womanhood

a work in progress

Page 3 of 60

The Miscarriage

You left me yesterday sweetheart.
Or maybe you left me before.
But today, I woke up, and you weren’t in me anymore.
I could feel it.

Unusually light.
The lightness.

It was a dark day.
I don’t even know.
How I feel about it all.

The thing is.
I didn’t know you.
We chatted, but rarely.
But my box was ticked.
Two kids.
Done.

How presumptuous.
And now I wonder.
Was it the future I’ve lost that I’m sad about?
Your Daddy was the first to think of your soul.
Of your journey.
Not his attached to yours.
Purely yours.
He’s always been the selfless type.

Me?
Tears in the night.
Blood neatly contained.
Bed to bathroom to toilet to bed.

No need for reasons.
It’s just as it was always meant to be.
Except we didn’t know.
What was meant to be.

X
K

//

PS – If you’re my friend and you want to message me – please kindly, don’t send me a whatsapp or an email or a DM. To be honest, I find this kind of a conversation can only really happen in person and I’m sure the next time we catch up, you can flood me with your hugs. Just not the emoticon version. With so much love. Xx

 

How sickly are they?

Those who cannot love.

Those who cannot be free of numbers and control.

How sickly are they?

Those who hold tight.

Strangling in their love.

How sickly are they?

How sickly are you?

Controlling it the way you do.

Not enough.

Not enough.

Not enough.

It is never enough.

Perhaps one day.

When we are gone, no shadows in our trace.

Will it all finally be.

Sickeningly enough.

Burn

Oh.
Us Indians.
Our forefathers taught us well.

We got taught, how NOT TO GET INTO TROUBLE.
How to lie low.
How to play it safe.
How to avoid the fire.

Play the white game.
Wear the white clothes.
Change your name to Tom. Or John.
So it eases the barriers down.

And we did it.
Before us, our parents did it.
Our forefathers.

We rubbed off the bindis.
Traded the saris for blouses.
Our houses smell like curry, so we change before we head out.
Exhaust fans always on.

Assimilating.
Apologising.

I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you apologise for the smell of your tuna.
I didn’t hear you apologise for your thick accent, the one I can barely decipher.
I didn’t hear you apologise for the skin you bare, so offensive to the culture I come from.

That’s right.
You don’t need to apologise.
It is who you are.

So why the fuck.
Are we apologising for who we are?

I blame us.
Us.

Me.
Me.
Me.

So now, when I order an latte, I don’t say “Kish” to make it easier for you to spell my name.
I say Karishma. So you learn it for the next Karishma.

I don’t tell my son to take off his rakhi, or hesitate to speak in Indian to him in front of you.
It’s not rude. It’s our language.

I cook up a curry storm and I invite you home for it.

We are us.
And the differences make us beautiful.
And who we are.

Erasing them, erases us.
And we are hollow inside.
Lost, confused and messed up.
Trying to be like you, but when we see ourselves in the mirror, we know can never be.

X
K

Running

I’ve been observing myself over the last year.
Trying to find a balance of self care and work.

When I ran a design agency, I never really cared enough about my health.
I was trying, but perhaps, also running.
Running to keep it going.
To get somewhere.

And I realise now.
I’ve done the same thing since having launched Kholo.

Running.
From the fear of not succeeding.

And now, I’m on an island.
Taking a break.
Away from my son.
Away from the every-day-grind.

Finally pausing.

And I can see what I’ve done to my body.
All over again.

With the running.

Aru got agitated. And maybe it was unrelated to my running.
But maybe it was related.

So I think this time around.
I’m going to take it slow.
More trust.
Less fear.

More time for meditation and walks and maybe some hip-hop.
More time to cook a meal.

And less panic time for Kholo.

X
K

Cope

Sometimes.
You need to step away from everything.
Everyone.

To cope.

It’s ok.
It’s good for you.

X
K

Dearest Aru (Early November, 2017),

I’ve been away from you for two weeks now and it has been painful. Every time I hear your cherry voice, I’m surprised that your tone isn’t angry at me for being away. It’s simply happy to hear me.

I want to find a way to bring you with me. To be together more, apart less.
But your daddy and I are particular about whom we choose to care for you.

I love you Aru. I love you deeply.

So I’m coming home with elephants and tigers and a heart full of you.

X
K

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.

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.

Risk Vs. Outcome

There is no formula for attraction.
For love.
For this mish mash we call life.

There is nothing that explains to me.
Why I am.
Attracted to you.

You’re not my type.
You’re not in my books.
Not in the art.

You’re all things removed from me.
To list it here would reveal you.
So I won’t.

Somebody please explain this mess in my mind.
Preferably not you, because then we might be more than nothing.

And as much as I want that.
I don’t.
I do.
I don’t.
I do.
I don’t know.
I don’t.
I do.
I just don’t.
Know.
Won’t.
Risk.
It all.

X
K

Don’t Know

I don’t know where to from here.
But I do know.
I need to slow it down.
Way down.

I need to make time for my loves.
Make time for me.
Precious me.

X
K

Page 3 of 60

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