The Last Sight

The green curtain fluttered

a dream-like fragrance

with outstretched hands

She came in…

I gently put my hand on hers

She ran her fingers

…through my tangled hair

I looked at her kohled eyes

shadowy lines merged into emptiness

reminded me

…of the dark forest grove

and the name of Rana Uncle

on the flyleaf of her book

middle parting of the hair

and a tight bun behind

highlighted the broad forehead

I looked out of the window

…a purple haze

lights shone like glow-worms

She came up to me

…and stared with helpless eyes

She drew me close

and on my feverish cheeks

put her cold, dry lips

light breeze and her saree trembled

She slept in the next room bed

morning a feigned knock…

the maid said…

‘your mother passed away last night…’

Sky and its halves

Someone once said that she often felt an intense desire to return to the womb. Do you feel so? I often do…but if you ask me why then I will have to say there’s no rhetorically graphic answer to that…but when I see bound by their tradition a section of women still eat last and least throughout their lives, even when they are carrying and lactating. Perpetuating the cycle of malnourished moms’ dying in childbirth or giving birth to malnourished babies…I do feel the desire…

Be it your newspaper or your cell phone-open display of reassuring messages that women’s day is all about freebies and gift coupons…clothing ranges, movie tickets, spa packages, restaurant deals. Oblivious of the existence of this very day when I see Meena, Korobi, Lashmi in purulia, nalbari, Agya (just to name a few) are working hard like any other day only to listen to their husbands words that "women, like children, eat and do nothing." I do feel the desire…

There’s nothing new to talk of daily rapes, assaults and dowry-related murders. Female infanticide and sex-selective abortions nip the little aspiration left right in the bud. Amidst these when I see women in rural India (even a section of urban) lack power to decide whom to marry. And women inheritance rights…legal loopholes deny that too… I do feel an intense desire to return to the womb…and sit peacefully under my rainbow coloured umbrella…

Tale of a Morgue

1021…

lying at the extreme end

you must be thinking

of popcorns, Sherin, bolster home

or love in the time of cholera

oblivious of your present identity

you must be thinking

how beautiful your name sounded

when Sherin uttered

on a random night-out

whispers around

they said –

you are a medico legal case

1021-against it

the length of your body

breadth across the shoulder

weird mole near the left ear

finger impressions…

all recorded

in the unfriendly register

I wondered

is 1023 too is thinking

of popcorns…

The Traffic Stop

The red light flashed
nothing
but a routine traffic stop
the drivers’ honks’
and the passengers’ yawns’
busy, crowded and urban
amidst these…a little girl
in a semi-tight top
clung to her hips
was a long torn skirt
displaying young curves
more than it should have
glimpses of lascivious stares
how long would she be safe
knocked a faint thought
but the blank look in her eyes
echoed…
maybe it was already too late
the green light flashed
speed, time-lapse…
and a hurried thought
all in a not so routine traffic stop…

The Mad Wife

Relationship…he said
necessitates an irresistible involvement
involvement? What kind of involvement? I asked…
is involvement a mystery
just confined in the contours of our bodies
or is it my wild eyes
when I feel your lips…
is it your touch
which loosens something at my chest
or is it my fear of masks
in the bedroom and bath
is it your biological presence
diminished by the volume of your Armani suit
or is it my inflated ego
with an open neckline

‘Oh! You question a lot’-he said.
his hand wandering over my bare arm
waiting for a second at the birth mark of my neck
…the me-questioning again but in silence…
is involvement the smell of Cartier...
the perfume he is wearing…

English and us

After getting rid of the English men, we thought, we would be successful in driving out their language, because as things stand, we can neither really live with it nor, indeed do without it. National self-respect demands that we dethrone it from its status in our country but its utility has made it so indispensable to us, that we are not in a position to banish it either. Today English language has become the lingua franca of thought and commerce.

We all know that English was not listed as one of the 14 (now 22) Indian languages when the constitution was drawn up in 1950. It was to be an "associate official language" for a period of 15 years. But when the time came to discard English officially, there were protests by the people from the southern part who could not tolerate the hegemony of Hindi. In 1967, the government was forced to pass an Official Language (Amendment) Act, prolonging the associate status of English indefinitely.

In 1957 UNESCO issued a formal declaration declaring the right of every child to be educated through their mother tongue. Supporting this declaration, Skutnabb-Kangas (1994) argued that, in a civilized society there should be no need to debate the right to maintain and develop the mother tongue. It is a self-evident human right....Observing linguistic human rights implies at an individual level, that all people can identify positively with their mother tongue and has that identification accepted and respected by others whether their mother tongue is a minority language or a majority language.

Skutnabb Kangas (2000) also says that English is a killer language in India. But it is seen that English is not usually the direct cause of language death in India. Of late, the Government, policy makers and academicians are taking all possible measures to encourage multi lingual education (MLE). It has become a global movement seeking to provide quality education for all.

“Indians secretly believe, if not openly say, that competence in English makes a considerable difference in their career prospects…politicians and bureaucrats denounce the elitism of [English-medium] schools but surreptitiously send their children to them.”
Gupta,1995.

...English plays a very important role in education, business and administration. It is the medium of instruction for higher education-both academic and technological. Those who seek jobs in private companies or professions must be proficient in English. It is recognized as an official language for purposes of administration at the national level.
Kudchedkar, 2002.


On one hand the politicians say that no more English medium schools will be permitted and on the other hand without proficiency in English a student can’t dream of a decent job in future. At times, I feel we are a bundle of contradictions. All the national and international conferences are conducted in English (as that is the only link language). We laugh at people who cannot speak decent English and grammatical error…strictly no-no (that’s intolerable). How can one expect from a person who studied in a vernacular medium school, where the medium of instruction was the mother tongue and English was taught maximum five hours per week (5 forty minutes period) to speak fluent English? Today, success in the job market or for that matter even marriage market has come to be equated with fluency in English.

So, higher fees are no deterrent; parents are willing to make sacrifices to ensure upward mobility for their children by sending their kids to English medium schools. Before making policies, it’s the Government who has to understand that ‘no demand, no supply.’ If the Government ensures that irrespective of a person’s English language competence, he/she is sure to land up with a decent job in future, who would not love to send their children to vernacular medium schools. After all, we all love our mother tongues. Don’t we?

(these are thoughts which can't be a part of strict academic discourse, I wanted to but I can't make it a part of my dissertation so here's commonsensical academics-as true academics is beyond commonsense)

monsoon returns

Heaven opened and the water hammered down, receiving the reluctant old well, greenmossing the pigless pig sty, carpet bombing still, tea-coloured puddles the way memory bombs still, tea-coloured minds. The grass looked wet green and pleased. Happy earthworms frolicked purple in the slush. Green nettles nodded. Trees bent…Avi turned page no. 10 of God of small things… this is probably for the fifteenth time he is reading the book. He felt a piercing pain in his eyes, maybe the dimly lit room is the cause of his pain-he thought. As he pulled the pillow to sleep…he re-discovered that he is not alone in the bed. He overcame the urge to pull her towards him instead moved to her side and remembered the slight blush on her face.

'Do I really love her?' he whispered to himself.

He thought of her beautiful eyes…laughter…her voice which once sounded like ringing of bells…their college and university days…

then what is missing? Why am I not feeling the same? He questioned.

She became my wife the night before… Avi concluded (still whispering).