The Mango Curry

The beauty that is

Mango Pulsedi 

This deserves the Nobel prize

My exclamation on a full stomach 

Holds truth and supercilious dreams

Not knowing if the Nobel even cares

Of raw love and hearth transmogrified into culinary excellence 

The Pulsedi is overwhelmingly beautiful 

I am simply overwhelmed 

The butteryness of the gravy 

The texture of the shred coconut 

The way the mango melts on my tongue

Unripened ones boiled in water and jaggery 

And I hope that the Gods are kind enough

That when I die, let it be after I have had my fill of this love

Let me have my last meal

In the plates of my home, scrubbed and shining 

After I have felt the spices that my grandmother kept in a tin box

My God,

Please be merciful 

If death must come at once

Please let it be now

Please let it be like this.

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Not mine.

I have pulled at

the language of my oppressors

Tread on it, kneaded it

leaving my footprints behind

my thumbprints pressed in

Imprints of myself

As I touch and touch and touch

The tongue of those who’ve hurt me

I’ve washed myself

in its wetness

in its coarseness,

in its slang.

Slept in its phonetics

slept with its consonants

kissed its vowels

Until we became one

until the language of my oppressors

remained no more

Until it became, the weapon of my emancipation.

India Untitled.

I know India mothers

In its pulsating belly

(The epicentre of life)

A darkness that expands each day

And yet, each time

I can only feel

The rain on my skin

An ambled road carved into a field

Taking me home to sweet grains

And soft dal and warm hearth

The light that I capture in my eyes

Perhaps makes me truly blind

From the darkness that I just won’t let

Seep into my lashes.
R.S.


Dal: lentils

Two worlds.

It is very difficult to reconcile;

when you held my hand

and promised, to show me the world,

and each night

in a different room

with my face pressed against the pillow

so that my cries may stifle;

with the hand that held mine,

that very hand which promised to show me one world,

You plunged and destroyed another.

 

A bilingual horror story.

Tum ho toh main hoon:

Your presence validates my existence

Haathon mei tumhaara hath toh phir darne ki kya baat:

I can’t be brave without you.

Tumhaare bina zindagi adhuri hai:

I seek the purpose of my living  in you. I can’t become the protagonist of my own life.

Main banoon Teri parchaayi, main banoon tera sahara:

I will relegate myself to the shadows so that your brilliance alone shines.

Tumhaare sivaay mera koi nahi:

I will alienate the people I love and devote myself to you.

Tumhaare liye toh meri jaan bhi haazir hai.

I will serve my life on a platter to save you because you’re more important than me.

The spoken word on our beautiful generation

Do i feel strongly,
About anything?
Nothing, nothing nothing
Not even strongly about this word
Repeating, singing repeating
for the sake of a cause I can no longer remember,
No longer care about anything but December
Why? Why?
It’s my birthday, that’s why?
Am i arrogant, selfish, conceited, like a teenage girl
Don’t care again, again
This I ask eveytime
You ask me anything
I have embraced the modern pop culture
Of not caring, of not giving a damn
Of not giving any fucks, of ain’t having no jam
Don’t care, did I say it already?
Well who cares?
Apparently no one
We’re a mass movement of anarchy
Of lost history and geography
born from fear, capitalism and a state of democracy
Is it democracy?
The lines are all blurring,
even my speech is s l u r r i n g
What an excellent way to show
I don’t care,
I dont care
I’ll be on my way
Going along a road, that has been well formed by the million footsteps that preceded me.
The long road not taken is
overrated, overrated
Hop on this bandwagon
We’re all sheeps of the same fleece
Raze us, graze us
We eat the same weeds, the same grass
Fiber, moral fiber. what is that?
We understand money,
Bitcoins, dollars and cash,
blank cheques and pots of gold,
There’s nothing here
the soul long sold
Don’t care, don’t care
empty flesh, empty heart
This is our end, and this is our start
We’re walled minds for humanity’s sake
We roll, smoke, snort and bake
Rotting skin and pink entrails
daddy’s dying in metal jail
Who cares?
None of us do,
We’re the blossoming generation
of a dying world.