Usual and nothing more

The girl in the 20s wearing a low waist skirt,
Stockings up high and a tattoo of a bird,
Down her waist on the back with the color of a rust,
She was walking down the station looking for her bus.

She just got pushed by a shoulder passing by,
She looked back to curse but instead got a demon smile,
The man in his 30s was just scanning her style,
She was wearing less and was open too much so she deserved to be defiled.
She shrugged the thought off and continued on her way,
Boarded her bus and got seated in the front row
“Reserved for women” the seat was enough for her to say,
No more male touch here or his parts on sway.
Ticket ticket came the voice from behind,
She gave the note and looked the conductor in the eye,
Again she was judged by a male soul standing beside,
He caressed her hand while handing her the change but again she couldn’t cry.
She is a woman for everyone's sake who is open to be objectified,
She wears a skirt and has a tattoo enough for her to be petrified,
To be called names, to be molested, to be looked at as a flesh to be pounded,
She bought it on herself to be groped, be judged and to be bounded.
Her stop came and she walked down the bus as the driver looked at her behind,
She could feel the eyes of the males all around on her front and back,
Anyhow she continued to walk down the dark lane as she had to reach home before deadline,
She felt as she was followed but couldn’t take a chance to look back and react,
She felt a sigh of relief to see her mother waiting by the door,
"How was the day" she got and she answered always as usual and nothing more.

Another random Women's day

Sometimes I wish I could be a normal housekeeper who could just be there for her family all the time.
But then my mother always taught me that it is good to be ambitious and have a career,
Because your man is going to respect you only till the time you earn, for the rest of the time he may only love you.
Running after money and career should never be the first priority, it should be inner peace and happiness.
I wished to have that peace with my family as a whole, taking care of home because I understand the void and pain the kids have to suffer when they have both parents working.
But then again I realized that I could never forward my empty palms towards my husband for expenses, I could never be dependent on anyone.
Maybe for time being he will be comfortable in raising the family on his own but there will be times when he will feel burdened with financial responsibilities.
And he will never tell you this directly but at times his actions will speak. Nowadays every guy wishes to have an earning wife. If you say no to that then you are slapped with the woman equality caption.
However your shoulders will bend down with the hesitation of asking for things that you fantasize for (a 22 carat diamond ring on platinum belt, a post wedding shoot on the white sand beaches, a Europe trip maybe, and the very least the dress that you so much want).
I see articles that girls want guys who earn big or have stable career. But I do not find much difference with the guys' desire for partners too. The rich businessmen want a beautiful damsel to be showcased. The average/upper middle class ones want a high salaried or at least equal earning women. Earning is easy but you cannot celebrate your achievements otherwise people think you are over ambitious. Working late nights is okay but then you need to be extra cautious of the out-on-hunt molesters. Staying calm during mood swings at work is easy but listening to the tantrums “she is on her days” from peers when things go south is over-irritating.
It is hard being a woman but it more hard being an equal woman.

The last email

I was sitting on a seashore with my eyes glued to the sunset amidst the coconut trees
When this hand came out and pulled me in the waves to take a walk,
I was afraid of the water but the firm yet soft hand never let me go,
Making me feel confident and homely with the beautiful terrain of God’s own country.

The hand smelled of fish and spices but still I held onto it for a little further hoping to never let go.
I was getting accustomed to a new fragrance of a new breeze,
The breeze of a new sport of 90 minutes in my life.
The game became a religion and the players became familiar,
the rules got by-hearted and the jersey was the new wardrobe collection.

The hand offered me a glass of Whiskey and for the first time the tongue which was tied on never to let it happen
Got an acquired taste for the Black Dog Triple reserve with coconut water and ice.
If that was not all, I learned that tea can also become an addiction, so far without milk
Just add the lemon with mint and tea leaves with sugar, boil it in water and you get your Sulemani chai.

All these new recipes from Sambhar to Sulemani chai, from deep fried okra to Appam with Kadla curry
Added a lot many spices and ingredients in my kitchen’s cupboard,
And after the hand was no longer there, I was standing clueless to what to do with these jar full of spices,
Could not have the courage to throw them out and did not have the skills to use them in my cooking.
So I just packed them in a box and shoved them deep down, hoping for them to miraculously disappear some day.

Mammootty and Mohanlal were no more anonymous to my celebrity lists,
From “Virus” to “Premam”, from “Sudani from Nigeria” to “Kumbalangi Nights”,
I never realized when I became used to watching the subtitled movies more than the easier yet senseless Bollywood cinema.
Still carrying the watchlist with me, I no longer have the explanation for the wrong subbed dialogues, so I just let it be.

When you are the prettiest there are many hands holding out glasses for you,
It is when you are the ugliest that the soul which truly cares reaches out to you,
The hand always wiped away all my tears and applied the aloe vera to soothen every scar and every burn,
Even during the viral season, the hand was always by the side to take care every hour, never leaving me alone,
Making hot rice water and soup, giving cold bandage compressions, giving meds and hot water,
The care, the selflessness, the purity, the comfort, the wfh, the leaves for a week, everything was for me.
The google searches on PCOD, the hot water bag compressions, the natural remedies for every craving,
Every good memory of those difficult times never ceases from flashing back and making me hold onto a little bit more,
To pull you back and to never let go.

The never ending soul stirring musical notes, the melodious voice,
My first canvas and the sketch pencils bought for me by the hand to let me explore what I always neglected,
I started again doodling and writing all because of the push that the hand gave me,
The hand which got lost when I started to discover myself again, when I started to be happy again.
The storm had passed, the waves had gotten silent, the wind became calm,
The hand left me back at the shore, sound and safely and whispered in my ears,
“You are a brave soul, you can do this from here now on all alone…”
I tried to grab the hand one last time hoping to never let go,
But it was so late and by the time I woke up from this dream,
I found myself holding onto my MacBook with the blog opened and the last lines for my travel adventure
Bon voyage….dedicated to all the good reminiscences of the getaways with thy hand.