Wednesday, July 16, 2025
Gastropoda eroticum
Friday, November 29, 2024
Emasculation
I am not a masculine
man.
I deny to fit
into that notion of a man.
I recoil
from what I must become
To prove
that I am enough of a man.
Many tried
to make a man
Of what
they found in me of a man!
Between my
legs lay, for some,
Proof
enough to define me as a man.
Once I was
told by a proud macho man,
“Either you
grow into a manly man
Or you must
a man’s victim become!”
I wilted
and curled into a wimpy man.
Teased for being
the sissy man,
Bullied for
not being a tough man,
I grew up
to remain, for some,
A complete
disgrace to the name of man.
I don’t care
to be accepted as a man
Because
that which confines every man,
I defied; to
breathe my freedom,
Saturday, September 7, 2024
Mohini
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
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
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
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