Saturday, August 10, 2013

A Whiff of Surveillance

The subtle smell of cream
I don’t know to whom it belonged
I boarded the bus smelling it
The smell scanned me and kept a watch on me
 I breathed in the cream smelly fear which settled like a feather inside me
Of being punished
Of being scolded
Of fainting in the morning hot sun in the assembly
Of forgetting to wear some part of the uniform
Of being caught while talking in my mother tongue
Of feeling insulted in front of everyone
Of being slapped or banished out of the classroom
Of being put to shame
Of being asked to run around the playground in the hot sun
Of being tested
Of not living up
Of looking the wrong direction in the class
Every day, waiting for the school bus and boarding it brought the smell
Years later, when the fear was forgotten
When expressions of discomfort became possible meanwhile
A community of equals who could share sentiments
When I got down the stairs for a casual walk passing by the bus stop

A whiff of the smell rushed in so many memories

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Round the Clock

Her alarm woke her up rudely. She didn’t finish her sleep. She woke up anyway.
Her teeth weren’t dirty. She brushed them anyway.
She didn’t feel dirty. She took a bath anyway.
She never liked wearing a bra that was supposed to hold her breasts in place and conceal her nipples. She wore it anyway.
She didn’t feel hungry. She sipped her coffee for an hour staring at nothing in particular.
She was too lazy to work that day. She went to work anyway.
The clock struck 1. It didn’t make her hungry. She ate something anyway.
She was sleepy after eating. She stay awake anyway.
She wanted to talk to a friend whose memory brought a smile. She didn’t call the friend anyway.
She wanted to laugh loudly. She suppressed it anyway.
There was no work to do. She sat there anyway.
It was time to go home. She felt useless all over again. She shrugged it off anyway.

She signed her exit.