Unforgiven...

A new day .. a new life..
But it doesn't leave me alone .
The cold call of Mnemosyne,
to face it .. to brave it ...
to let go .., forgive.
She follows me .. evrywhr i go ..
Her ministrels ...seeping thru
long dark corridors ..
dank , lonely , hushed
leadin to the Door.
Closed. Shut . Untouched.
Unforgotten .


Time and again ..i give in
Echoing footsteps back in time
sucked into the hush,
the forced hush of impatient voices ..
Inching closer to the untouched cold Door.
the hush more forced ..the voices urgent .
She urges me on ...
time to face it .. to brave it ...
to let go ... forgive.
Open the Door.
Closed . Shut. Untouched.
Unforgotten.


Trembling fingers bracing to push ,
one ear against the door ..
Strains of the giggles of a childhood long lost,
warmth... care...happy smiles.
Lullabies sung to a happy doll,
Laughter in the afternoon swings,
stiffled by a million hands
tearing to shreds
the Robe of Innocence ..
leaving in its wake
a Shroud of Bewilderment..Hurt..Anger...Rage..
shriller and shriller the Lullaby gets ..
till it breaks into Screams..
hushed into uneasy Silence by the Door.
Closed. Shut. Untouched .
Uunforgotten.


Let go ? Unleash tht Hurt ..tht Anger..
tht Hatred suppressed ..?
Courage failed .. Fear reigned .
Fear of tht beast within, aching to lash out..
refusing to trust ...
I retreat...
hating the burden with every bit of me ..
bearing it still...
I retreat...
ignoring Her urging.. fleeing the cold and damp
to the warmth and freedom ...
I retreat into today ...
to my life , my love , my happiness ..
repressing a shudder everytime i look ..
over the shoulder ..
at the Door.
Closed. Shut . Untouched.
Unforgotten.

Unforgiven.

I feel shame ...

Shame ...
I feel .... Shame ...

I feel the crimson blush of shame ...
the shame of a nation betrayed by her custodians ...
a future compromised ... in the name of empowering one and all ...
a land divided ... on lines of by what name do God we call ...
where a father wont hesitate to lay down his beloved daughter a wreath,
because God forbid she loved into a caste beneath ...
where rioters and criminals are free larks ...
because the police are busy patroling the parks ...
where pilgrims are burnt in trains alive ...
by people who take God's name by the day times five
where harmony and peace a big price do pay ...
to zealots who cry - "mandir yahin banayenge" ...
where to remember brave martyrs we fail ...
while we read what a 'star' had for dinner in jail ...
where issues are raised in Parliament for dough ...
by politicians who could sink no further low ...
where to get work done officials must be fed ...
while "satyamev jayate " beams over their head ...

Where is the shame tht is in their lot?
in view of the culture they have left to rot ...
For every bit of shame they do fake ...
here , my country , I bow my head and take ....
Shame ....

Rootless ..but free ?

"I am comparing gravity with belonging. Both phenomena observably exist: my feet stay on the ground, and I have never been angrier than on the day my father told me he had sold my childhood home in Bombay. But neither is understood. We know the force of gravity, but not its origins; and to explain why we become attached to our birthplaces we pretend that we are trees and speak of roots. Look under your feet. You will not find gnarled growths spouting through the soles. Roots, I sometimes think, are a conservative myth, designed to keep us in our places.
"When individuals come unstuck from their native land, they are called migrants. When nations do the same (Bangladesh), the act is called secession. What is the best thing about migrant peoples and seceded nations? I think it is their hopefulness. . . . And what's the worst thing? It is the emptiness of one's luggage. I'm speaking of invisible suitcases, not the physical, perhaps cardboard, variety containing a few meaning-drained mementoes: we have come unstuck from more than land. We have floated upwards from history from memory, from Time."
- Salman Rushdie

Growing up , i alwez thought this concept of roots was over-rated . Having been born and brought up in a place very different - culturally , geographically and linguistically - from the region ppl call my "native"place ... i never bothered with the question of whr i belonged... In fact I prided myself on this detachment from any particular place ..on this ability to settle in whrever time or fate takes me ... It was just a part of tht emotional baggage tht i dint want to have to carry arnd ...
As a kid it was ok.. i belonged whr my home was... but things have changed ... parents have relocated whr they felt they shud be .. and i am caught at a crossroads whr i dont know whr home is ... i mean sure ,mom dad rock ...and i love the new house ...but its not home .... and all the old houses and places i have lived in evoke nostalgia ....but they dont call out to me ..... Thrz no place tht tugs at my heart the way my frenz describe their homecomings... Time and again these days i find myself lost ... longing for a place i belong .. a place i can call my home .... The normal confusion of a young girl trying to fit in sumwhr ... or a deep-rooted unfulfilled need to belong ???