The clothes left on the line outside the flat across the street are flapping in the dirty wind; one shirt has just flown free, and someone’s firing atom bombs or guns; it’s hard to say— the autumn air tastes acrid, and the sky’s an inky gray. Tonight, we’ll sleep to yapping dogs and creaky ceiling fans; we’ll dream of sirens, pre-dawn raids, unjustly jailed friends.Comments closed
-for Varavara Rao It’s easy to remember the slow shuffle back, the way the ceiling fan’s slow turn makes the hair on your arms stand up, how the morning light falls with such gentleness on every green, growing thing— how it occurs to you that relief is a seasonal kind of pleasure. We’re so quick to forget what came before— the aches, the chills, the stabbing, grinding, burning, heaving, raking, cramping, throbbing, gnawing, shooting— perhaps there’s just no advantage in recalling such things, but even after the pain’s been replaced by your story of the pain, if you are honest, you know there were moments when you thought or wished you might shatter or stop, but also moments when you were lifted and carried by a glass of cool water, from a sibling or mother, a touch on your neck, by a comrade or lover, a quiet, kind word from a neighbor or father— and if you allow yourself to examine these memories you will see why it’s such heinous crime to jail innocent people for political gain.Comments closed
You asked me if it might be fun to try to hold gloved hands and kiss through our new masks, but when we did, your aunt came barging in, announcing she had urgent things to ask about the state of the judiciary, the meaning of sedition and contempt, and why we jail professors and poets, and why I looked so worried and unkempt. I could not find any fitting reply— as in court, the truth was no defense— I changed the subject back to the virus, and asked about medicinal incense. (I am no lawyer, but I often dream of fascism, frustration and moonbeams.)Comments closed
False Narrative (i) -for Rahul Roy and Amit Shah A book or film that relied on identically worded ‘witness statements’ in order to show that Kristallnacht, the Delhi riots, or any other pogrom was caused by a conspiracy between the victims of the violence and a shadowy group of doctors, feminists, student activists, and documentary film makers would be classified as, ‘fiction/fantasy’, and hardly anyone would buy or watch it, because even by the standards of that genre, it would be unbelievable. False Narrative (ii) You may spook the courts, and even the press, but you won’t deceive the rest of us: fiction is fiction, no matter who sells it; a lie is a lie, no matter who tells it.Comments closed
-‘Delhi Police chargesheet names owner of hospital that treated riot victims’ -Indian Express They charged a friend of a friend, last week— who will be next? Someone is spinning false yarns, my friends, everyone knows. Meanwhile, middle class families fight for hospital beds; the state of the camps is dire, we know, it won’t get any press. My mother studies the news, and asks, Can this be Delhi? My father worries: my child, please call us every day. Last night, I slept to a siren’s song, but woke to a prayer— What is the cure for plagues like these? Solidarity, love.Comments closed
—‘Na Khaunga, na Khane Dunga’
Yes,
accepting or offering bribes or kickbacks,
or giving contracts or jobs to friends or family,
but also,
instructing or allowing the police to fabricate
charges against people who oppose you,
and refusing to investigate those you favour.
(Graft hidden in suitcases
or banks in far off lands,
or improper use of office
to enhance your party’s brand;
craving for wealth or power,
is usually its cause—
it spawns lies, hunger, fear,
and disregard for laws.)
Comments closedEvery so often, I catch a glimpse of the lizard that lives in my room; he does most of his work in the dark. I know it’s a foolish comparison, but his eyes evoke a home minister who appears on the evening news. Meanwhile, Safoora Zargar has still not been granted bail, and though the monsoon is far away, yesterday, a neighbor’s child swore he saw a long black snake in the park behind our flats.Comments closed