he she he she he ?

She got up in the morning a male.
Adjusted the color of her skin to suit the day,
Smoothened yesterday's curves to square lines, .
As his feet slipped into the slip-ons,
the boobs disappeared.
It was always the last one to go.
As he strode lengthy strides,
the stubble came up just when the sun did.
He whistled at a passing she,
and she came around
he she he she he she?

--- Srividya Srinivasan

Lullaby to a girl child!

Don’t jump or run
What if you hurt yourself there?

Don’t bawl
Stifle the pain. Let the tears flow artistically down your cheeks.

Please
Don’t walk so tall and confident.

Look down
at the ground as you walk.

Don’t stare back
Instead lower your eyelids, shyly.

Pinch your cheek
Practise your blush for the compliments to come.

Giggle
Never laugh out loud.

Lower
Your voice. It should never be heard

Go deaf
Pretend you haven’t heard all that you do.

Hold your tongue
At any cost, never speak your mind.

Blank your mind
Don’t have any thoughts, opinions or ideas.

Bottle up
Your desires; you are his property and his slave.

Hide
your bosom, don’t jut it out, and don’t sway your hips

Close up
Sit demure. Don’t spread your legs.

Open up.
Be the vamp when he so desires.

Hide
Your intelligence and your rebellion and your revulsion.

Fake.
Your orgasm

Pray.
You get a baby boy the first time.

Sacrifice.
Your very identity to a stereotype

Yes dear, you would be just fine, you would be just fine,
Safe from the taliban, safe from the sena,
safe from the men that would be born
from our very wombs.

------------------ Srividya Srinivasan, Feb 2nd - 2009

Welcoming the baby

He had made up his mind. His knotted hands trembled as he clutched the precious seeds in the palm of his sweaty hands. He had heard his son and daughter-in-law whispering in the dark, a few days back. ‘Where do we put the baby?’ The utter helplessness in their voices had put the idea into his head. At first, he had wished it away. Unbidden it came, again and again. Pushing its way to the surface of his consciousness; until he was forced to acknowledge it for what it was – a master solution.

As his feet trudged over the cracked earth, the heat waves hit his face and made his weak eyes water and blur. He walked on resolutely. The faces on the way were grim. Not a single drop had fallen from the skies for days. For months. He passed by a crowded house. The wailing had just started. He forced his mind not to think. To imagine how it be. Soon. Now they would lower the body. The wailing would start. The beating of the chest. The thumping of the drums. The rhythmic death dance. A few flowers purchased on credit and a few wild flowers thrown in for free. Then, the government would step in. An official would come - usually a thin reedy man with a trembly voice awkward in his responsibility. He would give a cheque after a short speech, which would be drowned in the wailing. Then the family would feast. Eat after maybe days. There would be a few photographs taken. Sometimes, the local politician would join in, if he felt it would add to his mileage.

His face or behaviour gave no clue of what was running in his mind. He wiped his dry dusty feet on the dry dusty mat and went in. The poor girl was almost done. Well into her pregnancy. His eyes shifted vaguely trying to avoid looking at her helpless face. She served him the meagre portion of the gruel.

In the night, he woke up to the dry heat and moans of labour. His daughter-in-law was trying her best not to disturb him by stifling the cries of pain. He knew the time was right. He put the tiny pellet into his mouth and then lay down again. The last he knew was the wail of the baby as it came into the world.

At dawn, they found him dead. The precious seeds for the next season clutched tightly in his hands. The house that could only hold three people had a place for the baby now. The wailing started. Both, from the new born baby and for the dead.

The rains came, as they started the death dance.

The lone eagle flies

The lone eagle flies

high above. 

reveling in the height,

the sheer joy of the view.

Seeing the world far below.

Proud of its aloneness.

And ruggedness.

The feathery white clouds

stealthily enroached 

and enveloped it

in its white softness.

Wonder what became 

of the eagle ?