With your love my dear sun ~ I color myself so green ~ so green.

The leafy tree at Lumbini

Reminded me of you~

You were absent there and I was so alone ~

Hold on

While sitting under it ~

The shade of your love was overshadowed by tree..

The chits-chats are locked in the walls or are flown away from the window pane. The call unanswered. The call ignored. The talk so indifferent. The text messages unseen.

A novel yet to be completed ~ Anna Karenina — Oh how I love this love story. But this romantic tragedy pleases me.

One poem by Elizabeth Bishop reminds me always to master the art of losing. I do a lot to adopt this habit or to master the art of losing. Gradually, I am doing. People laughed at me while I lost a cell-phone for the first time ~ I was so normal. But I loved that phone, the snake game was very easy time -pass and I was after all the highest scorer and the “Snake Master”. But nothing pinched me.

And the right-eye is paining because of cold-infection. Every thing is over crowded ~ eyes are overcrowded with the tiny hot salty stream. But the sun has dried it ~ the stream is seasonal. Kohl – plays a great role – it becomes a dam. A strong one. But the eye-colors -I dislike them- they are for happy occasion- but kohl it is for every occasion.

A long walk along busiest New Road — aches the ankle, but the indifference seen pains the heart more. An old woman is seen burning a tiny piece of news paper, and tries to ease the cold, the mother of 3 ~ unknown who’s the father console herself in begging ~ I walk indifferent ~ so indifferent.

A far long wait for December ~ it tears apart the years.

December came with no delight. The wait for it was futile…totally futile.

Incessant in my mind were you — almost for all the time as it rained and is raining so often this November. I know we both would have waited for the rain– desperately to unfold the memories yet again–but it rained a lot ~ it pained a lot. I feel same as you do ~ We both enjoyed the rain– memorizing each other yet again. The days are getting cold and nights chilly but the warmth of the ecstatic days remains the same. It comes back ~ time and again~ memories always remain.

How I would always be jealous of your snowing town? How would I be jealous of your feeling of cold? I always waited for your coming to my city ~ for the cups and cups of warm black coffee. Do you remember~ how would we scare the waiter after having ten straight cups of black coffee? Our favorite place stands still~ but will never see us together there.

The wait remains same with the confirm notion that you will never come again. Things change~ I know ~ I know, circumstances changes~ I know this as well. But the season see ~ it is back again. With it’s return ~ it brings you back again. But, at the same time for years you kept your promise not to come back again~ I had accepted it ~ I have supported it.

With rain~you come again~memories of being together~ and painful awareness of losing you forever ~everything comes at once. I know you will dislike it but I soaked myself in rain~I feel you in rain–I know you will never forget this. The rain generates cool sensation in me ~ but you know inside — I am heated up by passion~ feeling so warm inside. Don’t get worried I will not catch cold till your love keeps me warm.

My heart’s dusty-ness is calmed by the rain of your love~November. It calms the thirst that I am feeling throughout the year. I feel like cactus in the desert ~saving each drop of your love like it saves water~and when it rains in November~its like a blessing~I preserve you more~as I absorb you more. I want you more~knowing that I shall get you no more.

How painful was your November rain? I know it was as painful as much as it was mine. It rained so many days, so many times, so many hours, I wonder how did you handle yourself? It was so hard for me to stand up in trembling feet ~ you supported it silently, didn’t you? You did, obviously! And I did it too~silently and obviously..

Sometimes you are December ~ you are so cold, sometimes you are April ~ so live…and sometimes you are June-July ~ so wet and sometimes you are November ~ so mine…

By Ankur Sharma ...

When sowed inside the soil,

I was a male

With Proud seed

And Power to create

And earth was a female

With an open part

Easily accessible.

Earth kept me inside the womb,

Until I sprouted out in the upper part of the world.

I grew up green…

Transformed into a female being…

Now, I am a female-: they say

I have to give birth..

I was male -: I complain…

They say -: You have both parts…

The male and the female

Who am I ? Who am I ?

I am a female today…

Leaf after leaf I shed,

Pollination occurs so often and so open

Breaking

The long saved wall called virginity

I give “births” not to one but many

Homos take out one at a time from single hole..

But me,

I take out thousands in my body’s whole..

Filed under: Poetry Tagged: Identity Crisis, Very Feminist ]]> http://swetabaniya.wordpress.com/2011/11/10/who-am-i/feed/ 2 Sweta Baniya Photo by Ankur Sharma http://swetabaniya.wordpress.com/2011/10/29/here-comes-november/ http://swetabaniya.wordpress.com/2011/10/29/here-comes-november/#comments Sat, 29 Oct 2011 14:43:45 +0000 Sweta Baniya http://swetabaniya.wordpress.com/?p=1515 ]]> Two days left ~November will come again with same gloom and sweet feverish pain. Here comes November~here comes memories ~here you come back again. Here comes November at the door and it knocks. Can you hear the knocking of the November? I can feel it and I can hear it because November revives you in me when it rains. It is so original and so live. It moves in circle and it never ends, yes I am talking about the months and seasons ~ they move all the time. Sometimes you are December ~ you are so cold, sometimes you are April ~ so live…and sometimes you are June-July ~ so wet and sometimes you are November ~ so mine.

You remember the rain in April ~ when we met for the first time and do you remember the cold November rain when you crossed the Rubicon. You went away with a promise~ while we were having bitter espresso~your promise was bitter than espresso that day ~ you were never coming back.  And, it rained that day outside and inside. I did not show water in the eyes you loved most ~ it would have made your departure painful.

Sometimes you are November ~ so mine…

You already know how much I cherish the rain in November. Do you remember ~We have spent the rainy November day with soft whisper ear to ear… via electromagnetic waves ~ so lost in rain~ you and me though we were miles away from each other. But on the day of departure~ so lost were we~ you in thoughts of mine and me in yours ~ we were face to face staring each other without a single word ~ so near and so distanced ~ taking the sip of bitter-sweet espresso.

Sometimes you are November ~ so mine…

I wait for the rain in November. It chills me~ it refreshes me ~ it brings you back again with chilling warmth. Yet the rain hurts me, it reminds of good-bad days. I am confused ~ so confused. Was being together good ~ or was the departure good? Was being together bad or was departure bad? I love both. I cherish both. I love the time we spent together ~ I love the departure that we faced together. I know it equally hurts you, pains you , aches your heart like mine. We share the sadness of departure ~ so together. Till today, we silently keep the pain at bay to make others happy and to seek happiness out of them. We remain silent for ourselves.  We don’t talk even when we find each other, even when we see each other – online.  Yet we don’t block each other. I don’t know why we can’t to that.  We never do that~ we see each other and we never talk. You always loved silence ~ me just opposite. You know things are situational ~ I love silence now. I love your deep-grave silence ~ as you speak in silence.

I know you wait for rain in November ~ because it reminds you of me. And you know how desperately I wait for the November rain ~ because it reminds me of you.  The wait begins after two days. How much happy-sad we would be ? You know what I will do right? Yes.. you are right ~ I will go out ~ to be in rain ~ to be with you.

Sometimes you are November ~ so mine…

P.S. Welcome again November … bless me with rain..

A Grain...

You are so tiny little thing

So strong to you hold our life in you

You grow yourself up into many like you

We fill us with you every time

We chew you, swallow your presence

We then release you as a dirt

Yet you continue to grow yourself for “US”

Eternally as you grow

We grow too

We grow old and die

But you grow for eternity…

( Written to mark BlogActionDay 2011, Happy World Food Day, Don’t waste a grain ..it means a lot to a lot of people)

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: BlogActionDAy 2011, Not a Poem ]]> http://swetabaniya.wordpress.com/2011/10/16/a-grain/feed/ 0 Sweta Baniya A Grain http://swetabaniya.wordpress.com/2011/10/14/the-spider/ http://swetabaniya.wordpress.com/2011/10/14/the-spider/#comments Fri, 14 Oct 2011 17:26:54 +0000 Sweta Baniya http://swetabaniya.wordpress.com/?p=1489 ]]>

Photo by: Ankur Sharma

Jealous, I am

With you Spider,

For being mightier than me

To create beautiful silky world.

You have been gifted

With the spinnerets,

Poor Me — I lack them.

I envy your artistic-ness

By which you draw your silky world,

With the fizz of your invisible tongue,

How strong the silk threads are, I imagine!

To hold the precious diamond- dews, till they vanish!

Your web glows with the diamond windows,

That spells me

An orb of yours,

A World of yours,

A home of yours,

That always spells me!

(Written with the spell of the above  picture of spider web )

My tears come faster than his. I hide them, but he sees the bruise under my eye.

I shall break my silence

*Yes, the father of this child had punched me in my eye yesterday night.*

Sanu touches my bruise and cries yet again. “Sanu, I will take you and Munu out for ice-cream today,” I console him.

*I’ve told him many times that the baby we just aborted was “his”; he does not believe this.  It was painful for me, killing my life for him. He did not care; for him, that life wasn’t his.*

“Whore, you go away with the one you slept with,” he says this; always.

* I have been married for seventeen years now. Yet, my husband beats me and asks me who the man I “slept with” is. It had always been him. Had I not slept with you over your desires? Had I not slept with you on days I was peeing blood? When after all when, had I disagreed over your desire of making love?  I had felt raped almost every time.

“Ama, I am getting late, please give me breakfast,” yells Munu.

“What is this Ma? What is this wound? Why your eye is red?” I remain silent like I did when Sanu had asked.

Munu goes away without having breakfast and I forget to tell her that I’m taking her brother and her out for ice-cream after school.

*I am scared of Munu more than of her father. I can’t disturb her studies. She has her SLC to appear for. I can’t even tell her that her father suspects her mother of sleeping with their daughter’s tuition teacher. I can handle her father’s rape, her father’s beating, but I can’t handle it if she ignores me. What if she, like her father, says that I might have slept with her teacher? No! No I can’t handle it anyway.

But what if she asks me, “Why does father beat you?” What will I do? If she asks me today when I take them out for ice-cream, what will I do? Ah! Painful.

*I’ve told him many times that the baby we just aborted was “his”: he does not believe this.  *

I was surprised that day when he came home and told me he had had a birth-control operation, and was liberated from the need for contraception. He had shared this happily as I had envisioned more days of rape coming. His operation had failed and I had conceived the baby.

But he does not believe this. He went to the doctor and found out that conception does take place in a few cases after the surgery. But the operation itself “had not failed.” This pronouncement was enough for him to tag me a whore.

He comes home drunk at night and asks me to jump. I don’t agree so he beats me. He wants a divorce so that he can take away my children; the children he says belong to him.

“You whore, go away with the one you slept with,” he repeats time and again.

*I think of yelling, “Yes I am a free whore for you; serving you is my task. I come without a price for you. As and when you want it, I am ready to lie flat.”*

I asked him to wait for nine months, get a DNA test to confirm that the child was indeed his, but he was so confident that the child was not his that he decided to kill it. Ah! Painful.

Oh it is time for the children to come home. I had to take them for ice-cream. I remember. Let me change clothes.

“Where are you going whore to meet your love?” he says.

“I am going out with the children,” I say.

*Stop! Stop! What are you doing to me, leave me, don’t beat me… I had promised to take the children out.*

“This is not enough for you, you need excuses to meet your love, to sleep with him and disgrace me,” he shouts.

I saw the children at the door, and they saw him kicking me. I had no idea what to do. They were there for I don’t know how many minutes and they were crying.

I pretend nothing had happened as their father went to his room and the children— both of them nervous, shaking and crying, came and hugged me. After pretending that I was fine, consoling them, telling them that nothing was the matter, I reminded them of my promise of ice-cream.

“Momo , I want Momos with ice-cream Ama,” Sanu said as we entered Sundhara’s Bakery Café, my children’s favorite hangout.

Munu was silent. I too did not say a word as we exchanged glances. I feared my daughter would ask me question I could not give answers, did not have answers to.

After I  took Sanu to play in the children’s section, his favourite part of the entire café, I came back to sit beside Munu with fast-beating heart.

She said, “*Lets go away  from our home Ama,”. *

“Ama, I know everything,” Munu added. She continues, “One more thing Ama, I know that my teacher always treated you as his sister; nothing more, nothing less. I clearly know this.”

I could not utter a word.

I was choking and was still in a state of unexpected awe when my daughter repeated, “Let’s go away Ama.”

* Me, Munu and Sanu just we three. Me, Munu and Sanu…just we three.*

“Ama, buy me some balloons, I want some balloons,” says Sanu as we come out of the café.

Molecules inherent of your memories,

I drink the drops alone,

Full of you.

Do you remember that warm evening?

After espresso we were departing,

We had drank each other then,

You – me and me -You.

I turn pages of the diary,

You are inked in letters -”a, b ,c d e…”,

Far away you are from me- you think,

But you live inside me, believe me.

Do you remember the April rain?

It had fall on the day we met,

You fall to soak me with every drop again,

But why nothing can never wash away the “you element”.

The connection thread is so weak,

It can connect everyone , except you and me,

The cell-phone’s silence speaks,

You never beep in it.

Every evening staring outside,

I drink a cup full of you

Sometimes when it drizzles,

I drink the drops, because it is you.

Because it is you.

In my prison all is dark !(Lower Depths, Maxim Gorky)

Dear Friend,

It has been long that I wrote you. Most of time mood swings and while I try to write something to you, I end up doing something else. The post Beijing days have been really very hard because all the things are bumping like never before. I have been restless. Totally restless. I have lost myself to many extents these days. But what kind of busy I am, I really don’t know.

Without you all life is solitary…and I have started living with this Pipe Dream. It is really very fantastic to live with pipe dream. I get relieved.

You know leading a solitary life is so hard but so obvious; there is no other way at all. I am so used to doing things alone and yes without you and without your involvement in everything. Every thing concrete is so relative, nothing is absolute, Plato is so right. Things keep on changing and so does the reality. Reality you have perceived is so different from the reality that I have uploaded in my heart. I was alone, every moment in Beijing but it was for a month only. But after coming here, the same loneliness has gripped me yet again. Alone in my own land. I ride alone, thinking so many things and this has been a habit. I go to restaurant and eat alone which was never my character because for me friends must be there to enjoy food- I am bound to enjoy for the stomach’s sake. I go to shopping alone, I chose dress for myself alone and sometimes I look so funny in those- and I never wear them again.

It has been a routine dear, to go every where alone, to work alone at a strange office, to talk with people so unknown and to come back alone in a lone house which is so silent. While in solitude, I think a lot. Thinking has been another hobby. But I feel it is filthy because I know I am just passing time by thinking. I think about so many things, so many people and so many places. Talking with self has been another part of life. The thinking I have mentioned above is my self-talking. The house remains silent all the time and in gtalk you are always absent, I don’t trust many and those closest one I trust are very busy-I should not disturb them. You know responsibility is such a huge thing. I have learned to be responsible. Paying bills of everything – water, waste, telephone, internet, electricity, insurance, petrol and many more is burden. You have to pay “fine” if not paid on time.

I sometimes feel like my mom, sometimes like Dad, sometimes like a receptionist, sometimes like a taxi, sometimes like a tailor. Me..I am lost in the dual or multiple identities of myself. I am confused; each new responsibility creates a separate identity for me.

Dear, losing identity is so much painful. You know what more painful is ? It is your absence my dear. Your absence my dear friend.