Grilled Retard Says

She undresses it, very clumsily A burden she carried reluctantly Nothing compared to her marriage though She wanted to take the blouse off Since the punishing afternoon that tanned her skin And made her sweat after an enduring day at work Where saree was a compulsion And so was not raising any voice against it For them, saree prevented rape It is what temples see fit to be worn Did they ask gods what they want? Gods want to see her in clothes that fit comfortably And that is it. Full stop. In fact, naked is the ideal apparel for gods Like they had made us in the first place But knowing how corrupt the society has become They have to settle for the cloak She wants to get rid of this saree It has dust of the streets And lust of men from work, from shops From trial rooms at shopping malls Who have fancy for her bra O fab India! And ladies who talk of her backless blouse Behind her back It has to be behind her back Her carefully disclosing cleavage and deep ne

Now I can’t define feminism or call myself a feminist, but what I practice has to be feminism and what I am, has to be a feminist. Feminism is about equality of all genders. It is fighting for the rights of an individual and denouncing the dominance of one gender over the other. It’s about doing what you want, irrespective of what this society asks or expects you to do. Society should never decide for you. I don’t understand what role does one’s gender play in determining things a person is supposed to do? There shouldn’t be a limit to what a woman can do. She shouldn’t be punished for realising her abilities and crossing the lines set by this patriarchal society; she shouldn’t be hated just because she did not conform to the role we had asked her to play. Just because feminism and female have first three alphabets in common, doesn’t mean feminism is for females alone. It is a movement for every gender and physical orientation. When feminism is associated with equal rights for wom

There's some hidden force you seek, one that drives you, and gives you strength to accomplish wonders you didn't know you had the ability to until you have. And that's when you realise- you carried within yourself that very force all this time while looking for it throughout the journey. Was the journey futile? No, darling, it is not about having the force. It is about the realisation of it. And the journey made you realise. Darling, the journey was realisation. (1/3) What you must fear is losing to the trek you haven't started, and staring at the peak from the bottom because you were too scared to climb. Watching the sun rise and set from a mountain top is an unparalleled beauty. Something the plains cannot offer. Something that is exclusive to the peaks. You don't have to know that you would reach the top. No, it is not necessary. You only have to know that you won't stop. Once you reach the summit, darling, it will be worth the climb. (2/3) Climbi

I could hear the fluid draining off and the alien glucose flowing profusely through my veins. My father was lying dead to the world on the sofa while his restless eyes had their gaze fixed on me. I couldn't sleep. The cannula prevented me from leaning sideways. The doctors had failed to diagnose my illness, the tests and the machines only added to the expenditure. I wanted to cry but feared that it would wake my father. All I could do was to stare at the wall clock, waiting for the nurse to come and pull out the foreign tube from my body so I could catch some Zs. Every day, she would collect a blood specimen for different tests. My hands had become a resort where the needles came for recreation. A part of me would leave the body and accumulate in an injection tube. I had never been hospitalised before. It was like a prison cell, the room had consumed me. The medicines did make me feel better after three days of my admission, but I had suffered mentally. The sight of my mother fa

Life has failed you. You’re caught in a labyrinth. Every turn inside the maze would lead to the door that won’t open. The paths betray you. The lampposts give no light. The grass would concoct a plot to ambush the feet. Your shadow trails behind you like the oil leaking out from the fleeing Bentley. The friends who had visited you in the hospital with corsages and unfaithful wishes would stab you to a putrid death with the birthday knife. But the crystal ball doesn’t show you dead. There’s something that leads you to the door time and again. The barren lands haven’t given up on the clouds that tease the thirsty earth and obscure the sun. The sun just won’t die. The lights will penetrate the proud mass of water. Without faith, the easiest climb is most difficult to scale. Pick yourself up and look at the sky. Lose yourself to the music and the lyrics will start to make sense. The doorknob will drop by the wayside. You were marooned on the island where no ships dock. Start bu

Life has failed you. There’s pain on the inside, the veins swirled like leaves in the autumn wind. Distraught with fury, you push the blood upstream; rummage through the debris and look for the scarred photographs. You can smell the ashes from the cremation, the memories that seemed eternal burned down. You’re detached like a rock on the island where no ships dock and the laughing sea is static. Shreds of your spirit sail through the malicious air. You follow the lying map to the last oasis in the perpetual desert, only to find a dry crater and the echoes of archaic skeletons. The soul is held fast to the flesh. You wish for a divorce, but the prayers betray you. It doesn’t come to you. Death had never been desired so profoundly. Death had never been so unkind.

[Editorial, Yearbook 2015, Summer Valley School, Dehradun.] It takes Brobdingnagian excogitation to write your last editorial, cognizant of the fact that one needs to drop a line about every flake of reminiscences, moments of elated bliss, tragic and comic episodes, your entire school life in a nutshell. A random tall guy with an undistinguished face amidst the crowd, who was somewhat adept in literary compositions to a man of humility, undecipherable cognition, and hardheaded wit; it has been such an enlivening journey. Class 2, Godawari to 12 Science, life was pain and pedagogy, quakes and edifice, pitch and pick.  One meaning to expressions transfinite, life was woe and win. But eleven years of relapse and resurrection, I've learned, school life is life lived best.  I've grown accustomed to hate coupled with disgust, I've taught myself to give it a cold shoulder and plow on. I may stammer as a verbalizer, a wretched orator but as a writer, I transcend aerospace