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The gift to create form, from the mist of imagination, is pure magic!


Saturday, September 7, 2024

Mohini

 







20.5x28.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

I dress up for the night. I have washed myself in a bucket of water. A necessity that feels more like a luxury as water is precious. The municipal tap flows for two hours every day. We are a home of eight. That bucket of water was the ocean to me. I rose from it to become Mohini from Mohan.

I put on my makeup. The face powder, I bought with my money. A gift to myself for my last birthday. The kajal pencil, now a 2 inch stub, was generously donated by Padma. The red lipstick I stole from a shop that has pretty ladies working as sales girls. I wish I could get a job like that. Yes, I do earn a living, being a bride for one night to strange lovers, but the money is barely enough for rent, clothes and food.

I look at myself in the mirror. I admire the illusion of beauty I see there. The light from one naked bulb bathes my form in bright light and deep shadows. Like a solar eclipse when Raahu tries to devour the sun. I pluck a stray hair on my upper lip and a wayward eyelash with a pair of tweezers. I place a black dot on the left, over my upper lip, mid-way between the corner of my lip and nostril. Perfect.

I take a band of long soft cloth, cut from an old cotton saree and wrap it around the lower part of my chest. A little tightly, not tight enough to cause trouble breathing. Then I push the soft fleshy upper part of my chest from both sides near the armpits, upwards and inwards towards the centre of my chest. I feel a shiver as I see my cleavage take shape where my chest hair used to be. I adjust the tightness of the band of cloth to keep the cleavage in position.

I wear a sleeveless white blouse with a deep neckline. Deep enough to reveal the cleavage I created but not the means holding it in place. I have a pair of balloons filled with water, something Bobby had taught me. I insert them each in the two empty tents in my blouse which were meant to house soft breasts. The water filled balloons create a bounce that mimics real breasts better than sponge pads. It has its risk too if the balloons burst, but I still prefer it. I roll my shoulder and adjust the strap of the blouse checking the bounce.  

I drape a pearly white chiffon saree with conch shell design embroidered with sequins, the latest fashion popularized by the actress Bhanumati, over my bleached white petticoat. Bleach to keep the spots and germs away. I wish I could bleach away the germs inside me too but that is another story. I look at my reflection in the mirror again. I put on my beaded dangler earrings and a matching bead necklace, stolen from my elder sister, many years ago. The only heirloom I possess to remind me of the family I was born to. I begin to recognize myself now. “Me Mohini!” I whisper.

Now, to complete the transformation I pick up the wig Lakshmi lent me yesterday. She is not going out to meet clients for the next few days. She is not well. High fever with a nasty cough. So, I borrowed her wig; silky and shiny black hair styled in waves like the dark ocean raging inside me. I put it on and flip my head back to feel the hair cascade around my neck. I tilt my head, my eyes half closed as if I am drunk on the nectar of life and I blow a kiss at my reflection.

I pick up my handbag and check if I have the condoms and sachets of lube. A social worker keeps giving us these things for free. Keeps us safe from diseases, she says. There are many dangers other than diseases that come with the territory in the line of my work. I feel far from safe but at least she is trying to keep me safe from one villain. I throw in my comb, lipstick and an antiseptic ointment. I wear my flat slip-on sandals. No heels for me. You never know when you need to run. I switch off the light and I shout “I am going out!” and I step out into the night humming a song to myself.

“I am a bride for a night, every night!

A flickering flame for willing lovers

Who drink from my pot of eternal life,

Turning to dust on the bed covers

At the end of every night, every night!”

Friday, July 26, 2024

Firdaus

 





20.5x28.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

“Agar firdaus bar roo-e zameen ast,
Hameen ast-o hameen ast-o hameen ast.” - Amir Khusrau


My paradise is lost. Was it mine, to begin with? If it was mine, was it paradise?

It was a safe haven for me - Not just a piece of land, not just a garden and an abode I called home,

To make sense of where I belonged. It was my solace, my peace of mind where I carefully hoarded

The fragmented pieces of my mind.

Where the wind blew melodies of the forest and the seas and the lullabies of the starry nights,

Songs that breathed my existence and gave me the reason to call everything mine!

It was the fountain of mirth where the tears of joy sparkled.

It was the cave of sorrow where shadows dried my tears.

A nest that cradled my life calming all my fears, feeding me, clothing me, satiating all my desires…

Then I lost it all!

So violently torn, so bitingly violated that I questioned the verity of my memories.

To become a tumble weed in the desert, a paper boat in the flood, a lump of meat in the feast,

A compass without North!

The beasts come in hoards to eat the leftovers, stripping the meat from the bones,

To gorge on what scraps are left of my humanity in an arena full of spectators who debate;

Shall it be a thumbs up or a thumbs down?

And yet I want to live, I want my love to live, I want my hope to live, I want my tribe to live,

I want to live to find my paradise one more time!

I want to live for our songs of paradise to stay alive.


Tuesday, April 30, 2024

Propaganda

 







28.5x20.5 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on coloured drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

I look perfectly charismatic
While my innards are swarming with worms
Festering from corruption and bile,
An immaculate Dorian Gray in the vilest norms!

I can conjure up godly avatars
While orchestrating the most demonic of deeds
Knowing, you shall find me innocent
Disregarding what your faculty of reason heeds!

I will stalk you like a predator
While promising you the world of your dream,
Bending the rules to trap the prey
Leaving you crumbs and stealing all the cream!

I can gradually poison your being
While you thank me for being the saintly messiah!
You will imagine you have free will
As I turn you into slavish mobs taming the pariah!

I will rape and plunder with my power
While you stay drugged with hatred and deceit,
No victim shall receive justice or closure
But in turn will be deemed guilty by moral conceit!

I am quite a scoundrel, I know
While you remain confident of my holy character!
Why else try to control public opinion
If not to lead, unchecked, my fattened lambs to slaughter?

Saturday, April 13, 2024

Salvation

 







20.5x28.5 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on textured drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

You peddle salvation

As if, you own an infinite source

To supply the instant high!

Have you inherited it as an heirloom?

Always promising a recourse

To the lost soul in distress,

As if, you have the precious road map

With the only route clearly marked

To lead them out of this mess.

What gives you such confidence?

Who appointed you the guide?

I wonder…

Does a particle of dust find salvation

Just by clinging to your hide?

Yes, I know,

We are gullible

Marinating in our sins,

Fermenting with guilt

We are fallible,

Easily herded like sheep

Seeking safety from imagined wolves,

Settling down meekly

For a life of servitude.

No, you are beyond reproach

For we are to blame!

We put you on a pedestal

With our fears and our faith,

To avoid being responsible for

Our own lives and deeds,

To find shortcuts to repentance

And forgiveness for being bad seeds.

If a dip in the Ganges

Can wash away my sin,

Why bother mending my ways?

Let the waters bear the poison

While I remain conveniently pure and clean!

Friday, November 17, 2023

Tara

 







20.5x28.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Tara

In the beginning there was void. All pervading darkness and endless nothingness. Yet she was there. She was the void and once awakened she created the entire universe out of her non being. Created life and death, and everything in between. The ‘Samsara’ she manifested out of ‘Maya’ is like a vast sea of the unknown and she was the only guide who could help us to traverse that sea without getting lost and drowning. She is the peril and she is the saviour. She is the void and she is the ‘Tara’ (Star) of light in that void; the duality which is intrinsic to nature.

In Sanskrit, ‘Star’ and ‘crossing’ are the most obvious meanings of the name ‘Tara’. By extension, the name Tara signifies she who guides or carries others across, who navigates others across, and she who protects, rescues, and liberates. Hence Tara’s role as a Devi imbues her with powers of compassion, protection from danger and providing enlightenment. In Tibet, Tara is referred to as ‘Dolma’ meaning saviour.

Tara’s connection to the sea is more strengthened through her inclusion in Hindu theology as a patron of the seas. The Puranas describe her as related to water bodies. This ‘Sea’ may be a very literal interpretation of the much deeper spiritual symbolism of Tara. If this ‘Samsara’ is the endless unknown sea and if each one of us are vessels embarking on a voyage to traverse that sea from our birth to death, we need a compass or a pole star to guide us on that journey. Tara is that pole star who keeps us on track if we trust her wisdom and learn the lessons we need to learn. She slashes through our thick cloud of ignorance and ego with her light of wisdom and saves us from ourselves. The lotus she holds (mostly a blue lotus as seen in her popular iconography) is a symbol of purity, remaining unsoiled in even the most polluting of environments and acts as a constant reminder to us that enlightenment can exist in the world even if the environment is corrupt and polluted.  

Tara is glorified as the 2nd fierce manifestation of Sati, just after Kali, as a Dasa Mahavidya (Ten cosmic wisdoms) in Hindu mythology but Tara’s origins can be traced to ancient Goddesses like Ishtar, Astarte, Isis and Aphrodite, due to the derived similarities in attributed powers, symbolism and ritual practices. All these goddesses were linked with water bodies in some ways and the symbolism of stars or planets. The same connections are easily traceable to the Christian attributes of Mother Mary also known as ‘Stella Maris’ (Star of the Sea). Though such connections may be vehemently opposed and denied by religious zealots who enforce complete separation between Pagan religions and Christianity.

In Hindu Shaiva and Shakta (mostly Tantric) mythology, Tara is seen as a Mother Goddess. Known as another manifestation of Kali, the master of Time, Tara symbolizes the eternal and unfulfilled hunger that fuels life; the hunger to placate all desires and attain spiritual oneness with the Supreme Being. Like a star that perpetually consumes its own energy, Tara represents the never-ending desires that fuel all life. Hindu oral mythology states that other than appearing with the Dasa Mahavidyas, Tara appeared singularly during the pivotal churning of the ocean ‘Kshira Samudra’ (Ocean of Milk), details of which are related in Vishnu Purana. In this legend, Shiva drank the powerful destructive poison ‘Halaahala’ that surfaced from the churning of the ocean by Devas and Asuras without allowing it to go below his neck, thus saving the world from destruction and earning the appellation of 'Neelakanttha'. As a result, Shiva was incapacitated from the effect of the poison and lost consciousness. The Mahadevi took the form of Tara and came to Mahadeva’s aid. She took the supine body of Shiva on her lap and just like a mother breast fed him, her milk acted as an antidote to the poison, and he recovered. This myth also alludes to the myth in which Shiva stops the rampaging Kali by becoming an infant and crying loudly in the blood soaked battlefield. Seeing the baby, Kali's maternal instincts were roused and her rage and blood thirst subsided and she nursed the infant Shiva. In both cases, Shiva assumes the position of an infant in relation to the goddess.

In the 6 sixth century C.E., during the era of the Pala Empire, Tara was adopted into the Buddhist pantheon as an important Bodhisattva figure. Not coincidentally, this was just a few centuries after the Prajnaparamita Sutra had been introduced into what was becoming the Mahayana Buddhism of India.

Tara in the form of the Great Mother Goddess shares strong links with many Hindu goddesses, such as Druga and Kali. The similarities in iconography between Kali and Tara can’t be missed and they are often worshipped as one and the same. They both stand upon a recumbent Shiva, or a corpse. While Kali’s body is depicted in black, Tara is mostly depicted in blue. Both are either naked or wear animal skin (mostly tiger) or a skirt of severed human limbs. Both wear a garland of severed human heads or skulls. Both have a lolling tongue oozing blood from their mouths. Furthermore, like the Goddess Kali, Tara in her Hindu context enjoys drinking blood, whether Deva, Asura, human or animal is of little consequence. The only distinctive feature of Tara is her pot belly and sometimes she is depicted holding a pair of scissors instead of a ‘Kharga’! No doubt her appearance is fearsome and through this fierceness she subdues the ego and commands complete surrender. Her three most famous forms are Ekajata, Ugratara, and Neelasarsvati.

In Buddhist narrative Tara is introduced through the legend of Princess Jnanacandra (moon of wisdom), daughter of Tathagata Dundubhisvara (sound of drum). She performed ritualistic practices for attaining enlightenment for such a long time that the celestial monks advised her to obtain a male body in order to become a bodhisattva. The princess rejected the monk’s advice and vowed to pursue the bodhisattva path in female form stating that "There is neither man nor woman nor self nor personhood nor notion of such. Attachment to [the designations] ‘male and female’ is meaningless, and deludes worldly people with poor understanding… men have always desired enlightenment but not a single woman strives for the benefit of sentient beings. Therefore, I shall follow this path as a woman as long as samsara exists.” In due process she was elevated to the form of Tara.

Both the Hindu and Buddhist legends have one thing in common: Shakti, the strength of the feminine energy and how it defies patriarchal misogyny. Tara as the mother suckles an incapacitated Shiva and nourishes him back to full power. Shiva in the male god tradition is the all-powerful and often destructive force which causes ‘pralay’ if enraged. Such a masculine force needing to be revived by the feminine force from the brink of destruction is quite a difficult concept to digest and acknowledge for many who uphold patriarchy. Patriarchy does not acknowledge that masculinity can be weak and vulnerable to begin with, so drawing strength from femininity at such a vulnerable moment seems to be even more dishonourable. Princess Jnanacandra rejecting the need for a male body to become a bodhisattva also challenges the almighty masculinity driven religious practices and successfully creates a place of reverence for female bodied bodhisattvas. The sad truth though: the fight for femininity to prove its power, again and again, in comparison and in competition with masculinity is still as much a reality as it was in those ancient times! The need for these narratives to resurface has never lost its importance.

References:

Books:

Beyer, Stephen (1978). Cult of Tārā. University of California Press.

Kinsley, David. Hindu Goddesses: Vision of the Divine Feminine in the Hindu Religious Tradition. India: Motilal Banarsidass.

Online sources: 

https://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Tara

https://kashgar.com.au/blogs/gods-goddesses/tara-a-beautiful-goddess-for-a-not-so-beautiful-world

Saturday, October 7, 2023

Otherwise Straight Acting...

 




20.5x28.5 inches; Pen and ink, acrylic paint over graphite pencil on drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Desires cannot be regulated by external forces through enforced conditioning of gender performance and expectation. If the gay dating apps were to hold up a mirror to the society, this failure would be more than apparent. Many gay men describe themselves or is described by others as ‘Straight Acting’ which simply means that this person is ‘Manly’ enough or doesn’t have the tell-tale behavioural markers of being gay. He is not a limp wristed, lisping, willowy, and flamboyantly effeminate homosexual! But it is acting, nevertheless! It is a performance put up to pass as a ‘heterosexual’ man in the cock-eyed surveillance of our society’s stereotypes and standards of judgement! A performance to remain undetectable as gay in the public eye. How they perform in the privacy of a more enabling space can be otherwise. A space where inhibitions and judgements are rare, many of these men can drop the act and be more attuned to their desires and behave accordingly. This constant performance of suppressing desire in the public eye has to be acknowledged and applauded with the cautionary tale of how this affects the psyche of the gay men constantly living in fear of being ‘found out’. 

Friday, September 22, 2023

Tthikri

 




28.5x20.5 inches; Pen and ink, acrylic paint over graphite pencil on drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Clap! It is no ordinary clap but an entire performance all in itself. The action of bringing the palms of the two hands together to spark off that distinctly identifiable sound reverberating through the surroundings is not easy and clearly needs practice. The clap of a Hijra is called a ‘Tthikri’ by the Hijra community, in their own lingo. This clap announces their existence, their entry into a space. They perform their ritualistic routines accompanied by the beat of these claps. The clap resounds with the history of their lineage, heavy with cultural baggage. It is the music they sing and dance to. It can symbolize a spectrum of emotions from anger to mirth. It can be used as a punctuation or lend extra weight to a curse. It can be decisive or flirtatious. It can be friendly or a nonviolent attack on prejudice. What it is not, is frivolous! It won’t be ignored. The symbolic strength of the ‘Tthikri’ has been adopted by many within the LGBTQ+ community to break down the oppressive societal bindings of class/caste hierarchies and unsanctioned desires. The ‘Tthikri’ denies to be shamed into silence.