The Unforgettable Desire

I woke up this fine Sunday morning — sleepy still, I went to get Rohi fish. As the seller aunty weighed it, and uncle cut it, I had quite an unsatisfactory feeling. It's not being cut right, I thought. I saw aunty weighing two snakehead murrels and dropping them near uncle. One of the murrels moved, and I hoped for it to not be alive. I ignored and went back to watching my Rohi being cut. Then, aunty picked up a murrel, and tried to kill it. It slipped. I did not like the sight of it because the fish moved like a snake. I was reminded of the time when I was a class V kid. I had often suggested my father to buy all the freshly-fished fishes and throw them back in the water, so that they can live. We can eat the already-dead ones, but not the ones who are suffering for the lack of water. I went vegetarian for next six years, because my Science teacher had asked my class to make a mass-promise to not eat non-veg. I take the words, "I promise", quite seriously. That...

One day in my M.A. classroom, a professor was teaching Emily Dickinson’s “She Sweeped with Many-Colored Brooms”, and I was scribbling a poem of my own in the last page of my notebook. I stared up, not looking at anything in particular, unaware that my gaze was in direct contact with that of the professor. He asked me, “Do you sweep at home?” “Yes”, I replied. “Girls usually sweep”, was his response. Unable to control the rising adrenaline and noradrenaline within me, I replied without being asked, “I sweep because I live alone, I cannot afford a maid (irrespective of my issues with cheap labour), and I like a clean room. I don’t think it has got anything to do with me being a girl. I am sure, any responsible human would do so.” I do not remember what happened next as my response was ignored. I went back to writing my poem. Do you realise what happened in those few minutes? My developing sense of responsibility was overshadowed by my social sex, my gender, and its role in this societ...

Exams. I love the preparation leave for exams. The mind is under so much pressure and yet the creative aspects flower the best during this time. The pressure of getting to know the syllabus, of finding the texts online, of making a time table, of failing to study, of being tired of trying to study can be really really frustrating. The mind looks for escapes. The mind conjures all the stagnant creative powers of the entire semester and puts it in one direction, be it a really nice status update, a few sketches, poetry, or even cooking. And trust me, people are in almost always in a disbelief that you, yes you, actually did any of it.