the nameless monsters

The nameless monsters.

Audre lorde says-
"I write for those women who do not speak, for those who do not have a voice.
Because they are so terrified.
We’ve been taught that silence would save us.
But it wont".

Living a decade of innocence.
Trying to understand and embrace radical anatomical changes.
Becoming subjects of adolescent inquisitiveness of elderly cousins.
Repetitively.
Annoyingly.
Unwillingly.

Extending a pat on your back by an uncle on your bra strap.
Grappling your new found breasts by lane pervets in the twilight hour.
Getting ridiculed for one's stained school uniform.
Terrorizing travails of public transport.
Leering glances of voyeurs.
Emotional abuses in one's professional path.
That masculine ego waiting to demolish feminine grace.
A rhetorical gaze questioning your climb.

The delusional men's club stinking of-
Mysogyny,
Chauvinism,
Sexism mocking a woman's clarity.

Tags attached to each roles glued to us.
The unhealed scars of scratched wounds.
The invisible pock marks.
The embellishment of labels.

Phew!!!!!

Its time to be unconservatively unapologetic about ourselves.

Taking pride in joining the "#metoo"  brigade.
Yet being ashamed to be amidst a society which is anything but gender agnostic.

Let these nameless monsters croak in the dateless pages of our lives.

Purvi K

the red pause

The red pause.

A sojourner knocking at the door.
The intruder standing uninvited at the egress.
Coming month after month,
Yet the mortal is itinerant.
Why do we embrace it aloofly with stiff austereness?

The cycle of life.
Oh!!! A gender specific one at that.
Undeserving blessings- what a counterstatement.
A rebuttal.

The grand vacationer aids us in manifesting our angry encounters....
The melancholic disposition of spirits.
Orgy of complex emotions dancing randomly amidst expectation of normalcy in the order of life.

We cease to be ourselves.
We rebel with our confrontational self.
Our efficiency is at stake.
Parasitism seeps in unceremoniously.
Fighting an invisible battle.
The claustophobia.
The suffocation of being mute.
The blurring lines of self created boundaries.
We become the silent sufferers.

Its the time to coil in the coziness of anonymity.
Lets not fret over loosening our pace...
Its time to relax/chill and more importantly be vocal about our state.

Let the red pause be just a comma,
Not a full stop.

Lets talk....
Period.

As judy grahn says-
Menstrual blood is the only source of blood that is not traumatically induced. Yet in modern society, this is the most hidden blood, the one so rarely spoken of and almost never seen, except privately by women.......

Purvi k

adulterous affair

Adulterous affair.

Simile or metaphor.
Lets not decipher.
Grounding is boring.
Getting attracted is sexy.
Mundane monotonous routine.

Our very own cha cha cha.
Guilty indulgences.
Playing hide and seek.
Pigging out solo.
Away from prying eyes.
Sneaking orally.
Wild Sinful fun.

Winking at the inviting bed.
Luring us into a slumber so soothing.
We snooze on.
But then life happens when we go beyond the snooze button.

An affair to remember.
The two timing game.
Multiple serendipitous encounters to treasure.
Tough tug of war between chance and choice.
We live by chance.
Indulge in affair by choice.
We Avoid being reprimanded by the scaling gadgets.

Indulging in our Last eternal dance with morsels.
Njoying The eventual food gazm.
Biding adieu to ever endearing laziness.

Sprinting back to start our salsa with fitness.
Fighting our paunchy self.
Lets end this tango with sloth.

Purvi k.

the drama queen

The drama queen.

Is being dramatically vocal, relevant or actually disruptive?

The perpetual war between the act of defying and denying.
The appropriateness lying in acknowledging internally and deleting though.

Rather than being afloat or to be on plateau, lets fly......feeling satiated in aerial freedom.

On reaching the learning curve, rather than stifle ourselves with frigid beings, lets grasp the art of detachment....

Rather than clarifying the blurring lines between intrusion, interference and genuine concern....
Lets erase the silent sufferer in us..

Lets demolish the masochistic idea of glorying in our personally designed melancholy.

Lets not cease to be ourselves adhering to role play.
Lets confront our naked being.
Lets instead find coziness in our anonymity.
Lets soothe the restless mind which cant differentiate between suffocation and warmth.

Let the initiator in us take a back seat.
Let the spark ignitor become mute.
Let the inner fire spread quietly.

Lets get hold of the regressive action...
Rather than adhere to aggressive reaction...

Lets celebrate the demise of the reigning drama queen...

Purvi. K.

mute spectator

Mute spectator.

Being on periphery.
Seeing from afar.
Living on edge.
Curbing the innermost turmoil to react.
How calm is a mute spectator?

Silencing the internal rage.
Realizing the inaneness of the spoken rash words.
Taking a breather.
Adhering to detachment.
How mellow must be the mute spectator.

Insanely trying to resist outburst.
Inhaling air and exhaling anger.
Words dancing between epiglottis and tongue.
Experiencing syndrome of aloofness.
How serene is a mute spectator?

The worthlessness of oral diahhorea.
Abstaining the orgy of words being manouvered.
Combating a tiff leading to verbal prostitution.
Switching on of the alert self.
How soothing is a mute spectator?

Taking aid of routine affirmations.
Final ceasing of feirce rage.
Administering the menopausal pause.
Nurturing the restlessness of a hurt soul.
How sophisticated must be the mute spectator?

The fatigued soul learns to review from a distance.
Enlarging the myopic view.
Adjusting the bifocal lens in one's twilight zone.
Varied emotions singing a parody.
How evolved must be the mute spectator?

We cease to converse using toned words as crutches.
We walk away.
Far far away.
Denotation of a relaxed soul.
Emblem of a pure self.
We decide to become more of ourselves.

Celebrating the true truimph of a mute spectator

Purvi k

a friendly hitch

A friendly hitch.

A fatigued goddess.
Monotonous existence.
Seconds,
Minutes,
Hours,
Days,
Months,
Years,
Deacades.
Time sprinting ahead.
A habit which makes us comfortable in familiar shit and we fear unfamiliar territory.
Our clingy self gets to lean on a person- a human.
Cant a wall suffice?
Why add emotions?
Its one adventure which takes our flight to an obscene level of stupidity.
Shackled in multiple bonds.
Interdependence.
Sole dependence.
Give and take- so buisness like.

Thats a fatigued fraternization or we simply call it a mundane marriage.

What holds us back?
Why do we not straighten few stubborn curves?
Why do we get entangled in-
The inconvenient love.
The suffocating love.
The all consuming love.

It strikes us like a thundering bolt that-  Friendship is the only ingredient which keeps it going.

No amount of horniness or cultural ties can aid to  bond two people.
The sheen gets hidden in its shadow
Lustre is lost.
Feelings are played with.
Patience is tested.
Tempers fly.
The healing of soul abruptly stops.
You decide to let things be.
At the end of the day, you can either focus on whats tearing you apart or you can focus on whats keeping you together.

Why cant we have visitation rights in a marriage?
Spouses should visit each other once in a while.
Such dates will give us more memories than your whole life resembling a dateless page .
What would happen to offended spouses if they hear the opinions one keep to oneself?
The constant orgy of emotions playing in our mind.

Relationship with your mattress is more fulfilling/comforting.
Why fall in love?
One would rather fall asleep.

Mate- lets dance 2 the tangy salsa and enjoy our friendly banter.
Lets be in friendship zone.
Cause Spousal love is dismal.............

Purvi K

men, chivalry and 26th July

Chivalry aint dying silently...
Its vanishing with a loud thud...
And the likes of new bie celebrities validate ths with an arrogant/crappy stamp.......
Heady success hits like a tequilla shot...
Its 1 cocktail al cnt digest......
Welcome 2 the world of cockiness..

Men, chivalry and 26th july.

Reminiscing the dawn of "26th july 2005".
Fondly remembering my tough fountain head, my progenitor...
An uninvited sojourner had come knocking on door early morning.
Quite unannounced and definitely not welcome.
Our very own, "the red pause".
However much one wants it to be a comma and not a full stop,
It manages to wreak havoc in one's normalcy

The city getting drenched in torrential rains.
Amidst this,  one is harbouring and nursing an intangible pain.
Consequent and subsequent orgy of emotions.
Pertaining and dancing away.
Oscillating like a pendulum.

Personages showcasing an undying spirit of humanity and mankind.
And hombre of the personal kind portraying cowardice.
One Pal scratching an open wound.
Another one biding adieu to chivalry.

Chivalry aint dying a silent death.
Its vanishing with a loud thud.

Life presenting a curve ball.
Starting to view feminism in isolation.
The obvious neutralization of gender.
Misunderstood quest for equality.

On a journey to preserve and conserve oneself.
The scratched wound starts to be immune and itchless.
Scars becoming pulchritudinous accessories.
On a solo expedition.
Well equipped with survival weapons.

Learning a lesson from being a "solitary weeper".
Aceing it up as a "solitary reaper".....

One's Journey goes on......

By Purvi K.

the messy bun

The Messy Bun.

We live several lives in our one life.
Each one is layered and contradictory to the another.
Why so?

When we are so flawless in one,
Why do we falter in another?
We ace our vocation with exemplary precision.
Going from strength to strength from project to project.
Giving immaculate presentation.
Putting an effort which is beyond ourselves.

Quite different than our work,
Our self gets a beating...
Messy grey hair.
Unkempt us.
Scratchy stretch marks.
Wobbly derma.
A moustached chin.
We quite comfortably bid adieu to femme fatale...

On other hand, we drive our work to perfection.
Spirit of team/squad alive and kicking..
We bend backwards for a patronage.

Why cant we adhere to the same personally.
Our gender gets neutralized in our quest for equalizing it..

We need to conserve and preserve our uniqueness.
But between the two personas,
We let our identities fluid and yet not let them merge..
Personal bonds become proprietary managing to suffocate us.
We just try to navigate through life.

Its time to mix our personalities in all areas of life.
Maybe success wont allude us in one and embrace in another.
In an era of living unapologetically, lets instead say our good byes to myopic views...

Time to glory in our crappy self.
Rays of our ombres shinning bright.
Sprinting towards the unthinkable.
Acknowledging the mood swings.
Defrosting from the transitory zone..
Lets pull the trigger.

Like our thick mane of tresses..
Lets ve a mind of our unique us.
When we see a woman so klutzy..
Lets applaud her.
Messier is the bun.
When sorted is our being.

Dancing to the random fun.
Welcome to my world of my messy bun.....

Purvi k

unspoken apology

Unspoken apology.

Beth revis says- "I'm sorry", are the two most inadequate words in the english language.

G k chesterton says- A stiff apology is a second insult. One does not want to be compensated. One wants to be healed because one has been hurt.

We accept repetitive, suffocating, claustrophobic behaviour.
Do we make ourselves pay for intangible, uncommitted sins?
There ought to be norms attached to one's code of conduct.
Suavities and decorum should be a prerequisite for appropriateness.
Changed behaviour can just be atonement.
Emotional pock marks need self validation.
The ace scheduler in us need to allocate personal time lines
We cannot let life and sinners pass us by quietly.
Dignity and respect ought to be a two way street.
Why do we gaze at circumstances with unuttered appeal?
Why do we glue ourselves to the dreading time zone?
Why do we silence our own inner voice?
We become the unmoved mover, the speechless observer.
Constantly.
Admittedly.
Repititively.
Expecting admission of flaws is the least form of respect we need.
Do we unknowingly aid the doer in wronging by stopping from gathering ourselves and moving on?
We form our defense by shielding in our own insecurities.
We lack strength.
Lets not embrace the glorius mess of people.

Before each invisible scar screams for attention, lets not accept an unspoken apology.

Purvi k

cocooned rebel

Cocooned rebel

Glued to the threshold.
Frozen in transition.

Reminiscing....... about an era gone by.
Of an endeavour in isolation.
The aphasiac counteraction with self.
The peerless, solitary, diminutive victories.
The meticulous rise.
The ascent so correct.
Not skipping a tread.
The endless exertion of young and restless.
Nurturing an ambition.
Treading with caution overcoming trepidation.

Gazing into the future with the panache of a clairvoyant.
Transfixing stare on the crystal ball.
A virtual boundary beyond which a radically different state exists.
Awaiting our tryst with life ahead.
Seeing frm afar the pubescent, infantile dance of the youth.
Baffled at the odius, loathsome sight.
The pseudo sheen.
The fake demeanour.
What lies ahead is the degradation and slander causing a blister.
The itching aspiration of vigor.
The concourse of the bourgeois with each other.
The barbarous, unprincipled state.

Envisaging the scenario.
Smiling with content at the pristine, untarnished peregrination.
Lets decide to shine in the reflected glory of a cocooned rebel.

By Purvi K

the methodic Mumbai maze

The methodic mumbai maze.

The metro called mumbai can be explained in contradictory clutter of callisthenics of words.
In every kind and every form.
Diverse.
Random.
Trustworthy.
Versatile.
Accomodating.

Popping its head out amidst other metros like,
The culture bound Calcutta.
The conservative Chennai.
The boisterous Bangalore.
Or the daring Delhi.

The concrete jungle called mumbai built by hopes and dreams of mortals.
The painstakingly grinding schedules.
Sprinting towards goals which are made miraculously attainable by the undying spirit of individuals.
The non questionable gaze of absolute strangers.
Trustworthy demeanours of plebeians.
Travelling with caution on the road to trepidation.
Serendipitous encounters with contrasting personalities.
Underlying rage due to obvious limitations.
Yet aceing confidently.
Omnipresence of mumbanization akin to globalization.

Finding that calm in chaos.
Adhering to method in madness.
Maintaining serenity in insanity.
Driven by an intangible force.
Fascinating Fables weaved underneath.

Mumbai remains mullishly mainstream in its methodic maze

Purvi k