euphemising AND plagiarising. This note should have been called "On Sex" instead. Can't imagine that on brightly coloured T shirts.  It would grab some eyeballs am sure but hurt the sensibility of those who react to the word as if someone accidentally touched them in their privates. By now you realise that sensibility is not the operational word here. Its possibility. And its not even about sex exactly. Its about homosex. Same sex desire. Gayness, lesbianism, hijrapan, chakkapan.. (whatever floats your boat). So if sex is the accidental touch on your sensibility, homosex for alot of people is literally wringing their moral balls and bearings :P  Its about gay parades, and weirdos and clapping and threats of stripping and all those things that Mr. Azad so aptly described as ... unnatural.  

Would it surprise you if I said the way our societies are structured sex which leads to procreation is the only sex not frowned upon. Pleasure is outlawed. Its a denial that the society will live with it, fight but never accept. Its right here... its prostitution, its rape, its" if u lose ur virginity your world ends" mindsets.  So the logic goes- Sex is so important when it is practiced in a badass way, but if you are caught up in a bad marriage with a horrible sex life.. think of your kids and find love in God (for the wife mind you). Knock on other doors for the guy, with the pain of social ostracisation looming large.  Its this obsession with the dark and dangerous side of sex and an almost inversely proportionate failure to see it as intimacy, as maybe love and pleasure and not just baby-making,  thats surely screwing our collective lives.

And what do i  have against this? Just a few tidbits from a young life. No figures, no diagrams, no historical citations, no telling how much AIDs homosexuality is causing :P I can say only from my experience that much grief in this world is a denial of possibility. And am not just talking about who can have sex with whom debates. Am talking about boys don't cry and girls are little mothers. And i am yet to come across scientific data which shows that the tear glands of people born with a male organ are less functional than those who are not. Its crazy the restrictions we put on ourselves. But its not really our fault. When no one is embracing their possibilities why should you be the joke? But in our times you are a joke only till you become a millionaire. 

And for all you know being human is a million dollar lottery in the game of evolution. Its a million possibilities. Animals don't grow their food. We cook it and make fancy cuisine. We banish our fur and invent fashion. We have a whole industry based on being who we are not ( Hollywood and other woods). To "be unnatural" is the most natural thing for humans.There is one thing that I realise now, that being human whether its sex, art, music, science.. is not about limitation , control, fear, denial. Its about possibility. And to claim that homosexuality is unnatural is to deny what the human body is capable of. If we were meant to be limited by our bodies we would be very pathetic versions of animals indeed. We would never fly, because we are not birds. Never swim because we are not fish. Never be in space because we are not meteors! Our body, our mind is a realm of possibility, its time to give ourselves a chance.   

Between desire and fulfillment

A life lived between desiring and fulfillment


that school prize- a sign of your place in the world of stars...
the sight of the finish line flash blurry ahead awaiting your triumph
of sniffing expectantly while your mother stirs, when oh when?
the touch of an admiring glance before the compliment comes
the warm breathe of longing, soft on the flesh, heavy on the heart
before your favourite strains of the song befall your ears..


the pregnant pause of life, full of promise
between your breaths - yet not yours
intoxicating like wet earth
washing over you like the waves
eluding you like sunshine...
an ironical itch behind your back...


For, is not each of us-a king and queen in the waiting...