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A dip in the holy Ganges is supposed to wash away sins. But whose sins, exactly, is this woman washing away?
I book a ticket to Allahabad Once Fraught with repentance, To a devout confluence. On the Holy Ghats of Haridwar Repentance, shrouds the crescent yellow moon, Invariably distraught with desires. I scrub, On the half immersed flight of stairs, I run down, to cleanse, Like million others who douse next to me. Their sins leaking like green leaves in a boiling pot. These rivers will spill someday, It is a labyrinth of untold crimes. Ripe with human desires, and, Repentance, Just like mine. All the elements we are made up of, Like tides, wash up on my feet. A torrential verse of impiousness, Replete with chants of unholy saints resound. I immerse myself in the murky water, I can’t see a thing, no more. If that is what it means to cleanse, to be blinded to sins, I am not a sinner anymore. A Godless city I seek him in, An impulsive dullard with a pen, Looking in daylights, for, The holy ghost of a living God. Come night, my plain verses, Succumb to lustful men, And thus, In double entendres, A flailing heart breaches divine assertions.
Published here earlier.
Image source: shutterstock
Hi everyone, I am a teacher by profession and a restless being at heart. I am a writer more of conviction, less of vocabulary. My restlessness along with my compulsive desire for learning anything new read more...
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No matter where one’s fandom lies, if one saw the clip of you visiting your son in jail, the sheer dignity would have one converted to 'being yours'!
Dear @iamsrk,
I have done enough stuff in my journey making my son and husband often exclaim vexedly, ‘Aap Zara Sa Tham Jao Ji!’
But never in my dreams did I imagine that I would be writing an open crush-puff-piece at this stage of my life!
If the Chitrahaar Gods were especially propitious, they would showcase the song 'Papa Kahte Hain' and she would croon along to the song and wonder with you... where did her future lie?
Dear Aamir,
The magazines called you the ‘Chocolate Boy’ and a little girl in a small town, who loved chocolates, rare as they were in the eighties, fell in love without even realising it. Not yet introduced to the charm of the brooding hero, she found your delectable rasogulla looks enticing enough, at the tender age of ten, to fall head over heels. You see, she had yet to be indoctrinated into the Tall, Dark, Handsome myth. Of course, if she had been a little bit older, she might have thought it was better to take greater note of your lipstick shade than your chocolate boy looks, for looks as they say, are here today and gone tomorrow.
She would wait impatiently for Wednesday and Friday evenings, counting the days in her heart. Come evening, she would be so excited, the spring in her steps would be hard to miss. She would be scared everyone would know the secret in her heart but still she was the first one to plop in front of the television at 8 o’clock promptly. It was the time for Chitrahaar and her only opportunity to gaze at your beautiful unblemished countenance without drawing attention to herself. You see, she carried her love for you like a firefly in her heart, a glow for difficult times.