These kisans are an ungracious lot. What a bunch of ignorant fools! We give them concessions. They say they need rights. We offer Ambani’s bazaar. They prefer mandis. We offer Adani warehouses. They prefer MSP. We pass bills without asking. They pass resolutions that jolt us. We praise Kisans are good for country. They troll us in wedding songs. We[Read More...]
A journey is forgotten once it is made, these days the journey goes on, continuously on like seasonless serials on internet tv journeys his and his theirs, same these men who come to us in photographs as moments of their worlds, captured in reel, more than one cared to know, now it sends a chill down our spines, now real[Read More...]
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You shove us, you beat us, you bury us alive. Yet we, the farmers of this country are reborn like that one resolute corn plant. You cringe, you grin, you plead for our votes and notes. If WE made you win, WE can make you fall too! We’re the fields, we, the crops, then why are we the prisoners of[Read More...]
I was then 14, maybe 15, between studying English and science Spending seemingly interminable days waiting for the variety Of Puja Varshikis; back on our 3rd floor, waiting for that magic Moment for the day’s Ananda Bazar to drop in a corner Of the verandah, launched from the street. And no sooner than The thud was heard, rushing to get[Read More...]
Behind a screen of pastel petals That seem to make A dreamy, windchimes’ sound, She finds herself emerging in a world Where clashing cymbals echo all around, And yet… in peace, she stands her ground. Within this world of dissolutions, She holds vast secrets in her well-like eyes; Beyond the realm of disappearance, She abides; And, more than that, hides[Read More...]
I was simply down the street. The broken stones of the road whisper unspoken messages, of how many human feet have crossed the road. Of how many broken wings would have fallen off this road; Babies crying for milk people starving at the signal stories of so many people stretched before my eyes. I’m the beggar who owns the flute[Read More...]
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there is a purple poem on my mother’s neck that my father writes for her every full moon night instead, most poets write on paper but my father writes on mother’s skin she smiles, she says she doesn’t mind says, the purple poem is truly a thing of pride and beauty yet, she keeps it covered, carefully with the ends[Read More...]
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Oh God! End this, the young man begged, As he lay on earth covered in mud, Streaks of hot blood pouring down his form And limbs that lay battered and numb. He knew he had done nothing wrong, He hadn’t snubbed or brought disdain. Yet they called him a “filthy sinner” As they struck his head with intense wrath.[Read More...]
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Through the panic, through the fear. I felt you there, you were near. Every message, every call. Every time I hit a wall. Every time the road would bend, Every time it was the end. I heard your voice through the noise. I heard you say that I would rise. Some drove by, left me to die. Some jumped in[Read More...]
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Don’t tell me You’re ‘like’ A mother to me A sister to me A daughter to me Or compare me To a deity Like Durga, Lakshmi, Saraswathi My heart beats Because of me Because I am my own Identity Shailaja Rao, Core Member, Dhanak of Humanity (NGO) SIGN UP FOR COUNTERCURRENTS DAILY NEWSLETTER
The post The Woman in Me appeared first on Countercurrents.
