The bindi* the nose ring, the pallu**
Defines her identity
Or the strings of covered women
Bound through eternity

Walking through centuries
With a male for a crutch
A father, a husband or a son
Or any related by birth

Where the cloth on her head
Is a sign she needs to wear
To constantly remind herself
That she is inferior

Where she has to walk
A few paces behind
Where her screams are stifled
By the cover which binds

Where her agonies lie hidden
In miles of drapes
Along with her ambition
And all she craves

Representing the female form
Often a symbol of worship
While in day–to–day life
Frequently torn to bits

An unequal game
Right from the start
Where one half is deprived
From playing their part

An unequal ledger, where
Women appear as debit
And men with only half the load
Often claim all the credit

**Pallu – the end of a saree / scarf, which Indian women use to cover their head

*Bindi – the red dot, Indian women often wear on their forehead

Subir Chakraborty / 4th Sept 2018

Your claim on me is infinite
Which I gladly accept
Yet my claim on you
May be questioned by the rest

For there are others to share you with
Your father for instance
Or your husband or boyfriend
Or your countless friends

What I would give
To return to those days just for once
If not for real, then in my make believe world
Taking me back to my trance

When everyone else was busy
And you clung on to me
Finding shelter and comfort
My arms ever extended to thee

That was a time
When the pleasure was all mine
To give myself totally
To that feeling sublime

This joy of surrender
Can never ever be equalled
With anything I have ever received
From anyone in this world

Subir Chakraborty / 22nd May 2018

The myths implanted in our DNA
Over centuries spanning generations
Find their way into our consciousness
Involuntarily through our traditions

Do we ever question or realise
A specific rule or behaviour
As to why we follow blindly
Thinking it has existed forever

Some of these have got encoded
As a norm for civilised behaviour
While some ‘do nots’ discarded
With the label of ‘never ever’

Why is the wedding gown white
Why is black the symbol of death
Why do we tinkle glasses
Why do we bury the dead

Why in some other cultures
The reverse may be true
While they cremate the dead
And white the mark of widowhood

Neighbours have fought
And nations have gone to war
Over myths etched on stone
Garnishing our mental decor

Do we need to rethink
Perhaps draw new boundaries
Of the tales which have governed our lives
Right through the centuries

Subir Chakraborty / 17th Oct 2018

The past has a smell
Somewhere distant in the horizon
Floating in gently, nostalgically
Through the long lost years

The smell reminds me of my childhood
The sweat, the grime, the fights
The exhilaration, the sadness, the madness
The make-up minutes, hours, days

The smell lingers dramatically
Mysteriously
Playing hide and seek with my mind
Wafting through the senses

Bringing back sudden shafts of memories
Like lightning
Striking my ageing grey cells
Randomly, without any design or decorum

Making it all very real
Making me wanting to reach out
Only to realise the thin air
The continuum, the vacuum

But that vacuum has an existence
A reality seemingly near
A reality fused in my mind
A reality I hold very dear

Subir Chakraborty / 13th Aug 2018

Who really wants peace
Without the usual posturing and pretence
For the beasts of prey stalking our streets
It is all a talk of sheer impotence

For conflict spawns opportunities
Where peace will surely fail
Rapes, kidnappings, lynchings
Beckon the vultures on a hot trail

Laden with fresh stockpiles
Of weapons of mass murder
They approach both the sides
Eager to collect their order

Eyeing with ever growing greed
The potential for increasing skirmishes
For the fragrance of pillage and death
Adds flavour to their blood stained riches

Difficult to recognise
These vultures in civilian garb
For they look like you and me
Supposedly innocent at heart

Sometimes they take the shape
Of a powerful and influential country
Preaching civility and virtue
To all the world’s gentry

Subir Chakraborty / 2nd April 2018

The search for truth
And the power of pain
Transports these minstrels
Much beyond the mundane

The outstretched hands
The swirling bodies
A song on their lips
With rustic melodies

Basking in sublime aura
Busking on dusty streets
The singing Bauls of Bengal
Their ektara* strumming a beat

The music of love
And universal brotherhood
Transcending all religions
Eclipsing all statehood

Letting their minds soar
Sailing the winds like a kite
Buoyed by their hearts’ renderings
Singing an ethereal slice of life

Subir Chakraborty / 10th June 2018

*ektara : one-string instrument used in traditional music in the Indian sub-continent

When your desires no longer
Traverse the path of placidity
When designs invade your mind
Dissolving the mask of gentility

When the animal in you
Is on a predatory prowl
When your lecherous face
Wears a disgusting scowl

When the innocent victim
Is well within your reach
When with a little more effort
You can cause the breach

When your tongue is dripping
With the saliva of lust
When all thoughts of virtue
Have turned to dust

Pause a moment in time
And look at yourself in the mirror
For what you see
Does it make you shudder

For if it doesn’t
Then the #Metoo may get you
Even if not immediately
Then in the future for you to rue

The #Metoo today
Is not just another fancy label
It symbolises the collective strength
Of millions of abused women

Who today are more than willing
To peel off all the pretence
Of the demons who have abused
And destroyed their innocence

Subir Chakraborty / 14th Oct 2018

Despite all the pollution and denudation
Green shoots begin to grow abreast
Despite all the hatred and violence
Love finds a way into the nest

Despite all the despair and despondency
Hope wedges in to the heart
Despite a stormy and a cold night
The next morn is always a fresh start

Despite all the female infanticide
The defiant voice can be heard
From women who excel in various spheres
And choose to differentiate from the herd

Despite all the malpractice and corruption
A lone figure stands erect
Willing to take on the mightiest
With the strength of conviction at her behest

Despite all the despites
The indomitable spirit stands tall
The fuel driving the human genome
Through its earthly call

Subir Chakraborty / 13th Sept 2018

In this maze called cyberspace
We have learnt to live in the cloud
Wave through the trusted Messenger
Whenever we need to seek out

Where our feelings are expressed
Through icons, all standardised
Happy, angry, upset or just cool
Every nuance commodified

The craze for likes against each post
An intoxicant for the cyber age
Paucity of the same for any reason
Results in depression and umbrage

There’s virtually no difference
In the way we express our love
Sending as strings of bits and bytes
A bunch of roses and hearts

Marriages are already happening
With the bride or groom in absentia
Hapless parents as witness on Skype
Rooted in age old inertia

Soon a time might come
When copulation may not be necessary
When sperms and eggs can mate in the cloud
And deliver a baby virtually

Real touch, real contact, the real world
Will soon be part of history
Future generations may conduct research
Of reality shrouded in mystery

Subir Chakraborty / 8th Oct 2018

When the dust has settled
Ironing out the last crease
When the cyclone of this life
Has subsided to a breeze

Who would you like to see
In the mirror on the wall
That would best describe
The person today on call

A good child, a good parent
Or just a caring partner
Or is it a bundle of all these
That would make you happier

Perhaps you need to think once more
The very purpose of your birth
Were you born just to play these roles
In this roller coaster of life on earth

Have you forgotten something
In this journey of hits and misses
When you’ve thought of nothing other
Than yourself and your wishes

Perhaps it is not too late
To go down the unseen bend
Perhaps not too late
To make a few amends

With arms wide open
And without any further wait
Can you share with the less fortunate
Without a tinge of regret

May not always be money
Could only be your time
For the hapless need your empathy
Not your pity to chime

This may add a slight halo
To your reflection in the mirror
A picture you may like to treasure
In this life and perhaps forever

Subir Chakraborty / 19th Aug 2018