The Kathakali Artist

Mirroring nails he slips on

his face greasy green

the white skirt encircles and entombs

his already large hips.

He readies himself for the performance

as he imagines

how they will see him today

Keechaka

to be killed yet again

by Bhima aka Vallala.

Villain

Rapist

Evildoer

What not.

Would they ever see him as noble?

As a man of great talent?

Not just the man

Sairanthri asked to be taken care of?

After all didn’t Keechaka

possess charm and masculinity?

Wasn’t he worthy of being followed?

Sighing he walks to the stage.

Who would listen to a poor actor’s thoughts

For Keechaka exists

only in the realms of the theatre.

The world of the make believe

stops at the edge of the curtain

for that is where reality steps in

to tear away the world of dreams.

(Based on a reading of the play Marattam)

A Testament to Love

Chiselled, hammered,

pierced, drawn upon,

cut, enamelled,

bejewelled, painted,

decked out in finery:

she was meant to be

a testament to their everlasting love

as well as his beloved’s resting place.

He was never meant to be

a part of the picture.

Yet today

it is the final resting place

of two great lovers

that history has made known

by this monument in white.

Now she stands tall, though

robbed and raped

of all her finery

and splendorous garments,

millions continue to marvel at her -

as she bears witness

to great love and passion

that erupted in the making

of the wondrous -

lo and behold -

Taj Mahal.

The Dancer’s World

“Your profession?,” they ask.

“Dancer!,” they exclaim.

Ha!

And Ha!

They laugh in his face.

How is he supposed

to look after his family

they think aloud

in their head and on their faces,

for passion has no place

in their calculations

only a Bharat Ratna

can save him

from their disappointed stares

as they watch his retreating form

going for his next

successful stage performance.

On Kolam Drawing

She traces her fingers

nimbly on the ground

here, there, everywhere

not stopping for a beat.

She must finish the drawing

before it is dawn.

She stops not for breath

she stops not for break

she rushes without a blink

as she painstakingly

draws every line.

It is her first here.

They will judge her

today too.

The new bride

will be measured

by the intricateness

beauty and dexterity

of her kolam.

It is finally done.

Just as dawn appears

and the mother-in-law

steps out with a yawn.

“Hmmm”

“Nothing like mine, daughter-in-law”

“But this will do.”

She finally breathes.

Homeland Men

You confuse me

men of home

you tell me

you want to snuggle

on cold mornings.

You tell me

I am the apple of your eye

and yet you surprise me

next day

with your wedding invitation.

What was I to you?

Mere chattel?

Only to pass your time?

Why then did you hound me

when I was perfectly happy on my own?

Why did my solitariness

irk you?

Was I another conquest on your list of things?

How could you

scum of the earth?

It is not just my curses you have earned.

My tears carry a far greater weight

than beknownst to you

for they carry the pain of

a thousand desires

unrequited.

A Birthday

Just when I thought

I could quietly sit and photograph the event

the student announced my birthday on stage.

The entire audience of 200

rose up as one

and sang the happy birthday song

O my!

There was no quiet anymore.

Who would have thought

I would be cutting three cakes in a day

at my age

and receiving a bouquet to top it off?

Who would have thought

That this quiet woman in the corner

had won their hearts as well?

Ordinary Woman

You want me to be like her?
she who wears a smile
made of sugar
& ties her hair in a plait
& has a featureless face
& wears nondescript clothes
& has a colourless personality
& smiles & smiles & smiles
till the sugar melts
like her?
O     No
Even if you have ensured I am
totally buried
under all her kind
her copies her photostats
I'm no ordinary woman
you ∽∽∽∽∽∽∽∽∽ see
I'm extraordinary. 

Red Riding Hood

You ask me the moment I am born

to cover myself

with that blackish-red cape

because my breasts are too big

because my stomach spills out

because my back shows

because my what-not is visible.

I wear my cape

as you desire

as you society

asked me to.

I wear it

like my skin

but now after all this time

centuries and millennia

I grow tired of it.

I wish to remove

this dastardly skin/cape.

B e g o n e .

You are no longer mine.

Snake skin-like

I shed you.

I will wear

What I please.

Ode to Cold

Leaky faucet nose
exploding bomb cough
temporarily blocked ears
endless Meenachil eyes
blistering barnacle headache
facial bones that torture
melcow to the world of allergies.