How Chikkanahalli Became Varelihalli

Once in village Chikanahalli

In  a little  red tiled house

Lived  farmer Seethpalli

With his  family and cows.

Next door was old  friend

Tausif Pasha Ali

Toiling to grow some raagi

And a bit of  moongphalli.

At the crack of every dawn

Each  balmy  july morn

They searched the cruel skies

I heard their saddened sighs

Despair set in by late afternoon

Treason of a truant monsoon

Winds woo  wisps of wanton clouds

And dreams remain just out of bounds.

As the rains became even more fickle

Kasim's brother moved to the city-

Putting survival, before dignity;

He shut away his hoe and sickle.

Others soon followed to the slums;

They learned to live on paltry sums

Cutting stones, carrying bags

Shining shoes or picking rags.

Some stayed on at Chikkanahalli

And prayed to God for mercy.

What they needed was a bank

A little timely credit

A small irrigation tank

Native Seeds, a compost pit

To put tired fields to merit.

But the State was much too busy

Too engrossed, indifferent

Caught in a brand new policy

of  foreign direct  investment

In industry and property,

Instead of making proper allocations

For crop loans and minor irrigation

They welcomed this alien invasion

With real pomp and false elation.

Soon Seethapalli and Kasim Ali

Were visited  as earlier planned

By Varelli Antony of Italy

To get them to sell their land.

Now this was no ordinary Antony

He worked for a global company

That exported silks, skins and roses

Built most luxurious golf courses.

He made an offer, couched in glib talk

That made the innocent villagers balk

Within weeks most land was sold

Seethapalli was clean bowled.

Farmers went on  shopping sprees

For branded clothes and  accessories

Shiny red SUVs and giant screen TVs

The company was quick, put up a fence

And declared that  Chikannahalli

Would hence be called Varelihalli

As it made more business sense

At the end of two long years

I met our friend Seethapalli

 He now worked for Mr. Varelli

Poor man he was moved to tears

He cursed himself for having sold out

They were better off without a doubt

Living off their own land

As now the corporate hand

Had destroyed with such impunity

What was once their favourite fields

Stealing dignity and identity.

What’s the use of bountiful yields

Of roses, golf courses or exotic grapes

When in hunger the stomach aches?

Poignant questions come to mind

..if only we had been able

To bolt the horse into the stable..

Too late now, we're in a bind

Has the  bid to liberalize

Served only to impoverize?

If only land reforms had been forthcoming

May be if we had built the tank

Would Mr. Varelli now be laughing

All the way back from the bank?

Would subsistence farmers, unused to cash

Have frittered it on needless trash?

Will the day of wisdom truly dawn

Before the land is all doomed and gone ?

Learning About Diversity and Democracy From Campus Life

Diversity and Democracy In College Campuses

When Love and Fear Come Visiting

Love

like warm  sunshine

beckoned.

Somewhere ..deep inside me

a silent ‘alarm” was received

even as

my  umbrella of self defence

briefly, unfurled.

My sanitised  safe space

a  cocoon,  I had so carefully crafted

now seemed like a vaccum

suffocating, strangulating me slowly.

The lover  too persevered

Lowering his own fences

Exposing his demons,

His dreams and  delicious delusions

Exploring fantasies and fears

Trembling trepidation….

My  penumbra was now swaying

and softening

midst tender caresses 

secure embraces

Of someone’s …Understanding

And my own yearning.. to belong.

Eons later

The sunshine of loving

Has given  new life

A blooming, a flowering

Never dreamt of

Before.

At times, the same sunshine scorches

Love hurts….The lovers demons surface

My own innards hang outside.

Vulnerable and gullible now,

I search my inner recesses desperately

For my old defences, my “umbrella” ..

Only to find

That the  gentle breezes of love

Have blithely, cruelly….. blown it away.

OUUUCHHHHHH

The Tastes of Marriage

At first it was

Tremors tingly 

Hope bubbly
Natter nutty
Conversations crunchy

Lovemaking  spicy

Juices flowing nicely

Binding us
Like sticky toffee
A coated covering
Creamy custard.

Then came 
Chewy conflicts

Dour doubts

Caustic questions

Sour comments

Tangy Tiffs

Bitter truths

Acrid moments

Salty tears

Pungent fears

Burnt Crust
Greasy Grime
Stale leftovers
Putrid punch

And now
A tasteless silence.

The Fallen Woman

They call her a hooker

  call her a whore

  they say she sells her body,

  and can't have a soul.

 

  One day I saw “her”

  just around the corner

 People who passed by

 Sneered;

 Some even pawed her

 The cop harassed her

 She just thought of her mother

 And waited.

 

  God help me she prayed

  tonight I need

  a kind customer.

 

  Then a guy on a scooter

  stopped beside her

  he had time for a quickee

  and didn't mind the fee

  forgot all about his wife

  and told himself   that

  Variety was

  the spice of life!

 

 With his lust he

fell,   thrusting into her

 when it was over

  he gave her a tenner.

 

  She pocketed the money

  and set off  in a hurry

  bought medicines for mother

  ignoring her own hunger.

 

  They call her fallen woman,

  but here I beg your pardon

  am not sure who FELL ?

  .. the woman

  who did it for her mother's life ?

  or   ..the man

  who thoughtlessly betrayed his wife?

Chilhood

                                  

 

  Tricycles rides

  my friend and I.

  Games with dolls

  a blue rocking horse.

 

  Childhood ended

  when our world

  of make believe

  crashed around us.

 

  Not because

  the dolls

  ceased to be

 our babes;

 but because

  it was just not proper

  for me to play

  with a lorry driver's daughter.

The day they came to see me

 

  Its a wonderful proposal

  my father would say

  the boy's good looking

  well settled in U.S.A.

 

  The day they came to see me

  I was dressed and displayed

  was useless to plea

  that I hated this charade

  this awful solo parade.

 

  Looking down demurely

  I served them tea and coffee

  I never really got to see

  the people

  who came to "see" me.

 

  Four pairs of eyes assessing

  my height, colour and weight

  four pairs of eyes appraising

 deciding on my fate.

 

  Was asked to sit and stand

  I did

  was seething inside

  but managed to hide

  my rage.

 

Was asked to sing

 wanted to scream

but sang

and my voice had a ring

of muted angst.

Now they turned to my mother

and asked

Is "she" ( I think they meant me)

is she domestically trained??

 For a moment I thought

 Oh, maybe they mean my puppy !

 

  But no, it must be me

 Amma is almost in a faint

  she quickly announces

  that I can cook, sew and paint

  she’s decided

  she'd rather lie

  than put a taint

  on my "chances".

 

  A week later

  the awaited message came

  a letter to my father

  said

  they approved of his daughter

  (I don't think they even  knew my name!)

 

  Then began discussions

  my uncle was called to mediate

  auspicious dates

  wedding arrangements

  and  god-awful dowry rates.

 

  I was told time and again

  its hard to find good men

  Such a lucky girl-

  my folks said.

  Nobody ever thought

  there could be a whirl

  in my head.

 

  Yes they'd come and watched me

  but did they really

  see

  what's inside this skin ?

  Yes they'd come and heard me

  but did they try

  and listen

  to the voice from within ?

My dreams for my daughter

                                   

 I had dreams

 brave simple dreams

 for my baby daughter.

 

 I would sit for hours

 and just watch her

 play and chatter

 with the flowers.

 

  She prattled away

  and bounced all day

  as curiosity and candour

  met vivacity and wonder.

 

  While I was troubled

  about whom she took after

  my baby just bubbled

  with joy and with laughter.

 

  I dreamt of her growing

  into a happy and caring soul

  someone who dared to think

  someone clear, wise and whole.

  So when she turned three

I sent her to a nursery

  and then enrolled her

  in a school

  with a “reputation”

  to get an education.

 Now I feel like a fool

 caught in an aberration.

 I'd showed her

 how to care and share

  the food we eat

  and clothes we wear.

 

  In first grade  she was trained

  once even caned

  and made to believe

  there's no need to grieve

  for those who have less..

  if they're poor

  its their fault...

  no need to be selfless.

 

  In grade two

  she learned to repeat

 "you're sure to rue

  if you don't compete

  Its not enough

  to do your best

  you must somehow

  come First

  and defeat the rest."

 

  By grade three

  she was never free

  her school bag kept bulging

  she was always memorizing

 the profound and  the inane 

 I watched in pain

 as my baby became

 fearful and obedient

 instead of growing

 strong and resilient.

 

  Now that she's in grade four

  I wonder if she can take it anymore

  Geography and physics

  Science and arithmetics

  She needs this knowledge no doubt

  Its the pace I'm worried about

 

  With so much facts, figures and rhetoric

  it is mental acrobatics

  her mind is pushed to the brink

  she'll soon forget how to think.

 

  Pounded with information

   I'm afraid

  they've killed her emotion,

  her scruples

  and values,

  her penchant for fairness

  along with

  her lovely imagination.

 

 And I now sit and watch

my little wild flower

become a table rose.

Traditional Occupations in a Modern World : Springer

Traditional Occupations: Crafts and Agriculture in the Modern World

Dreamscape

Deep in slumberland

I dreamt of a place

where women lived

contentedly

some with children

some without

helping each other

sharing the ups and the downs

and  the nitty gritty of a journey called life.

Men were occasional visitors

lovers,

sometimes  friends.

They spent time with other men

Drinking or playing  big-boy games.

They looked happy as well .

I woke up and looked around.

Saw women trying to

make “marriages” work

trying to share homely cares and chores

joys and sorrows, fantasies

with creatures called husbands

who wanted to be mothered

and then  complaining about being smothered

went off sulking

either  to their watering holes

or to comfort women

who never spoke.

Both the men and women

looked miserable,

contorted,

the women,

 exhausted as well.

    

I  decided to go back to sleep.

Yesterday Musings

Yesterday I met my ex-husband

familiar  stranger

once so dear

or was that an illusion?

Yesterday

 I also met

a fragment of myself

from a previous era

can’t say I liked what I saw..

I like the today’s me

better.

Edit Mode

( For Z surely… and  Y and X)

I tone down

my smile.

Control

the warmth in my voice.

Command

my eyes not to linger on your face.

Turn down

the volume of my heartbeat

Swallow

my words.

Hold back

arms that want to touch you.

Hide

my excitement when you call.

Cos I’m not sure

How you feel bout me.

And at my ripe old age

How  can I allow  the cool woman

Façade

To drop?

What if you think I’m “depserate”?

What if you think I’m a slut”?

What if you think I’m “after marriage”?

I’m not any of these things.

No

Its too frightening.

I’ve struggled to even admit to myself

that I like you

I’m attracted to you,

Enjoy talking to you

Want to get to know you better.

Ok I admit this much,

but how can I let you in on  all this

I must reach for the “mouse” and

CUT and DELETE.

But  that’s easier said than done.

I’m dying to know

are you doing the same thing

as me?

Am not looking for Love

Am going to be forty soon

More than halfway down

This road of life

Or maybe

more than half way

Up!.

You say you “love” me

Want me, adore me

But I’m not looking for love.

I’m  sorry.

I’m  just looking around

For a feeling

Don’t know what its called

That allows me

to be myself in every way.

I once yearned for Love

to help me blossom

Reach for the stars

Looking back I see

A love that gave me joy

Awakened my tenderness

She also made me pretend

To be someone I’m not

Someone I don’t even want to be.

Love smothered me

Muffled my strength

Hid my mind

Curbed my interests

Defined my dreams

Fashioned my life

Took over

Consumed my passions

Leaving me

Breathless, distorted

and tired from too much deception.

No thank you darling

Don’t want that ever again

I’ve  just found myself

Am not going to surrender me

Or disappear another time.

Now tell me

Do you still “love” me,

want me, adore me?

Rebelling against mum ?

 I loved you

nurtured

protected

fed

cuddled

and

warmed you

in my bosom’s

bosom.

You

snuggled

purred

and held me close.

And then one day

You spoke

You said my loving – hurt

My honesty- scary

My chiding –awful

My discontents- unnerving

My intellect   - too fearsome

My ideals- left u cold

My strength    - ok when you needed it

But horrendous when I used it,

“Its no use” you said and left

for another .

I was shocked

Not by your leaving so much

As your reasons

For doing so.

Struck

I could neither

Agree

Nor disagree.

I had never heard your

Dissent

Before.

Damn all your  lying silences!

Musings with the Mirror

I stared at her

for the millionth time

that face  I knew so well.

When a muscle twitched

could  easily tell

if it meant fury

or  deep sorrow.

But what I saw of her now

seemed a sad,

weighed down, shadow.

In desperation

I bolted the  door

tried to hold on

grab her attention.

She looked back at me

as sad as ever.

The futility of my words

Palpable.

I caught her today,

staring at me.

with tear filled eyes,

those very same eyes

I’d seen

dancing with laughter.

I stared right back.

Her brow, creased in pain,

Shoulders, wracking with sobs

mouth tremulous, whimpering

out of control.

That very same mouth

I’d seen giggling,

with  much mirth

and  such lovely banter.

Tried to reach out

touch her

but my limbs were frozen,

frozen in the  washroom mirror.

While walls spun around

in slow motion.

My reflection and I

stayed still.

We stayed still

in a dizzying,

communion.

I looked  again into the mirror

And pondered

Why on earth

I looked like her?

How did it all begin?

What did  I do to make you

withdraw into another

and set off this  sad

sad mutation?

At the end of the Road

Hope was once my friend

( G are u listening?)

Hope

Was once my friend,

comfort, source of bravado.

Now somehow

I’m not so sure,

is she  an ally

or a foe?

When our love was new

all I had was you.

And Hope.

She was there

while we  laughed

and cried

in our own fashion,

steadying us

with all our passion.

Hope

Became a bedrock of faith

for  what I though would be

everlasting  union.

Now, eleven long years later

Love is stale,

your betrayal fresh.

I’m enmeshed

in a broken bubble.

My friend Hope

who once  lent courage

for commitment,

she  now causes hurt

blinds my judgement.

All around is pain

inside as well

know I should leave

brave the rain.

But tiny little wisps

of hopeless hope

whisper

of rainbows…

the warmth of her lips

makes me

linger.

Hope was once a  friend,

but now I’m not so sure.

Have I waited too long ?

Am chilled with dread…

Is my numbness

that of the dying

Or that of the dead?

Don't Speak To Me Of Love, My Friend

( for k, especially)

 My mothers womb,

did i forsake

that precious morn

when i was born.

She sweated and laboured,

I gasped and cried.

life 

was our reward…

yet is it not  odd

that though

those wrenching pains

have gone,

a tenderness remains?

I embraced this life

like a lover besotted.

yet somehow

time

has never passed me by

she’s entered my soul,

opened my eyes

and made me cry-

for all those

forgotten,

humiliated,

dismissed

living in fear

and struggling

to survive.

This romance with living

has been a tussle

with anger and shame.

no carefree childhood

no frolicking youth

for me.

Too restless for my fathers lap,

too dauntless for my  husbands  breast,

these too did  i forsake.

the  old ache  returned

life blood  churned.

with each  bond i spurned

tears became rain..

yet new life surged

in me again.

I soared away into the ether

with little apart

from an intrepid heart

and  my bunch of dreams.

There we met, soul mates in outer space

chasing rainbows in an elusive race

carrying same ideals in tow,

both afflicted with a loneliness

only dreamers know has no redress.

an extra terrestrial connection was made.

we talked  till we cried  and down we laid.

feeling safe in each other’s arms

at last we nestled, indulged

in our bodies’ gentle  charms.

Still a shadow lurked

we broke out in  sweat

we smelt the familar threat

of asphyxiation

soul erosion

from bondage

and  devotion.

I recoiled in a  mili second

and sensed your retreat too.

and sensed your retreat too.

So let us not speak  of love, my  friend

and  then each other rue.

don’t look at me like that, please

i’m quaking in my knees

your  tenderness stings

clips my wings,

your compassion warms

my restlessness it calms

but this illusion of peace

blocks   vital arteries.

I know  how much we needed

that interlude my friend,

yet it is time we heeded

the call from the rainbows end. 

Was it I who said that knowledge liberates?

Visions of learning,

Learning to help the poor

Excitement and anticipation

I became a student at the Institute.

Others too flocked there

Enamoured by the magic word

`Management'.

While they learnt to manage

Dairy projects

The productivity

Of cows and buffaloes..

I somehow taught myself

The `management' I needed

To keep my soul's fire

A passion for justice

Alive.

Two years later

Leaving the walled Institute behind

Anticipation returned.

Alas, even at work

I was forced

To put

The diseases of cross-bred cattle

Before

The travails of common people.

Frustrated

By my own efficiency

I quit

To start anew.

Learning began for me

when for others

it had long ended.

II.

Looked high and low

To find a group

Through whom I could offer

Not my `services' for the poor

But myself.

Finally, the search ended

Though labelled  a trainer

And a community organiser

Work was a pilgrimage of learning

My teachers - those I had gone to teach.

Their transparent simple logic

Courage bordering on recklessness

Quiet dignity -

Even when they called me `helper'

It was they who helped me

Find myself.

My students and I

Our times together

Have been an intoxicating love affair

Discovering

Why we are

This way or that

Symbiotic relationships

Grappling with

Insidious processes

And subtle forces

That have made us

Who we are..

This knowledge

Wrested

From a million conversations

Became a liberation from ignorance

And an end to complacence

And yet

Their manacles

Of  inhuman treatment

A scapegoat called Caste

Manipulations

In the names of Gods

Their fetters

Of emptiness and hunger

Insecure tomorrows

Questions without answers

Waiting and waiting for the rains...

All these

From which I had always been free

Now shackled me strangely.

……Was it I who said

that knowledge Liberates??

Release came

Not in breaking these chains

But in subversive struggles

And open confrontations

A refusal to accept

Indignity and humiliation.

Like besotted lovers

We smiled, cried and said

With hope and faith

No obstacle is too great

a new world we’ll create..

III.

The hardest lesson

Was yet to begin.

We ate and stayed and talked together

I dressed and sang

the way they did.

Yet when I opened a book

Or talked of home

Or just waited for the post

I saw a silent hurt

A  resignation

in their eyes

It seemed as if  I'd gone away

leaving them, my friends

far behind.

In desperation and in fear

I searched for words

Retold the stories in the book

They listened and smiled

Like a fool, I assumed

That all was well.

Slowly realization dawned

The simple fact

That I could read and travel

Mattered much more

Than we dared to admit.

Though intimate

We could not become One.

Like lightening it hit me

How different I am from them

My culture, my values

My beliefs about love and marriage

My home, my lifestyle,

My parents wealth

The way I wore my hair..

All that I had not yet shared

Haunted and threatened this bond

So lovingly and painfully wrought.

I felt …..an adulteress.

Sensing this turmoil, they

In their wisdom said

`Differences not created by us

Cannot divide…

They consummate our bond in pain

Yes, we are different

Victims of a society

That alienates people

Destroys self respect of the poor

But  you are  trying to see the world

with our eyes,

To feel our hunger and our anger

In your gut

So these “differences”

can, maybe  blur.’?

But still, my pain lingers

I  gasp for breath

And struggle, try  not become

An alien

To my soul.

June 1988