The Story of a Shoe

Crafted I was in a shoe-man house,
My brothers and I were leather bound,
The loving hands that created my soul
Coughing over winter nights forlorn,

I was a dandy of the shop that adorned,
The best amongst the lot,
I stood tall, invincible and proud
For I knew I was priceless and beautiful without a shroud
Of guilt I stood out, craning my neck
For the beautiful dame’s grace
Oh the hands that touch me
The yearning that sets in to please,
This creature with my tease

Fidgeting to fit in right,
Tested and tried- the small walk, the gallop
The squeal of joy, the rush of adrenaline

The journey into the unknown, a land of dreams
To travel and see the world and all beautiful things
The walk, the strut, the swinging motion
The marble floor, the soft mosaic…like satin on rose

Urghhh what happens here, the pushing and the jostling
The feet I adorn, kicking and falling
Collapsing on my soul, this woman of price
A one-dime room and a brute for the night
Kicked, torn apart, raped and hurt
I survive, blistered is my soul
I crawl and lick my wounds

Something ruffles beneath my side,
I heave and find papers with marks of the might,
Scattered on the floor they lie
A testimony to the violence of the night


The hands that bend to collect them let out a sigh
The cold feet grapples for my sight
Kicked torn raped and hurt
I survive, blistered in my soul
I walk the satin rose that hurt my body like thorns


I walk with my head bent low
Counting the pebbled street slow
Bending, twisting, falling, standing
The marathon, I must finish
To my creator I must replenish my soul
To the world adieu I bid
The graveyard of hell I have lived!

Crossroads

Caught you checking your reflection in the mirror,
Walking the unpaved path, protruding stones, dingy alleys
At crossroads of life as dusk sets in,
Between the blanks of life, a memory that lingers
The quiet tranquil night and the pup rolled close to his mother
At crossroadsof life,as night calls upon,


The moon and the thousand stars embedded in the sky
The shadows of a caress that reminds you
Of the crossroads of life…

Paths chosen, threaded, forgotten and then chosen again
The hands that held you tight in their grasp
To let go, in the crossroads of life

Shadows in dreams, tales of sins
Love has a cost, a price- that we call compromise
That you decide… at the crossroads of life

Lost eyes blinded by the morning light,
Caught your reflection by the mirror, walking the alley last night
Between crossing paths with the shadows of yesterday,
At the crossroads of life.

Risings from the Underbelly

Sonagachi - the largest red-light area in South - Asia, commands an historical antecedent. Once known to entertain the noble Bhadralok, the ruminant buildings of Neel Kamal and Lal Kamal, today stand tall in the squalor of decay, waste and poverty, in line with the hundreds of shack like structures. Today, the word Sonagachi evokes various streams of emotion- contempt, embarrassment and even anger, but its existence is undeniable, as also the flesh trade that occurs freely in its streets. Women, like commodities are priced tagged here- their ethnicity, skin, eyes, figure and age important determinants of the price they fetch, in this modern day market. Every year hundreds of women, find their way to Sonagachi, trafficked from different parts of the country and outside. Violated, betrayed and abused by their own, they struggle to survive and live in this quagmire of abuse.

Yet the winds of change has not left the lives of these women untouched. Translated in Bengali to mean Unstoppable, Durbar Mahila Samanwaya Samiti is a forum of 65,000 sex workers that unites all those sold into sex slave trade and denied rights to live. This union in Sonagachi monitors minor girls coming into the areas as well as protects the women in the area from police brutalities. One of the gravest concerns in India today is the rising number of HIV/AIDS cases, and the Sonagachi Project, run by Durbar since 1999, fulfills its role of an STD/HIV Intervention Programme for this at-risk population. The union covers a population of over 20,000 sex workers, migrant labourers and street-based sex workers through 49 sex work sites in West Bengal.

DMSC has given to the women of Sonagachi, what they are most denied - an identity. The body -the priced and priceless have come together to construct a rising.

Travel Tales

Viewer’s discretion advised although if you are a young man attempting to initiate and explore your “masculine sexuality and strength”, this may be good reading...

Lessons on Public Behaving in City Buses.

Attention: All men of all shapes and sizes of brains, hands and other parts of the anatomy- This one is for you.

Some salient points:

All buses have rods, and well seats. The rods are to hold and the seats to sit in. And that is an universal truth. Rods are to hold, not swing and certainly not to lose or attempt to lose your balance and fall. If you must keep both your hands high up in the air and swing like a monkey in a zoo, please find a park for yourself and not the lady in the seat in front of you. And you neednt position to stand at her shoulder , you are really not as "big" as you think you are!

Hold on to something when the bus breaks, it isn’t rocket science really. You don’t have to fall and apologies! Also if it’s a relatively empty bus, why not stand on the other side and swing? That should certainly give you and your clan more to talk about.

Also all private and public buses in the city of Delhi have a Ladies side, often spelt as Ladis -but you get the general idea! Fights erupt over seats reserved for women. I say that you stop molesting, raping, eyeing, cat calling, checking out, feeling up all the women on the streets, at home and elsewhere and we, as women will stop asking you for seats. Till then keep your trap shut. When a lady asks you for a seat…give it. Where is the eternal "chivalrous masculine man" anyway?

A lot of times buses are crowded please don’t use that opportunity to molest women, help them instead… I understand it is a difficult thing to ask for but perhaps one could give it a shot.

In a crowed bus, if you are a man- able, healthy and reasonably wise and if you see the lady in front of you in distress, please give her the seat. It isn’t really about gender you know. If the world had suddenly changed and women started feeling up and touching men without their consent at every opportune moment, I would as a women definitely offer any man in distress a seat. That’s called insight. And that’s not really a brain thing; it can be cultivated with a little bit of practice.

If you moving to reach the front or the back side of the bus and crossing women passengers standing, please turn the other way and brush yourself against your male co-patriots. Its quite simple really, ( demos have worked!)- You turn and move in a way that if I am standing and you are walking past me, the only fleeting contact that you make with me is with the back brushing my body!

If you are standing next to or behind a woman in a crowed bus, make sure you keep distance, a bag, your own hands- perhaps one placed on the rod on the seat, can prevent the jerk fall and the contact. BEWARE OF SUCH REPEATED ENCOUNTERS...

This is a dangerous position to be in so if you are not careful you could risk a wide range of acts some of which can lead to public humiliation. Mild fallouts may be an elbow squarely placed on your stomach or elsewhere, the serious ones could get you slapped and beaten up!


If you must stare at every woman who gets into the bus- Do So Discretely. You don’t need to bore your eyes in her or attempt to see through her top. It simple again- It is not meant for you to see.

If there are a lot of people getting on to the bus, make sure there is a line, and that statement is really meant for all. For men- dangling out of buses and windows, a popular site in Delhi...please don’t try to impress anyone in the bus, by either jumping out of a running bus or jumping into a moving bus.

The last two factors notwithstanding, GET A GRIP -

I mean.... on the rods, handles, seats and

on your misplaced masculinities as well!

Bare Dance

The ubiquitous bear dancer parades the streets of dispassion
Stick in one hand, a noose in the other that lugs and pulls the “tamed” beast
He sings a distant tune, concocting images of conquer and war
He sings of, the hero and the relinquished,
The powerful and the powerless, the ruler and the vanquished!!!

He sings to call upon his brethrens to watch the Bear dance
On its two hind leg it rises, at the tune of the imaginary song
He sways his heavy weight, as spectators spit and vacillate
Between cheering and leering for an encore

The noose grows tighter, the muzzle that covers the mouth
Hides the tears in the shadow of the lids
The pain, the anguish, the suffering
The agony of labour

Dancing the Bear Dance on the streets of nonchalance
The bear dances to the glories of the past
Empires and years haven’t changed his status
Will this be his “Last dance?”

The Highlanders

Mamma bear and baby bears of Aesop's fabled tales

 Lived in the forest of their own 

 Till one day, they got lost and strayed into civilizations unknown 

Petrified of scrawny, puny faces, dangling sticks and rages

 Huddled into corners forlorn, counting life’s stages

 But here no one attacks them no more 

 Mamma bear straightens and looks agog! 

No more violence, no more hate A gentle voice, a caress… love and not hate.”

Ani-mail

Channel surfing can be a sport for some, but for insomnia-ridden mortals like me it just something to keep busy with. In my case, late night TV watching is a novelty; I much prefer to burrow myself in the warmth of my bed, with my favorite book.

But Thursday was a different day; the morning was unusually damp and cold (the usually incorrect met department blamed the- western disturbances) and by evening there was a slight nip in the air. And so I as tucked myself in the comfort of my bed, religiously masticating on my midnight snack and watching the “ The Haunting of Seacliff House”, frightened, yet occasionally comforted by the loud snoring of my now old dog, I flipped the channel.

What happened next?
Animal Planet – There are something’s that never change!! And thank God for that!!!

The programme on TV- Cell Dogs

Four unmanageable dogs, which we to be put down only a couple of months ago at the local shelter, were brought in at the Toledo Correctional Center. After intensive training and monitoring four convict volunteers at the center were selected to become their handler and trainers. The four convict handlers were given the responsibility for taking care of the dogs- bathing, cleaning, walks and exercise. The dogs even slept in the same room. Each of the handlers spoke about their relationship with the dogs, each one expressed their gratitude to their canine friends for teaching them virtues of patience and love and companionships. The dogs on their part all got adopted and now have new homes.

Need another reason to know that animals and men are dependent. Another reason not to hurt an animal on the street or in the wild….


Moral of the story: Flick channels till you learn what is best for you!!