colourmewhite

Diwali as a matter of fact only celebrates the victory of an Aryan king over a Dravidian counterpart. It was about territorial expansion and invasion and had nothing to do with fighting injustice, crime or ‘evil’. Therefore, isn’t celebrating Diwali indulging in racism.

Why I believe what I believe:

I've read that apart from the four southern states, Dravidians were supposed to have inhabited (based on linguistics among other things) central India, Baluchistan and even Iran. 

Hence, it sounds plausible that the Aryans had in fact come into an already existing civilization (at Harappa/Mohan Jo Dharo) and later subdued them and pushed them further south for the most part, while some moved westward (towards Baluchistan/Iran/wherever they will keep discovering their presence) in the northern direction. Can it not be possible that like they moved west they also moved east (Assam perhaps)??? 

You surely don’t believe in these stories as they are told!!! Do ya! Some of us aren’t even believers. Mythology to me is more of an expression of contemporary politics, ideologies and strategies. Government-backed agencies like ISI, CIA, MI5 and MI6 and a whole lot of others indulge in propaganda of their choice in today's world, why mustn’t we believe that’s how it was back then too? If MI6 can publish untrue stories about Ed Heath so Maggie T can win her seat so a few people can get what they want and then some more and stay there ...why must it be hard for us to understand that at some level if not all...such "myths" were perhaps propaganda of the yesteryears? Perhaps Ravana wasn’t a bad boy after all.

The Oxford Dictionary describes racism as a belief or doctrine that inherent differences among the various human races determine cultural or individual achievement, usually involving the idea that one’s own race is superior and has the right to rule others. Am I manifesting racist tendencies by suggesting what I did? I don’t think so. I am just an inquirer. I am generally curious, and given the season, theologically too. Now just because I question something well established does not mean I am a bigoted fanatic that is out to slay opinions and beliefs (and the beholders of the same) that aren’t my own. I question only because I am open to thinking that there is more to everything that I have ever seen, heard, read, been told or taught about. If you do want to accuse someone of being bigoted, cut to an advert for fair and lovely. The dusky, thus unnoticed, daughter of an aging makeup artist can’t cut it in the glamour world. And then her father, quite like the ‘fair’y godmommy, waves his magic tube of skin lightening granules, transforming pantry girl into desirable pin up debutante. So here’s the deal. Every once in a while, we ought to take that pin out of our pockets and burst our own bubbles. And then perhaps understanding will come by.

Love’s Real Estate

“You don’t give me my space”
Said the man who unabashedly stole mine.
How revolting! But I hold my grace.
For I must pay for my sins sublime,
The pursuit of happiness- the ultimate crime.

My dreams and wants lie unfulfilled,
Knows he not, the things he killed.
A space so vast, a moor it held,
Miles and miles of me it bled
Where merry friends and cheery times
Made music like them trees with chimes.
Conquered loves belted out their battle cries
As I fought myself to win my prize-
Of hallowed lovers with their holy lies,
The garden of Eden complete with butterflies.

My life she was an open road,
My only gripe-there was no man aboard.
Then one day I laid my eyes on him,
My chalice of love he’d fill to the brim.
I gave my life when he asked for my hand,
Traded me for a wedding band.

Its funny how my still heart still skips,
When I run my fingers over his lips.
I love him so, Of that I am clear,
In his eyes twinkle my babies dear.
I live each day on borrowed lives,
Shared opinions, plates and knives.
‘Tis strange how life she is dancing dead,
Clothed in buried times and bridal red.

By my freckled skin,
Please judge me not.
For spots on my cheeks,
Tell my story not.
Nor do the bulges around
My widened hips,
My fuzzy limbs,
And cigar-stained lips
Bear testimony to how
My soul, she quips.
Look beyond my bespectacled face,
Popular perceptions of beauty and grace.
Put away your viewfinder, your flash, your zoom lenses,
Enhance no reality, Embellish no pretenses.
Open up, don’t let your soul die blind-
Transcend the flesh, capture the mind.

From really long ago

Thinkers say this is the end,
Prophets say the doom is nigh,
The world left alone with itself to fend,
Brooding, Crying, Heaving a sigh.

What is it that helps us go on ? 
What is it to which we hold on ?
What is it that makes us smile in our sorrow?
What is it that makes us long for the morrow?

Faith...
Faith in ourselves and faith in others,
Faith in sunshine, the bees and the flowers,
Faith in all the things to come,
Faith that to evil we won't succumb.

Faith in the air we breathe in,
Faith in the songs we sing,
Faith in the light we see,
Faith is what lets us be.

CALMASUTRA

He sleeps

With his hands over my bosom

Like a child’s.

I sleep

Hiding in his arms

Afraid of being found by the world.

He sleeps

With his nose buried in the side of my neck

His breath thawing my frozen heart.

I sleep

With my hand in his

Least I lose my way in the dark.

We sleep

In lifesaving togetherness

Like primroses in rain.

june 12, 2009
5:45 pm

Harleys, leatherjackets, tattoos and pot
You think its gonna get you right on top?
Illusions, delusions and petrified dreams
You gotta pump in more dope to stop those screams.
Pause for a moment baby,
Give it all a thought.
Your whole life you gave it,
And now what have you got?

Deranged, in rehab, with therapies galore.
I’ve been there, seen it and want no more.
Listen up friend, mark my words
Coz this ain’t a trickie like the bees n birds.

Dealers and peddlers have laid out their nets.
Once you’re in there’s only regrets.
Life’s what happens when you’re making other plans,
Life doesn’t give you a second chance.

So next time you peddle,
Peddle it right.
Just make sure
You’re peddling your bike.
 

Dim lights and pot pourri,
Heavenly fragrance set free.
Flickering candles all around,
Dancing to the sinuous sound.
In solitude I strike a chord,
Of serendipity and the Lord.
Distilled waters caressing my soul,
Thoughts of thee in me they shoal.
Wished for thee to fill the niche,
That lies empty beside me.
Fill it with our talks and walks,
Of shared lives and broken locks.
A confidante you are to me,
A partner beyond all revelry.
Come drink with me the holy wine,
Immaculate is this need of mine.

My life, she is an opinion poll;
Everybody has a say in it.
Did I vote, you ask? Aye.
I said “Can’t say”!

*********************
My life, she is a big ocean liner
Folks, they climb aboard and enjoy the cruise
And when they’ve arrived, I dock. Empty.
Anchored to my primal bruise.

*********************

My life, she is a ticking clock.
Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock
Summer Winter Spring and Fall
I remain nailed to the wall.

An Australian teenage girl has been given permission by a court to have both breasts surgically removed to more closely resemble a boy.

The 17-year-old, known as Alex in court and referred to as a boy, has a psychological condition that makes him unhappy with his gender.

The Family Court in Melbourne said the removal of both breasts would help Alex to build a new life as a boy.

The decision has angered Catholic groups, who view it as irresponsible.

A feeble body on flighty legs

At the raging sea must her hunger end

The Ocean, she is cruel

She shoves, she smothers

She froths at her mouth and

Snarls through the winds

But mouths must be fed

For lives must be led

And David must fight Goliath

A chequered towel
Like it always has
Hangs by the kitchen door
She wipes my tables
She wipes my tears
She rids my stains
And buries my fears

Death, he waits by
Like a dear old friend
For me to be done
With my earthly chores
And one last time
Will I dry my hands
  Ere I take off my shoes
And hang up my life

Well well well...guess where my meanderings got me to. The writer's block. A pretty unimaginative town where life is like a looped record. Every moment not a mystical deja vu but a repetetive monotonous continuity from the moment before. Nothing has changed since I last checked in. It had turned out to be a rather uneventful stay. The probability of things hotting up this time around seem very lax. The whether isnt particularly condusive to birth of newer and interesting events. Looks like I'll have to find myself a tree, spread out my dhurrie, bring out that apple, force an ill-written book down on me and wait for inspiration.