Wednesday, September 12, 2012
It was a gift,
A butterfly coloured green sari,
Jhooma chose to hang herself
from the ceiling fan on one
" Darbari" night.
The twentyone year old 's body shuddered,
The little note under paperweight
on the table shivered and shrieked,
" No one is responsible for my death,
Ma, you will be my ma
life after life, after life...
Do not let Baba touch me."
in between the deep theories of
Economic Intelligence in the cochingclass
searched in vain
towards the empty lane,
Then a hopeless mournful sigh.
The mother who lost her first child
only three years ago , a victim of Thalasemia,
Froze with her tears of blood,
Lastnights birthday treat
stood untouched on the kichen table,
Red antsoldiers marching around.
The cursed Father Rocked and rocked and
went on repeating again and again
from the tables of life......
" Two one za Two
Two two z four....
Fathers , Fathers dont do it
Dont rebuke your unruly child
Do not ...
Two one za Two
Two z Two......
Let her go to another repeat of
Or be cursed."
(On the basis of a news item . A father used to
rebuke his daughter for returning late from
coaching classes .The daughter hanged herself )