When You Give a Daughter Away

 (This piece was written for the Media Corner of the Kerala State Women's Development Corporation. Do take a look at their website, and if you wish to contribute a piece of writing in any form, on any subject relating to women, please feel free to send it in to cd2@kswdc.org)

Remember when as a child, you'd go to the store with your parents, and stop at the meat counter? Your dad or mom would move from one to the next, occasionally ask the price or origin of one piece, move on, settle for one, and then proceed to instruct the salesman behind the counter on which pieces to select, asking about cut, origin, commenting on quality, and finally, pay the man and leave. An arranged marriage in India is pretty similar.

If you are born Indian, and god forbid, Indian female, you are a piece of meat. You have an expiration date. It is vital that you are put on display well before that. People will move from one to the next, for you are not alone in this exhibition. Interested parties will ask a few questions, not to you, but to the parents, the salespeople. They will make their comments, talk about features they don't like, which the salespeople judiciously assure the customer will be removed from you before delivery. With meat, it's the fat. With girls, it's their loud laugh. Or them wearing jeans. They haggle some more, finally settle on a price, and you are sold.

If all this sounds fantastical to you, count your blessings. If you agree all too much, know you are not alone. 

Just like the meat, all this happens right in front of you. Constantly. You are discussed, criticized, measured, dismissed, all in your hearing. You are sold without your consultation. You are given no choice but to go home with the people who bought you.

Bleak? Sure. Real? You bet. It doesn't matter if you were a lovely, frisky calf who dreamt of grass meadows. And it matters even less if you were a brilliant, accomplished person with dreams in your eyes and a fire in your soul to achieve them. You will be slaughtered and sold. When the time is right. To the person with the best offer.

What you are, what you can be, what you can achieve, what you have achieved, your personality, character and everything else pales in comparison to whose wife you are. That tag is the only one which can validate your existence. Your whole life revolves around that one moment. When someone else, and often, someone who you have known for a matter of mere months, claims you as his. Nothing remains of you, not even your name. You leave subdued, bought, owned.

Of course there are happy marriages. And ones that work far better than anything you could have found for yourself. Who knows you better than the people who brought you into this world, right? Granted.

 Then why the negativity? Because India has one of the most skewed sex ratios in the world. In some states, it is a mere 820 females for every 1000 males. Because girl children are slaughtered. Inside the womb, or minutes outside it. Because in places no one talks about, women are forced to marry more than one man, often brothers. There aren't enough girls to go around, you've killed the rest. Because there are people begging others, or mortgaging the only piece of land they own in the world, or spending every last paisa they have saved during their lives. To give a daughter away.

Because the following comments are heard in the houses of educated, open minded, worldly - wise, well earning individuals :

1. People are already asking us how she's working in Delhi. Does she live with relatives? Do you have someone there keeping an eye on her? And now she's saying she wants to go study in the States. Can you imagine what people will say after that? We said no, obviously, it's not going to happen. Who will marry her?


2. People say she's smarter than most of the boys in her class. And they're fellow doctors, aren't they? Can you imagine what she'll be like if she does her M.D. as well? Who will marry her?


3. She makes more than most of the boys we've looked at, even if they're more educated than her. And she doesn't want to compromise by looking for another job. Who will marry her?


4. She says she want to study medicine. And she's even got admission. But we can't just spend all that money on her education, we have to marry her off also. Is she's a doctor with no dowry, who will marry her?


5. She got chicken pox last month. I'm not letting her leave the house for another 3 months. If it scars her face, where will I find a husband for her? Who will marry her?


 5. (A husband to his wife) Why didn't you immediately say that you could have her when that lady (with a son) asked you if you have plans of getting our daughter married? If you don't catch onto clues, who will marry her?


And so on. And so forth. Until they find someone who can put that blessed piece of thread around your neck, you are a burden, a constant worry that bites into their very souls. And the whispers... 
"she's 23 and you're not looking yet?" "27 and not married? There has to be something wrong with her." And of course, it is everybody and their third cousin's problem, "are you looking? I know a few boys. Why aren't you looking? How long do you think you can wait? Do you know how old she is? Do you want to pay more? Do you know how much they ask for a girl of that age? And the inevitable "who will marry her?"


Marriage isn't a bad institution. But in India, what it has been reduced to, is pathetic. And the evils it has spawned is devastating. Female infanticide and foeticide aren't pretentious intellectual terms, they are everyday realities. Parents who kill their girl children simply because they say there is no way they can possibly raise enough money for a dowry. Parents who bury their girl children alive. Parents who weep when a girl child is born. All because of what marriage has become. A show for relatives and neighbours. "Look at the catch we landed for our girl. Do you know what we had to give to get him?" And did "your girl" agree? Who cares? We need a wedding to show the world. We need to give our daughter away.


Girls are raised constantly reminded that they are loans, to be returned with interest when the time comes. And while the situation of someone who can't marry off his daughter because he doesn't make enough to buy a Maruti may seem comical, it is anything but. The whole lives of most Indian parents with a girl child revolves around making enough to convince somebody to marry them. Oh and of course, dowry is illegal and punishable by imprisonment." And the constant string of comments all beginning with "when you're married..." reduces your existence to a being who will be worth something only, and only, if you have a husband to name.


Stop. Girls aren't androids incapable of feeling or intelligence. They dare and dream and hope and think and rage and pray and imagine and wait and work and aim just like your precious boys do. Stop raising them as commodities to be sold, and adding value to those commodities by making them gain degree and certificates of your choosing as embellishments. Raise them as self - respecting, considerate, honest, hard - working individuals, and send them out into the world to make their own way. Let them marry if, when and whom they choose, if they are settled in their own lives as mature individuals. 


Don't bring a daughter into this world only to make them feel every single day of their lives that the only thing that can make them worth something in your eyes, and the only way you think their existence can be validated is if there's a ring on her finger and a man of your choosing in her life. 


And stop treating them like milk which will revolt everyone they come into contact with if not used by a certain age.If you can't, kill us in the wombs. We'll never know that we weren't wanted. 

Traitor...

Traitor!
My name, unspeakable
my act, immortal
Besmirched, sullied, spat on
I hang at a noose I wrought myself
silver pieces spilling for want of blood


Thirty pieces of cold shining silver
to send to slaughter with a kiss
the man who saved my soul.

You were wrong, oh blameless one
I was but mortal. Weak. Corruptible.
Judas the traitor.
No catcher of men am I.
I deny it not.


But I beg to ask
Was there not one traitor more?
All I ask, and ask to know
Is there not a greater crime?

To say "I shall not betray thee though everyone else shall"
and then to say "I know thee not?"


Not once but oh three times over?
To lie. To deny the man you claimed to love
and follow till his very end


You may not have led him to the cross
and perhaps you are one sin less
I betrayed him and took my reward
But oh Peter the rock
the one the savior loved more than any
Tell me, which wound is deeper?


To still a beating heart?
Or to deny it, stab and twist
and leave it bleeding?


To betray?

Or to walk away?

Goodbye Harry!

11 years ago, a friend walked up to me and asked, sounding excited : "Sherin, have you read Harry Potter?" I had not, and told her so. She continued : "It's a  great book, I'll lend it to you." The next day, as I walked home from school holding Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, 12 year old me had no idea that I was about to begin a journey with countless others, a journey which will end, for all of us, tomorrow.

I devoured the book. So taken was I by Harry and Hagrid and Dumbledore and He Who Must Not Be Named, I made my brothers and all my other friends read it. I was hooked. Hungry, I scoured my friend's list for people who had the other books, after finding out that three of them had been released by then. Like most people my age, until the fourth book, I did not read them in order, I read them as 2,4,1 and 3. And by the time book 4 had released, I had become one of the millions of children who pre ordered the book months in advance, spent hours discussing what would happen, got to the store the minute it opened and fought with my siblings over who would read it first. 

By book 4, Harry Potter was a legend. Pottermania was a recognized english word. There were debate groups, book forums, websites, chat rooms, book clubs and predictably, a movie franchise that has by now spawned unreported earnings, transforming the "Potter children" into multi millionaires before they were even old enough to sign on the dotted line without parental permission.

Harry and I lived and loved through our teens, faced different demons and learned that in the end, if you walk out with your head held high, ready to do the right thing, no matter what the consequences, victory can be yours. The last book released 4 years ago. But there was still the movie to come. Still a reason to wait. And tomorrow, that will be gone too.

 The frenzy surrounding the release of the 7th and final book was unprecedented. It holds the wold record for most books sold in a day, the figure being as high as 15 million copies. In one day. Not since the days of Beatlemania, or a certain Moonwalker has the world seen a phenomenon that gripped its imagination so completely, leaving even adults camping on the sidewalks to buy the books on opening day.

How does one say goodbye to that? I for one, do not know. Tomorrow, when I leave the theatre after having seen Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Part 2, a movie that stamps "the end" on something that has defined my growing up years, I doubt very much that I will be thinking about the movie. I will instead be thinking about the fact that my childhood is indeed, over. Harry and his world of magic was my one last excuse to hold on, and I will finally have to let go of a journey I began over a decade ago.I realize that like the child stars who are now poised, beautiful adults, I too have a last day scheduled to spend with Harry Potter.

No matter how old I get, I will always be a Pottermaniac. And if I get a chance, I will be one of those who introduces a generation yet to come to the world of Harry Potter. But for now, and for ever, it's over. A part of me ends tomorrow, a part that has lived with Harry, for 11 years. It began when we were both 12. I am now 23. And it is time. 

Thank you J.K. Rowling, for creating a memory which defines my childhood. Thank you Schez, for being the one who handed me that book all those years ago. And Harry? Goodbye.

You Taught Me

You taught me to win

and forgot to tell me

how to lose

You taught me to fight

and neglected to mention

when to stop

You taught me courage

what do I do now

that I'm afraid?

You taught me joy

where are you now

that the laughter stopped?

You taught me to believe

why didn't you tell me

that faith is blind?

You taught me love

then why do I

hate you for it?

You taught me to dream

and then set an alarm clock

leaving me awake and dreamless

You taught me hope

and never let me know

Pandora had opened the box twice

You taught me pride

Why aren't you here to help me up

Now that I've fallen?

You taught me beauty

and left out the part

about the thorns

You taught me to stand

I didn't know

You meant 

alone

Melancholy

Blue isn't my color

But every once in a while

You run out of passion

And joy

Even pain

Red fades, yellow washes away

Black, well black remains

But it's so easily stained

buried, choked, silenced

by the blue

I'm not sure when I embraced it

I don't think it was choice

I must have spilled the rest

Watched them run

A lovely river of colors

As my desperate outstretched fingers

Closed their hold

Salvaging

What I didn't know at the time

was a poisonous blue.

It stays. It stains.

Turning blue is always unpleasant.

Painful. Chilly.

Can't breathe.

Those words, careless.

In shimmering blue.

Time to paint.

Pretty purple?

Crimson and gold?

Choose.

Or drown

in a beautiful sunlit blue.

Life Lessons from Hollywood

I grew up with Hollywood. Practically a junkie. The earliest movie I remember watching is The Lion King. Graduating from animated movies (just cartoons, those days) to hard core Hollywood, I embrace the industry, swallowing up practically everything it has to offer, except in the blood dripping-limbs flying-mutilated people genre.

I was switching channels, comatose in the way that only a jobless not yet certified post graduate can be, and I came up with this list. A tribute to the industry that gave us Jim Stark, Red, Col. Nathan Jessup, Darth Vader, Edward Cullen (everyone makes mistakes,we forgive and move on), Morpheus, Jack Sparrow, Mufasa, John McClane, The Terminator, Free Willy and so very many more. Hollywood cliches that show up in 1 in 5 movies, and we don't mind, because we love them!

10. The villain is never who you think it is. Never.

And the best part is, apparently, even the characters don't see it coming. Hollywood has no qualms about making anyone the bad guy, and runs riot with our expectations, never being apologetic for bringing either our or the character's world crashing down.

Most used line : Some variation of : "It was you! I trusted You!"

Best revelation ever :

Luke Skywalker : You killed my father.

Darth Vader : No Luke. I am your father.

9.Watch who you mouth off to.

Moral of this particular cliche : Never play by the rules. Just don't. For by the time you're done making

the best speech of your life, confident and full of yourself, complete with the words, "I'm taking you down", the guy you've just insulted will look at you calmly, and say "that's not in the rulebook, son."

You (still confident and full of the taking-you-down part) : "And how the hell would you know that?

Guy you've insulted : " I wrote it"

Moving on...

8. Love can be beautiful (sometimes)

Don't have a stroke. I'm not talking about certified sleeping pills like P.S. I Love You, Love Story, A Walk to Remember and the like. They bore me to sleep if not to tears. But every once in a while, a dashing young man walks into a living room and says :

    "Hello, hello?I'm looking for my wife." 

    And when the aforementioned wife says "You had me at hello.", you believe her. Class.

7. They are the original proponents of "Yes We Can!"

  

Obama would be proud. Whether it's the President of the United Status single handedly rescuing his plane 

from hijackers, a spy making a 5000 feet wide free fall across two buildings, a medical procedure to graft adamantium onto a man's bones, men bringing down evil aliens without getting so much as a singe mark on their shiny black suits or just winning a football game, how many times have we heard the words : 

   "We/I/You/They/ Did It!!"

6. No one's so bad they weren't good once

Hollywood truly teaches you to see beyond what a man is, and to look for what made him that way. No matter how heinous a man, at some point, directly after a scene where all the good guys have been having a serious discussion on how to take someone down, one of the good guy stands up and picks up his coat. And when the others look at him in surprise and one of them asks : "Where are you going?" 

He always replies : "To See an old friend" (who is now the guy we are trying to take down)

5.We all fall before we rise

Possibly one of the most important lessons that Hollywood teaches us. No matter how convinced everyone else is of your greatness, no matter that you are destined to be the one to save mankind and the world in general,unless you believe it yourself, the following conversation will take place :

Master/Teacher/Friend/Supporter : You can't walk out now! Everyone knows you're the chosen one. If you leave, we're done!

Hero who doesn't know it yet : I'm sorry! I really am! But you're wrong about me. And I need to get back to my life now.

The one detractor whose been against you from the start : I told you, we're wasting our time. Let's go.

Of course, a near death experience involving either you or a loved one brings you right back in a blaze of glory, and after you've kicked some serious derriere,your detractor is the first to say (jaw scraping the floor) : "how did he do that?!"

4.Best excuse ever : "I'm just doing my job"

3. Respect your enemies.

Another valuable lesson. If you've granted someone worthy enough to be your opponent, respect that covenant.  Embrace it. Make it your life's mission to take them down, no matter what the cost. And always know that only in a fair fight is the victory worth it. Otherwise, simply save his life, speak the classic line : "No one kills you but me", and walk away.

P.S. : Please note that this action very often results in equally classic replies along the lines of : "This changes nothing.", "I'd rather die than owe you my life", "This isn't over" etc.

2. Know when to move on

Letting go is never easy. Especially trying to let go of a friend, dream, idea, love etc. Which is why you always have a wise person who says "We're done here/It's over/Let it go"

That's your cue to meekly follow.

1. And this one, my personal favorite. You are always in control, regardless of the situation.

And the best example of this is the fact that you always know exactly how much time you'll need to get yourself in danger, regardless of whether you're busting a drug den, or breaking into a locker.

Definitive dialogue : "If I'm not back in ____ minutes, get the hell out of here/blow the place to hell/get help."

And of course, they never need to, because, let's admit it, if you can predict your own lifeline, you won't need back up.

Hasta La Vista, Baby!

For What You Did

Your naivete was touching

So much more so

because it was genuine

You believed in the faith

you saw in my smile

Never once noticing 

that it didn't reach my eyes

You handed me your strings

Content to be manipulated

You swayed to the whim of my fingers

How easily you forgot

that one swipe of a knife

and you would fall

An inanimate cluster of limbs

You foolishly trusted in my goodness

No, not goodness

I was not that simple

What was it then?

My honour? My nobility?

Or far more than all that?

Did you choose to believe in that

which many before you have?

Seeing what I show you

Asking for no more

Believing that I am all I claim to be

Believing that what I claim to be is all I am

I gave you enough

Even, I'll admit, more than anyone else

For you were more than the others

Intriguing, I don't normally notice

Far less feel this way

I may even have started to believe

In the reflection of me I saw in your eyes

Afraid to admit that I liked it better

Than what I had seen in any other

Enough. A fleeting second's weakness

No matter, this ends now

I'm letting the strings go

Goodbye, thanks for playing

A game that in retrospect

Should never have been begun

This isn't fair

You weren't supposed to be special

It wasn't supposed to leave

a simmering feeling of choking betrayal

And this unexpected emotion

Pain. 

I wish I had never

They say,

of all the words of book or pen

there are none sadder than

It could have been

But a word to all the wise out there

I know some that are sadder still 

and they are 

I wish I had never

Apology

Perhaps now's the time

Or do I just believe it is?

Time takes no prisoners

And so it comes to this

I certainly saw no signs

Someone else set the stage

But somewhere a prologue was written

And now it's time to turn the page

Shut the book

The story's done

Too bad you didn't see

That you were in one

This I write for myself alone

I do know it'll never be read

A secret kept silenced

And now it's time to be said

I wish you to know

This had no other ending

And yet I write this now

For some fences need mending

I blame you not for cruelty

No taxes for your ignorance

You believed my monologue

I shall demand no penance

I wont deny a trifling hope

A single second's slip

A wish afraid to be spoken

That the balance in my favor would tip

Yet I know that to wish for a chance

While I offered you none

Is nothing short of cowardice

And that is simply not done

Mea culpa I admit it straight

For all the times you tried

This pain is mine and mine alone

For you see, I lied.

You remember now...

Fault your created majesty

you were but a house of cards.

You forgot.

Undone by a whisper of breath

you crumble into nothing.

You remember.

Why?

I never meant to hate you.

I still wouldn't either,

if only you hadn't so easily 

let me.

Murphy's Laws for the College Student

1. No matter what mode of transport you choose to get home, there will inevitably be at least one baby that screams the entire time that you are inside the train/bus/plane.

2. When you are seconds away from sending in your assignment that is due in 7 minutes, the internet will crash. And in the time it takes you to get back online, you will be a minute late to send it in.

3. If you decide to finally make it to that 9 am class, you will get there at 8.58 and find out at 9.23 that class is not happening.

4. The most number of birthdays will fall in the month that you are most broke.

5. When you change an answer on a hunch, your first answer would have been the right one.

6. All the movies you want to watch will release the very day your exam/test/submission week starts.

7. If you make a plan months in advance to take a trip, and have everything including your tickets and hotel reservations booked, a mandatory seminar will be scheduled for the weekend you were going to leave.

8. When you are desperately studying at 3 in the morning, and it is vital that you stay awake, you will find that you are out of coffee powder, and so is your room mate.

9. When you skip lunch, and are starving, dinner will be something you can't stand.

10. There will always be one signature you forgot to get.

Don't Go

He couldn't believe it. She was going. Sure, some part of him had always known it was coming, known it was a  mere matter of that bastard phantom that went by the name of time. Still. One doesn't expect it to be so final, so...unceremonious. Tomorrow morning, she would go. That was it. Nothing else remarkable about tomorrow, it wasn't special in any way. Just another number on a calendar page. But it would also forever be special, dismayingly so. It shouldn't be this simple, he kept repeating. One day just like any other? Shouldn't there at least be warnings, bells, a god damn symphony of alarms?

Five years. Five years they'd spent almost every waking moment together. Watching TV, always the shows she wanted. Watching her sleep. Being there when she woke up. Walks in the park. Ice cream. Parking a block away and then walking slowly to the parlour, her delicate feet somehow keeping perfect time next to his large ones. No, not somehow. Because they belonged there.

Because from the time he'd known her, from the first time he'd taken her hand in his, he knew she was meant to keep time and pace with him. Knew that it didn't matter how fast he went or who set the pace, they would always be in step with each other, hand in hand. Just like he and only he, knew that her tell tale sign that she needed a hug was when she bit her lower lip or that when she was really scared, she tugged on her left ear, and so much more.  And now? Now there would be other feet walking next to hers. How would they know what pace to walk at so she could keep up?

How was she able to go so easily? Excitedly even, the possibilities of a new, unknown world filled her with wonder and joy, and barely contained anticipation. She only held back a little in his presence. But it was no use, he knew her far too well. And the fact that she had to pretend made it worse. For there was no pretence in his pain. And knowing that she didn't feel any of it, that was what hurt the most.

Morning. He was silent, as he drove her to where she would say goodbye. She attempted some chatter, but quickly gave up when she saw that he wasn't going to humour her. Not today. They're there, far too soon. All at once he wishes he had said more in the car. They get out, and for a second, he stoops so that his face is level with hers. He stares into those eyes, mystery eyes, he called them, for they could be black or dark brown, seemingly at will. Just one more of the many wonderful things about her that would no longer be solely his to marvel at. He looks at her and in spite of himself, he blurts out, "Don't go! I'll miss you so much!" She laughs at his silliness, as she has laughed all these days. And then, she turns and is gone.

And as he watches his little girl walk into the school gates for the first time in her life, he knows that nothing would ever be the same again.

You

In the dark

why must you insist

on being the last thought in my mind

when I get by just fine without you

in the light?

Tell Me

I stand here holding the life you left behind

I wish you'd just tell me that you've let it go

For then maybe I could 

too

Blood

Blood

how do you run so deep

when you are so easily erased 

with a little water?

Behind the Curtain

A world of make believe

Of miracles and suspense

Of sorrow and beauty

Of wonder and cruelty

Of heroes and myths

Where time can pause or leap at will

Where one man's speech brings an empire to its knees

Where devious ploys are revealed and shattered

Where prince becomes pauper in the blink of an eye

When beauty mesmerizes and has its way

When legends are revealed for all to see 

When tales are weaved with grace and skill

When dreams are sold at prices untold

A world untouched by fear

A world where pain is a myth

A world where loss is only until curtain call

And a world where only applause can break the spell

A world I love.

Joke's on Me

I always thought you'd be the one, the one to see right through me

I guess I hoped a little too much, or maybe it was just my plea

I lived in fears and fury untold, I played out acts and scenes on cue

I rolled the dice and moved my piece, all the while I waited for my due

Of all the pain and ridicule, of all the waiting and dreaming

for all the laughing and feeling, I was just part of your scheming

Joke's on me, Joke's on me...

I coulda changed things around, make no mistake I know it still

I shoulda just told you outright, and maybe you woulda just flushed that pill

You drew me in and kept me there, mesmerized by the glory of your lie

You kept me just close enough, knowing that I was too blind to care

Joke's on me, joke's on me...

You played this out from the start, every move, every part

You made me play along, and I did so, for you made it into art

And in that lovely symphony of ours, you never let me see you were wailing

All I saw was beauty and joy, how would I know that trapped, you were ailing

I didn't know it was a game, I gave it my all, my heart, my soul

I didn't know you had an end in mind, I didn't know you were heading for a fall

Joke's on me, joke's on me...

I laugh now, yes I can laugh about it now, about the strings you pulled with such skill

You dragged me in and left me as retribution, I should hate you and that pill

But tell me now, for once, for ever 

You who thought you were so clever

You made one slip, one little error 

 For how, how will I be the damned 

When The Joke's On me?           

For you. And me. And us. and we.

You

Look at me.

No, not through.

At.

Just this once

Observe me. Absorb me. Define me.

What do you see?

Brows arched in mockery

Cold, shrewd gaze.

And lips bent into a sneer.

Now just once, look.

Just look.

Do you see the eyes are blank

only becuase I'm afraid you'll read them?

Do you see that I sneer

only because if I smile, you may not return it?

Of course not. 

No, don't lie to yourself.

Or to me.

How many acts have you left?

How many hopes have you shattered?

How many dreams have you torn asunder?

How many times have you left me battered?

You could see it all. 

You just won't look.

And that's fine.

I like this dance.

I'm sneering right now.

I'll hold my own

Would you like to take your bow?

I'll hold my sneer

My gaze will shred

And I'll stay so

Until I lose my dread

You need the act

I understand.

I'll pay for your cowardice

And hold this till the last stand

Me

No one's that good an actor

Atleast that's what they say

Someone should tell them about you

And the dreams you've made me slay

Your mask never slips

Your grease paint never fades

Sinuous, perfect, it becomes you

Or is that just another shade?

In vain hope I play myself

All masks are off, and I am me

And you, with the vengeful eyes

You leave me damned for eternity

How many acts have you left?

How many hopes have you shattered?

How many dreams have you torn asunder?

How many times have you left me battered?

I know your game now

It's taken me far too long

But I've finally learned to play

And am ready for my swansong

You and Me

Locked in this together, we spin an elaborate web

Tremulous, all consuming, innumerable threads

All it takes is one tiny shard

To rip the whole thing to shreds

One question remains, as it almost always will

To what do we owe this madness?

One step too many? One dance too few?

To ponder more would be a great sadness

How many acts have we left?

How many hopes have we shattered?

How many dreams have we torn asunder?

How many times have we been left battered?

Rip! Tear! Shred! 

Destroy the web and watch it unravel

Ah! An answer in the final tearing strands

Some things are beauty untold and joy forbidden

Mere mortals!

We should simply never have been so bold.

Never tell a child

Never tell a child he's special.
Because one day someone will tell him "you're all the same to me", and break his heart.

Never tell a child he's the best.

Because one day someone will tell him "he won because he was better than you," and break his heart.

Never tell a child he's gifted.

Because one day someone will tell him "we are sorry to reject you, but you're just not gifted enough," and break his heart.

Never tell a child he's the smartest little boy you know.

Because one day someone will tell him "I'm sorry, but he's smarter than you, because he got there first," and break his heart.

Never tell a child he's oh so beautiful.

Because one day someone will walk right past him and break his heart.

Never tell a child that anything is possible.

Because one day someone will tell him "astronaut? Don't be ridiculous, pick something more plausible," and break his heart. 

Never tell a child that no one can stop him from doing what he wants to.

Because one day someone'll send him an envelope saying "rejected," and it will break his heart.

Never tell a child that he's meant to do great things. 

Because one day someone'll ask him "what makes you think you can change anything?" and it will break his heart.

Never tell a beautiful, talented, special child what he is.

Because he believes you.

Masquerade

I know what I said.
Please.
I'm good with words
I choose them wisely
consciously, precisely


I watched your face
Watching mine for cues
Your lips
wondering which way to curl
Your eyes
Beautiful, by the way
not that I'll ever tell you that
Looking into mine
to decide
to spark or spill


I decide.


My eyes
prettier than yours, hah
lead you on
I sneer.
Openly
You think it part of the play


We play out the masquerade
timed, planned, scripted
No missteps, glorious motions
You, always one step behind
You, always a second too slow
The dub to my lub
The pocus to my hocus
The blink to my wink


People think it perfect
So well do they go together
these long ago written pairs
I whisper silent gratitude


And you
you think it right
Why would you not?


Someday you'll know
that was part of the script too
I wrote out your lines even before mine
the actor in this was me, not you


Only, I burned your words
and let you follow mine

Thus far. And further still...

A sideways glance that betrays
A hand you were dealt 
A quick, careless sweep
But no, we needed nothing spelt


Break through the barriers
Put up with care
Sure, I saw you coming
And yes, I did hope you'd dare


Ah desire, you burn eternal
Sear an image behind my eyes
I could have turned and walked away
But I glory in the grip of your vice


We strike a match
Inviting, deadly, we watch it smoke and blaze
Put out with a whisper of breath
But no, we pretend to believe in each other's haze


I'll take the fall when the time comes
In return for one look that lingers
Behold the demons that I freed
To watch lust drip through our fingers


Echoes of warnings, 
"thus far and no further"
Poor ignorant fools, shall we finally let you in?


We blinked and stared and asked again
To draw you in and set you up
So that you would watch and know at last
That we indeed, had come to sin!

Between No and Never

Was it always this?   
Did we always wait?


Hints 
Quirks
Laughs


And nothing


Smirk
Jibe
Grimace


And we're done
Take a bow.


Sometimes you'd see
And I would smile
How would I know
You'd look the other way after


Memories strangulate
Words sear
Unsaid ones


The sent ones are done 
Bled out in ink


You forget
I said no
I'll always remember
You said never

To The Darkness

I owe thee a debt of gratitude
for all you'll show is silhouette and shadow
leaving one to guess
what I am in the light...

Just Look Back, Mickey...

Thud. Thud. Thud. The tennis ball beat its usual tattoo on the wall. Only this time, it didn't help. The only effect it had was to disfigure the wall, leaving yet more impressions on it. The kind that made her brother mad. Don't throw it at the wall, he'd said. She'd thrown it at him instead. He'd left her alone for a week.

THUD. Too fast, she yelped (she talked to herself), and stopped it seconds before it crashed into her mirror. Pause. That reflection. Eyes, black as midnight. She loved them. Even more than all the guys who fell for her did. A pretty face. Very pretty. Beautiful even. She knew it. Always had. Knew it to the extent she wished she didn't.

Wow, you're gorgeous! Hello to you too, perfect-stranger-I'm-meeting-for-the-first-time.  Get over it. But they seemed to be unable to. So she played with tennis balls. And badminton racquets. She was agile, quick and talented. No one who saw her smash on a badminton court, would treat her as just a pretty face, ever again. EVER. She was deadly to play, cool, calculated, and very, very competitive. She gave no quarter, and she played to win. Always.

Most guys smiled at the pretty face. It was the only time she smiled back. Invitingly. Before leaving their ego calling for its mommy on the floor. Oh wait, that wasn't right. She smiled after it too. 

Very few guys will ask out a girl (again), after she's thrashed him at a sport. Especially not one with speed and power. Not that it mattered. The male ego wouldn't recover being beat at tic-tac-toe by a pretty girl. Once, after a match, a guy had said, there, I let you win, so dazzled was I by your beauty. Now go out with me? She'd punched him.

That's when her dad had bought her the tennis ball. Come back home, throw it at the wall. You've got a week to get good at it anyway, since you're on suspension. Thud. She laughed at the memory. She loved her dad. He'd raised her and her brother alone.

Back to today's wall pounding. It was her defence mechanism, her anger therapy. So she didn't punch anyone else in the guts. Or in this case, because she couldn't.

He was new. Different. When she put him down, he laughed. And meant it. When she beat him at badminton, he was admiring. Athletic himself, he'd challenged her to a game. She'd won. Comprehensively. He'd bought her a chocolate sundae. Something her dad would do, for he was the one who had taught her to win. And more importantly, how to lose. No failure is ever final. But we forget so easily that no victory is either, he always said. And she always remembered.

Why was winning against him so hard then? Thud. Why did it sting to see that gleam of admiration in his eyes? Thud, extra fast this time, and she barely managed to control the ricochet, closing the fingers of her left hand around the neon green projectile, bruising a finger in the process. Ordinarily, she was glad when people didn't stare, relieved that her beauty was not serving its usual annoying purpose. The only guys she talked to were the ones who didn't hit on her. Why was it so frustrating then?

He laughed with her, arm around her shoulder. He messed with her hair and she laughed. It usually annoyed the crap out of her, even her dad wasn't allowed to touch her hair. But he could. Her eyes itched. She reached up and scratched them, and when she pulled away, her fingers came away black. Angry, she flung the ball at the wall, and caught it with both hands. It now resembled a badly handled apple, smudged fingerprints all over it. Not my day, she mumbled, as she wiped it off. Stupid kajal, he didn't even notice anyway. Everyone else had, one guy going so far as to say that her eyes shone like onyx. Yes, because you've seen so much of onyx, she'd snapped back. And had walked on, with a smile. He HAD to see, had to notice how beautiful his playmate was. 

He didn't. Merely said his usual hi, and fallen right into a discussion of why Obama should not win a peace prize. He was vocal, and always had a point. Valid ones at that. She’d stared at him all day, to no avail. When she’d gotten home, her dad had raised one eyebrow. And then said, your eyes need no help, darling. You should know that. She had hugged him, something she did so rarely. He’d laughed, and they’d eaten lunch.

Thud. Oh brilliant, does kajal come off walls? She threw it again, realizing that she didn't really care. She really was very good, catching the ball with a natural ability. He called her, the only girl I know who can catch. And he was forever chucking things at her, and nodding in superior admiration every time she caught it.

He confused her. How do you admire me without liking me? She knew she never wanted to lose to him. But it was almost like she wanted him to know that. You are someone I will never lose to. But you are someone I would lose for. Huh? CRASH. Dammit! Momentary lapse in concentration, she'd shattered the glass of a painting. A portrait. Of her, by her brother. Dammit dammit dammit. She would have to tell him she'd done it with the ball. Like she didn't have enough on her mind.

Speaking of which...where had that thought come from? She was picking up the glass pieces now, probably not the best time to be lost in thought. But really, what was that? Why would she lose for him? And yet, the thought was compelling. For you, I would lose. Why? 

Man, this wasn't helping, she’d been thinking about it for days now, and she always hit a block. Always stopped at the same point. Why does it feel right losing for you?

The doorbell. She opens it, he stands there, racquet in hand. Ready to beat me again, he asks, grinning. If only you knew. He steps away, to answer a call.

Her dad comes in, sees the open door, him, her, and her eyes now free from kajal. No failure is final, Mickey, he says. She stares. He smiles. Of course he knew, he always did. Call me when you’re done, it feels like a chocolate sun - dae! They laugh, together, in the memory of a silly childhood expression.

She looks out the door, and then at her racquet, a gift, from her dad, the day she’d beaten him. She walks out, taps him on the shoulder. Let’s go mister, you have a match to lose.

At the corner, she looks back. Her dad, standing at the door. And right then she knows. Between him and her, she’ll never need to lose. All she needs to do is look back.

Don't.

Smile. Leave.
See. Wave.
Done
Snap. Back. To. Reality.


Turmoil and terror
Never to spill over
Frozen outside
Could probably run a mile


Broken Dreams
When sleep comes
Shattered frames
There were no pictures anyway


Pat on the shoulder
Fact of the matter
Turn, leave
Shatter.


Never felt this way.
Didn't know I could


Bet you didn't plan
You'll never know
And now I know
I won't either