Use and abuse 

Since when has body become so important?

That you need to feel powerful by using others’ to prove?

The constant tussle between use and abuse 

Has crossed all lines, broken all barriers of refuse. 

The terms keep changing sheets; it’s money, I am told 

Someone pointed it out, they are poor and hence they sold.

Sold the person, sold the child; sold the body by cutting all ties. 

Did you not think even for once, that the requirements of each and every body is limited to a few rising suns?

You have to get into the same earth as the body you ruined, 

There’s no denying truth to the eternity that you cease to have never understood. 

Then why use and abuse another body just for fun? 

When the laws of nature get to you; clearly there isn’t a better ground for you to run. 


You, the life

That awkward sensation of a touch, 

that feeling of being loved, 

that moment when your world collapsed, 

the burden of being lied; 

that process of breathing that you had to re-learn, 

that accountability that you had to burn, 

the roads that you had to stare, 

that journey which was fruitlessly despair; 

the sentence that broke your soul, 

the gifts that burned your clothes, 

that freedom that even you envisage, 

that glory that you would rather cultivate; 

the nation that you have always loved, 

the books that you have covered up; 

the writings that you have torn into pieces, 

the knowledge that you reuse to cliche; 

that body of yours, when it was criticised, 

that moment when your associations failed to divine; 

the dilemma that you breathe in, we all do; 

you’re the mother, the carrier of life, 

undeniably broken yet forgivingly new. 

When did I decide?

My religion decides where my feet goes

My skin colour decides my friends and foes

My soul is caged, it no longer has a choice; somewhere it never had. 

When did I decide where I was to be born? 

Love wrapped my soul, my body was formed. 

It grew in days, it grew in time,

It grew in communities that I made mine. 

My soul has been wrapped in love since, 

It’s my body that got a name and a tag of religion within. 

Before I could let my body embrace my soul, 

My future was decided; whether it was to rise or to fall. 

I ask again, when did I decide where I was to be born?

Judge me .. 

Judge me for the clothes I wear , For the drinks I hold, For the cigarettes I smoke .. 

Judge me for the words I write, For the stances I take, For the sentences I construct ..

Judge me for the car I drive, For the roads I walk, For the flights I miss ..

Judge me for the books I read, For the house I stay, For the bed that I sleep ..

Judge me for the heels I wear , For the bags I carry, For the makeup that I put ..

Judge me for each and every aspect, That’s an accessory ..To the very me.. 

Judge me if you would like for the Human that I am .. For the love that I share 

And if you really care ..Judge me for the soul that I carry .. Besides the body that it has married. 

Be the size that matters!

A part of me gets really annoyed with the socially constructed idea of ‘beauty’. I have been to social gatherings where the first thing that I am often asked is “have you lost weight?” And then I am expected to spend an entire afternoon or evening with the same person discussing ‘beauty’ and ‘weight’ and ‘life’. 

Why is “have you lost weight?” an acceptable social statement? And if it is then why is “have you lost some of the gray matter of your brain” not such a popular social statement? Or “have you lost your soul?” not popular either? Are these not as important as “weight?” 🙂 A part of me feels that I would lose myself the day I lose my mind and soul. Body is so very transient! 

I am not in favour of being unfit and eating bad. Rather I am in favour of eating healthy and exercising but I do have problems with the mass attitude when body “size” is all that matters! I heard someone say one day “being size 8 makes me feel better” and I sat there thinking – I don’t understand. I understand that being fit can make you feel better irrespective of a number that you put to it but not this size 8! 

To me it seems like a data sorting exercise where especially women feel the need to arrange their body in an descending order with age.

Rather shouldn’t it be more like arranging your life in an ascending order given the knowledge that you accumulate over the years and given the experiences that you and your body have been through? And then eventually you would be a size bigger than today and bigger than yesterday and bigger than a year ago and so on .. Rather an “ascending” order of the body with age might be an honest representation of you. 

Moreover who says that a size 8 is a suitable size for a woman in her late 30s and a size 12 isn’t? Who says that a women if a woman can pull off a size 6 bikini in her late 40s with a flat tummy is beautiful than a woman who can’t? 

Ah well. I don’t think I would ever put a number to my body .. The wrinkles and the aging skin are enough to provide evidence to the life that I have lived on this very planet. I would surely say that use numbers but use them where it matters 🙂 

I think the day you can put a size to an aging soul – that day a number on the body could be justified too. A long way to go and that’s why I say be the size that matters not what’s socially forced to matter.