Poems

Just Breathe

So

you just breathe,

when nothing makes sense

you tell yourself

“Ein Moment bitte”

and forget your world

the darkness will fade

you breathe.

So

you close your eyes

and hibernate

collapse inside walls

insecurity hugs you tight

you close your eyes

you breathe.

So

you just breathe

save your heart

from catapults of pain

das macht nichts

it doesn’t matter

entropies were meant

to scatter

your life around

So

you just breathe.

 

 

via Daily Prompt: Catapult

Poems

Because.

Because we are selfish bitches,

With attitude problems so huge,

it hurts.

Because we live like queens

Fighting with dragons in the dungeons

Where we breathe

in the fires of sexism and prejudice.

And still survive the toxicity

Because we are toxic.

 

We absorb hate like blotting papers.

In crowded buses, we stare into the very soul

Of molesters, of seemingly kind strangers

Who poke and pull into the dresses we wear.

Sometimes we avoid getting out of the house,

Staying in until the hate disappears,

Sunshine appears,

We try to be the outdated versions of ourselves,

Where innocence ruled.

We absorb love too, like blotting papers.

Because we are selfish bitches,

We are scared of commitments,

We are scared of looking

into dreamy eyes for too long,

Because we know, how it could end,

Because we THINK.

Because we have brains with neurons

That somehow connects with our souls

Therefore, we vomit “no” everywhere

In the plates of expectations

and bowls of tradition

Because our schedules are filled

With self-centered dreams.

 

We are selfish bitches,

Guarding our kind with Valerian swords

Easing away the restlessness.

We are our own versions of Jane Eyre

Poor, obscure, plain and little

We are our own Patronuses

With as much as soul and heart as you do.

There aren’t any cages built for us,

There never will be.

 

 

daily prompt · Odes to people I know and don't know · Weekend Coffee Share

Scandals of Science: Passion of Love, War and Possibility

Science is notorious. It binds into every part of our being like a double helical DNA. Even when we try to avoid Science, it is always there, lurking in the corners of logic and love, Science always exists. The scandals of Science are hidden in the history we are taught. In classrooms, where half of our minds are sleeping, the scientific history is not something we take seriously. But why should we, right? Why does it matter at all? Isn’t it enough just to know the names that pop up in the quizzes and exams? Unfortunately, I had the same mind-frame. I always skipped the history and jumped into the mechanisms and the facts. I never tried to understand how these mechanisms came to be the mechanisms they were. I never tried to understand the lives of people who loved and lived Science; the people who made it their life’s mission to unravel the true secrets of life.

As notorious as Science is, it is also a story that intertwines beautifully and imperfectly where the contradictions fit and unfit to look like a giant scribble of an insolent child. The stories of the people who made the biggest contributions in science are not that big. In fact, they were normal people: dwindling in insecurities; failing and falling in anxiety; lonely and depressed. There were some who stood in top of their game; who laughed throughout the process; made life-long friends and yodeled in both their success and failure. Some were purely evil.

Mendel’s laws never escape the syllabus of biology if one is a Science student. Like all the students, I was taught how important these laws were as they governed the most essential features of gene when gene was not even discovered yet. However, nobody is ever told about Mendel’s life. How he failed exams after exams on physics, chemistry, geology, botany and zoology in the university in Vienna; how he was denied the position of a teacher in Znaim High School. He did not fail because he did not study. He failed because he was sick from anxiety. “Seized by an unconquerable timidity”, “uninspiring”, “too neurotic” , “arid, obscure and hazy” are some of the terms that have been used to describe Mendel by his colleagues and examiners. Despite all of this, Mendel was an excellent gardener. Siddhartha Mukharjee, the writer of an amazing book called “The Gene- An Intimate History” writes, “Mendel’s life seemed to be filled with the smallest of thoughts. Sow, pollinate, bloom, pluck, shell, count, repeat. The process was excruciatingly dull- but small thoughts, Mendel knew bloomed into large principles. Mendel’s garden plot may have been small- but he did not confuse its size with that of his scientific ambition.” From the small patch of garden, he collected heaps of statistical data, and made them into laws, that would be chunked by the students a day before exams after more than a century! In his time, his findings and data were blatantly ignored by scientists like Charles Darwin. He was discouraged by people he admired and he went on with his life neglecting the plants he loved. He died of kidney failure on January 6, 1884. Mendel’s paper on the laws of heredity disappeared for a long time marking the period as “the strangest silences in the history of biology” until William Bateson read the paper on his train ride to deliver a lecture on heredity at the Royal Horticultural Society in London. William Bateson was nicknamed “Mendel’s Bulldog” for he was fierce as one and had made his life’s mission to ensure that Mendel was never ignored. Continue reading “Scandals of Science: Passion of Love, War and Possibility”

Poems

Until he walked away

Chins arched up in her bare knees

He gazed at her like one gazes at the stars,

Distant she was with book in her hands

And dreams in her eyes,

Imagining imperfection with perfect words

Describing unfathomable feelings in non-existent worlds

He wondered if she ever thought about him,

He wondered if he ever mattered

Or was he just a distraction,

He wondered if she ever noticed

That beyond those hard-covers

There was a world,

A real one,

Waiting for her embrace

Driving by the seasons,

There was a real world

She refused to notice.

Every nerve of her secretly danced

When the ends of his chins

With bit of a beard,

Were touching her knees blatantly

Unashamed he was,

Looking at her,

And silently telling her to come out

Of the places which she loved to be in

Unmasking the world she avoided

Making her believe that storms and winds

Were just as beautiful as springs and sun

He was there, just there, within her reach

All she could think about was his piercing eyes,

The way his chest was heaving,

The way his hands barely touched hers,

His fingertips on her shoulders

Trying to make her stop looking at the words

Beautifully carved in paper

Trying to make her impulsive enough

To rise up from her reading nook

To kiss him in the lips

But there he was in the real world,

And she in the fictional one

Each day trying to bring the two worlds together

Each day failing

She wondered if he was real even,

And if touching him would make him go

Inside the book she was reading

So she stayed still, with him looking at her

Until he walked away.

daily prompt · Prose

The Cycle As It Is

“It takes a lot of time, focus and energy to realize the enormity of being the ocean with your very own tide every month. However, by honoring the demands of bleeding, our blood gives something in return. The crazed bitch from irritation hell recedes. In her place arises a side of ourselves with whom we may not—at first—be comfortable. She is a vulnerable, highly perceptive genius who can ponder a given issue and take her world by storm. When we’re quiet and bleeding, we stumble upon the solutions to dilemmas that’ve been bugging us all month. Inspiration hits and moments of epiphany rumba ‘across de tundra of our senses. In this mode of existence one does not feel antipathy towards a bodily ritual so profoundly and routinely reinforces our cuntpower.”
― Inga MuscioCunt: A Declaration of Independence

Standing on the edge of precipice, I look at the normal and natural truth with horror. In the morning, when the cycle rings my bell, I curl up in a ball and decide whether to die or die. It gets worse in the day. The jarring pain shoots down a river of tears that won’t stop flowing. I am kind of glad I am home with stack of pads, painkillers and a hot water bag. The beginning is the worst. It resonates with me on so many levels when the period cycle begins. And the worst really happens when I am not home. When I am sitting in a class room or standing in a lab, I feel a gnawing feeling in my uterus. The irritating presence of soreness and  the awkwardness when I  want to cry in front of faces staring at me. It feels like a war-zone where I  have already lost. It feels like I am Prometheus and the vultures are eating me away. Piece by piece. Blood by blood. Pain by pain.

The facts that it is natural and happens to every soul that is born a woman and this is how “creation” begins make no sense to me on these days. And the walk back home is the most difficult part. It takes me hours to maneuver my steps. I cannot decide whether to walk normally or act normally. Because I want to either scream and run or cry internally and walk the normal walk. There is no in between. And how hard it is to talk about it as it is! Yes it pains. Yes it feels horrible when every toilet break is a blood bath. I am sorry if I am being too graphic. But this is how it is. The blue liquid they pour in the sanitary pad advertisements is not blue. It is red. It is blood. The ultimate truth that began the human existence and that will most probably end it.

via Daily Prompt: Precipice

 

Letters and Letters · Stories

I miss my person

Dear You,

It’s been a while since we talked. And I miss you because we used to talk every single day about every single thing in the world. I used to call you when I needed to vent about thunder or sun or creepy people or anything minute that happened in the day and you used to do the same. We used to laugh so much. About everything and nothing. Do you remember all the places we wanted to go to try out the food? We haven’t gone to any of them. The chips place and the matka kulfi place in Patan. We haven’t even gone swimming this summer. And believe me, I can live without eating banana chips and kulfi or swimming but it breaks my heart a little when I don’t get to talk about stuffs with you like I used to. I know you are busy. Life is probably throwing lemons at you and you are busy making lemonade out of it. I am so very proud of you for the works you are doing and for everything you are achieving. I know you will do great in life. You will make all your dreams come true. And I know that things change. They will always change. I just cannot believe that they changed so suddenly.

In a few days, I will be heading out to god knows where with so many different people. It will be a whole new world for me. When I got the news today, I was very excited. Do you know I read the letter ten times? I don’t know if I should be this happy. But I wanted to do this forever. In the interview, they asked me about my weaknesses. I told them that I was too emotional. And as I am writing this letter, I know that this weakness is going to be the death of me. I mean, you call a person if you miss them, not write a letter! It doesn’t even make sense. Nothing really makes sense.

I try to write a lot these days. There are words and words and words that get crowded in my head. I feel so grateful for being able to write and read. I am also grateful for being able to hope. The part of my brain where “existential crisis” keeps blinking with a red light, hopes mercilessly about everything there is to hope for. It hopes that you and I will talk like we used to again. I understand that you probably need a lot of space right now. And you probably don’t need a whining presence in your life to talk about all the superficial details. It’s just that I miss you a lot. And it’s okay to not miss me as much. I know there are probably a thousand things to worry about right now. I want to say that I’ll be there for you but I don’t know how to be there. I don’t even know where you are. You’ll probably say that you are right here. And then proceed to tell me that I am over thinking and there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll probably say that you are just tired and you’ll talk to me when things get normal. Maybe I am. I always over think and over react.

And maybe, I will over miss just this once. You are my person. And I get to miss my person.

Alles Liebe,