womanhood

a work in progress

Category: Advice from the Oldies (Page 1 of 12)

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Care

Who taught you not to care?
Who taught you not to get riled up?
Who taught you that you couldn’t make a difference?

My child.
My friend.
My lover.

YOU ARE THE DIFFERENCE.

In your tongue.
In your soul.
In your mind.
Your heart.

Lies the difference.

So feel it.
Get crushed.
Get hurt by it.

The racism. The oppression. The sexism. The casteism. The world.

Get fucked off.
And speak your heart.
Speak your words.

Because my darling sweetest.
It takes us.
Everyday people.

Bringing our courage and our hurt to the front.
To make change.

With a conversation.
With a protest.
With an instagram post.

With every little thing.
With every big thing.

We are making a difference.

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In our darkest hours

We have nothing to give.
Burnt.
Crisp.
Hurting and hurt.

We just need each other to take from.
But what is there to take, when you are so empty.
So so empty.

And so we try.
To fill the cup again.

Slowly.
Surely.
Hopefully.

Through the darkness of the night.

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Solace

There you were
Seeking all the right words
From all the wrong people

There is no solace.
In anyone.
Outside of you.

It is.
In you.

Grief.
And only for you to.
Heal.

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Metrics

It makes me sad to know.
Your silence tells me.
You are only interested in the tick boxes.

Who is she dating?
How much is she making?
Are they for good, or just a fly by?
Is she still as slim?

And I feel sick.
To my stomach.

Knowing.
You are this person.

Who recognises people on the basis of this twisted metric.

Money. Sex. Looks.

 

Ugh.

X
K

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Intent

The intentions.
What we started with.
Flow through.

And when we stop being true to who we are, what we really wanted, how we wanted things to go down, it shows.

In the work.
In the gravity of what we do.
In the lives we live.

It shows.

Show up.
For yourself.

Because the outcome,
Will always be better than all the bullshit compromise, the comparing, the adjusting, the navigating, all the crap, you’ve bowed down to.

Show me.
You.

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My boys

Line up.
Line em up.

Girls all with their pretty peacock feathers.
How pretty can I look?
More than this?
Can I obliterate every fucking imperfection from myself?

So I’m good enough?

Bags under eyes.
Curves at hips.
Restless hair.
Thunder thighs that roar.

And not just that.

No seriously.
Not just that.

How can I ADEQUATELY meet your needs?
Want me to wear heels?
Don’t like my earrings?
Should I change?
For you?

Am I good enough.

We ask ourselves again and again and again.

In everything we do.

With every strand of hair kept in place.
Every diamond earring that says, “I’m So Appropriate For This”.
Every fake smile.
Every chunni pinned to perfection and every tummy sucked in with Spanx so we can breathe a little less and feel like the boys will love us now that they can’t see our tummies.

We think that is what it takes.
To meet the quota.

A room full of girls.
Who never made daddy proud.
Who never made mummy proud.
Who never made the bloody aunties proud.
Enough.

When are we going to change this?
When are you going to wake up?

This one is on us.

Wear what you want.

Walk how you want.

Love who you are.

And bloody hell, have that tequila if you want.

Be a bad girl.

Be a good girl.

Be a naughty girl.

Be a sassy one.

Be the one that makes too much money.

Or be the one who spends a lot of money.

Who cares.

Just be you sweetheart.

Just be you.

 

Xx

K

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Cold

I caught up with a friend recently.
We are talking over lunch and coffees.

She was telling me about decades of love.
She told me of stretching out her arms.
Of seeking love from her man.
Of seeking touch in the night.

And she told me of the response.
Negative.
Nada.
Nill.

“It was like a slap in the face, Kish,” she told me.

Tears welled in my eyes.
And I realised.

I come from a community which shuns physical touch between men and women in public and maybe even doesn’t relish it in private either.
I’m extremely private, I don’t even feel comfortable holding hands with V in a street where no one knows us.
I’m wary of physical touch, especially if I’m stressed.
I don’t reach forward and hold his hand.
I don’t lean on him the way he does me.

I can’t explain it.

And when she said that.

I thought of Aru’s childhood.
How I lift him, cuddle him, love him, adore him.
I snuggle into him.
I can do this anywhere.
Nose to nose.
Cheek to cheek.
He knows.
It in his bones.
That his Maa adores him.
I tickle his toes and plant kisses on his forehead.
I rub his tummy.
I sneak under his t-shirt to rub his back.
I am a physical mum.
I get the most satisfaction from his touch.

And I realise.
Vivek probably had that kind of love from his mum.
This regardless abandon of physical love.
Skin to skin.

Touch.

And here I was.
Loving him.
Yet rejecting him.

And I cry now.

Because I’m trying.
But I will never make up for the million times I might have rejected him.
Made him feel unloved.

Because my finger tips failed him.
My cheeks failed his love.
My arms failed his warmth.
My language didn’t recognise his.

And I try now.
More than ever.

To undo a stigma of touch.
To undo lessons learnt.

To love.
With reckless abandon.

As a child, innocent to norms, rules and expectations.

X
K

You Can’t Control Tomorrow

Hey Karishma,

Don’t step too far into the future.

Take each day, each hurdle as it comes.

Just as you promised yourself with Aru, you’d manage every problem as it came. You couldn’t anticipate all that could come. You’d do your best to be overall, but if it came, you’d be awake to it, alert to it and seek help.

Same thing with this.

You can’t foresee everything.

All the pitfalls, the bad experiences, the hurt.

You can’t save yourself from it all.

So just take each little trouble as it comes.

Solve and resolve.

But darling Karishma.

Don’t spend all your today’s moments dwelling in tomorrow unforseen problems.

You have no control over what will come.

Just do your best today.

And trust that tomorrow will be nothing short of awesome.

Be it awesome laughter and delight.

Or awesome learnings.

X

K

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How To Unravel

If you’re ever lost in the windmills of your mind.
It may serve, to take a lonely drive.
Away from home.
Away from the kids.
Away from the people.

And put your phone to the side.
Close the ipad.

Order a takeaway from your favourite Thai place.
Then sit in the car.

And eat it.
With complete network silence.

You’d be surprise how you begin to unravel with every bite of tofu.

X
K

It just is.

You can never tick all the boxes.

Page 1 of 12

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