Passion…unbridled

Skimp on a step, find a shortcut again

The elaborate methods cause too much pain

Abbreviated phrases, vowels dropped out

Are faster to type without a doubt

Use the chopper, microwave, instant pot

Flavor sacrificed, but the thought

Of saving time occupies my mind

No gourmet meals, but more time I can find

To devote to the million things I have to do-

Use robotic vacuums, multitask in cleaning too

Try to read while running on the treadmill

With one stone of time, two birds I can kill

Listen to a journal article as a podcast

While my dinner is prepared fast

Finish a work-day, take that flight red-eye

Attend a meeting, return, on a caffeine-filled high

Time is a luxury, never enough

Without finding shortcuts, life would be tough…

*

My instant-mix kind of life carries a cost

Any sense of pleasure in daily life is lost

Food prepared by oversimplification

Is less aromatic, provides less gratification

The mis-spelt words of texts are unsettling to me

This was not what the Queen’s language was supposed to be

Robots can clean, but I do miss

Scrubbing a corner clean, and the resulting bliss..

Do I listen to microwave beeps or data scientific

One of these I certainly have to pick

The enthusiasm with which a new article I would read

Has been lost to the myth of multitasking indeed…

*

So I have decided to choose an area each week

Where I don’t cut corners, I don’t seek

Time-saving tactics, rather follow elaborate

And complete methods, I can proudly state

That the time-tested methods yield results that are

More satisfying, more soul-stirring, by far

Intellectually I understand

That biases should have little place

In my perception of the world

But the reality that I face

Is that biases sneak in somehow

Embed themselves without a sound

In the recess of my subconscious mind

I know my judgment they confound

Such that I, often imperceptibly

End up practicing discrimination

I don’t realize until I receive

From someone else an insinuation

*

A fair person I consider myself to be

Knowing I am biased pinches me..

*

Quite wildly then I fantasize

If my biases I could externalize

Wear them as clothes that could be

Washed in the waters of impartiality

Then I would wring out, dry and wear

A garment unbiased and fair

See the world and its denizens

Through an impartial lens..

*

Since real-life solutions are

Much more complicated by far

To let go of my biases I need

To interact more widely indeed

With people who are as different as can be

In language, religion, political affiliation, from me

To understand and connect at a level more deep

Let go of differences, the universal tenets of humanity keep….

Like all of us, many hats I wear

That represent issues about which I care

My identity is a sum total of each one

At different points in time, different facets I summon

A homemaker, a mother and a physician

Are my most important positions

Sometimes I am in a mood creative

An artistic expression I try to give

To my thoughts, I try to create

Tiny pieces of art, to satiate

The desire to surround myself with beauty

To better withstand the mundane call of duty

There are quiet moments in my day

When I let books transport me away

To a different universe, a reader I become

Absorbing printed words, soaking up wisdom

Sometimes I fancy myself as a writer, I confess

In prose and verse, my thoughts I express

I become a fashionista when I play

Dress-up to brighten up my day

Many times a teacher I try to be

Imparting knowledge of medicine to a trainee..

*

There is a role that transcends all the above

That is the role I’ve come to cherish and love

To be a learner, repeatedly immerse

Myself in an unexplored universe

To be a better version of myself in each role

To refine my methods in each realm is my goal

Maybe there are no large leaps for me

I let tiny steps mould my identity

Let learning my raison d’être be

Each day as an opportunity to improve let me see..

This poem was inspired by two reports I read recently (unverified)- One of a school girl ridiculed for wearing a hijab (apparently her job was yanked off and she was told her hair was beautiful, again unverified) and another of a schoolgirl disbarred from playing soccer because of hair beads (apparently the mom was not told hair beads were a hazard during play). While I fully acknowledge that the truth may not be reflected in the way these stories have been presented, there is no doubt that women are held to an unrealistic standard regarding their hair- discrimination on the basis of hair has been banned in some places.

Every girl or a woman’s hair

Is her business, why should someone else care?

*

Hey, I don’t have hair that is light and straight

Why is my hair used to discriminate

Or at least draw attention to me in connotation negative

Why do, with certain “hair” standards, I have to live?

My natural locks I should be able to

Wear with pride, and not go through

Caustic hair straighteners to try to achieve

The hair texture that is the norm perceived

Just so no one would call me ungroomed

Only straight hair looks professional, it is assumed…

My little girl adorns her braids with beads

She can be disbarred from soccer, while her needs

Are completely ignored, so is the impact on her

She learns to be ashamed of her hair forever

**

Religion is a matter personal, in a state secular

I should be able to cover my hair without fear

With a hijab, no one should force me to

Remove my hijab- it is true

That the hijab is a part of my identity

Why would you want to take that away from me

You say it distracts you, you are curious to find out

The color and texture of my hair- that knowledge you have to do without

*

We own our hair, and style it our way

Your standards of neat hair are irrelevant today

Curly, braided, covered- we groom our hair the way we desire

We can, if we want, a hair revolution inspire

On the occasion of World Mental Health Day, I have penned this poem highlighting the stigma associated with depression.

How do I say that I’m not fine?

I don’t want to complain, I don’t want to whine

A cheerful attitude attracts vibes positive

Therefore under a false facade I Iive

Sometimes that facade does help me beat

My depression temporarily, the respite is sweet

But then it returns, with a vengeance profound

I dare not mention it to anyone around

To admit my shortcoming, to seek help for it

Can cost me my livelihood, get me labeled unfit

My depression needs to, in the closet remain

By admitting to it, I would be inviting more pain

Further alienation from the world of people doing fine

Potential loss of income- all these cross mind

Each time I try to reach for professional help in some way

(Did I mention therapy is beyond my capacity to pay?)

I wish I could exchange the emotional pain

For pain in a body part, to avoid the disdain

That mental illness seems to receive

I am weak- this is how I think I’d be perceived

If I were to say I am depressed- I would probably hear

Be strong, snap out of your depression, dear

Believe me, it’s not like flipping a switch inside

Exercise, yoga, meeting new people- everything I’ve tried

But it is a lonely journey for me

Hiding my depression is not easy…

**

Empathy for my depression is not an easy ask

Therefore I readjust my metaphorical mask..

I light the earthen lamp

Inhale the deep aroma

Of the sticks of incense

Fold my hands in prayer

Before the idol of the Goddess

And with a fervor intense

I pray to all the Goddesses

I know, they do not ride lions

But they have extra hands invisible

That work and serve tirelessly

Unlike Durga’s trident, their strength

Lies inside them, with an invincible

Spirit in the face of adversity

Many demons they slay

Of Suppression, Domestic Violence

Objectification, Toxic Patriarchy

The Goddess lives inside them

I, with all my reverence

Anoint the idol before me

And pray to the real Goddesses I see

Too many responsibilities I try to take on

Finding myself running a marathon

At work and home, every single day

Tasks off my mental list I tick away

The feeling of accomplishment is real, no doubt

But slowly, gradually, I am inching towards burnout…

My cup whose capacity I considered infinite

Is emptied out completely every night

I barely get a chance to fill it in the figurative sense

I continue to run, at my sanity’s expense..

I want to project a smiling face always

Instead I show brusque efficiency these days

Irritability and short temper accompany me

Good vibes don’t emanate from a cup empty

Let me pause, slow down, daydream, smell the flowers

Let me forget my superwoman powers

Let me fill my cup with thoughts positive

Thus replenished, more to the world I can give..

There was a time when I thought

Being traditional was not

Compatible with a progressive mind

Since my worldview was more aligned

With liberalism, I wanted to explore

Everything new, I hungered for more

Experiences to understand the world around me

My culture was relegated to dormant history..

*

Reinventing myself as I went on my way

Broadening my vistas every day

Breaking barriers passed down by tradition

I pushed boundaries to realize my ambition

Felt restless, unmoored despite it all

My original self I could not recall..

*

One day I received an invitation online

To join a group celebrating that garment fine

The traditional saree- a timeless attire

I joined the group, and felt a strong desire

To drape six yards of elegance around my frame

After that, things were just not the same..

*

The saree was the proverbial portal for me

Making me embark on a journey

Back in time, back to the cultural abundance

That I had abandoned in my ignorance

I reconnected with stories, music, dance and art

Of my culture, they are but an inalienable part

Of who I am, they represent where my roots still lie

The roots that undeniably gave me my wings to fly…

Corners, too many in my abode…

Rabble of objects

Hidden everywhere

Unfinished projects

Interrupted ideas

Incompleteness everywhere

Works in progress

Languishing in despair

Dried liquids, caked powders

Chains tangled and twisted

Jewelry, clothing, lying unworn

Knick-knacks I’d forgotten existed

Journals, some rough at the edges

Pages filled with disjointed prose

Some with covers pristine, less used

Filled with writing less verbose

Notes, greeting cards, invitations old

For future inspiration tucked away

Colors faded, gathering dust

Bent, torn, to be discarded one day

Without as much as a second look…

The clutter, its scale, its ability

To fill every available nook

Sends me into a stance of immobility..

Who said things of beauty

Should bring you joy forever

Collectively they create eyesores

Seeing clutter robs me of pleasure..

Children look up to their parents

Mothers and fathers strength epitomize

But my parents were new immigrants

Always meek, afraid- it took me long to realize

How strong they were- forced to seek asylum

In a country where they knew neither language nor custom

They tried to earn a living honest

Stretched thin, they did strive to give their children the best

**

When I was young, I did not understand

Their obsequiousness, apologies constant

I was angry whenever I saw them not take a stand

Against insults and injustice, they remained silent

I knew the language, was learning in school

Principles of equality, liberty etc.- but I was a fool

Equal before law does not necessarily mean

Equal in society-we lived at the fringes, largely unseen

My parents worked quietly, in the background

Noticed only when they made a mistake

They would rectify their errors without making a sound

As if indifferent to insults, after all money was at stake

**

Ah, money is what makes the world revolve

Our lives revolved around it too

My parents worked with a steely resolve

To put food on the table, any honest work they would do

Workers’ rights, benefits, equality of pay

Did not concern them in any way

Their docility often caused me aggravation

Much later I understood their situation..

**

Language was a barrier hard to break

They learnt English, but spoke with a painful accent

Also a very long time it does take

To learn language that cultural nuances represents

Those insults, the blows to their self-respect that I perceived

They were partly shielded from, they were able to quietly receive

Because the language used they did not understand

It helped them survive in a foreign land..

**

I have seen their confidence grow

With every milestone attained

They look you in the eye, their eyes glow

Their initial fear has now waned

I have, as their daughter, found

A respect for their early tribulations profound

Their strength did lie in their being meek

Their actions spoke when in words they could not speak..

Is there a foolproof method, she asks in a low voice

After I go through every available choice

I shake my head, birth control methods work when they do

But they can, and do, fail too

No pill, no device, no depot shots can be

Used with 100% guarantee

**

I look at her, her eyes show desperation

I see the baby in the stroller, and the situation

Is now clear to me- I know she is eighteen years old

With an infant- I see the unmistakable epicanthic fold

She had a baby too young, with anomalies congenital

She does not want another, afraid of the cost, mental and financial

Of bringing another baby into her world, with support none

We are in Texas, so an abortion is out of the question

If she gets pregnant, even if the child has congenital issues

She would have to give birth- imagining the plight of someone in her shoes

I shudder, then proceed to repeat the options

For birth control- I suggest use of a combination…

**

The vicious law passed by clueless men

Has taken choice over their bodies away from women

I cannot change the law, but with birth control education attempts I can make

To give her some control of her body, for every woman’s sake

Research as I understand, is supposed to be

A process of painstaking complexity

Performed by diligent people who have studied

Extensively on a topic- now waters have been muddied-

In this pandemic, suddenly everyone has become

A master of research, it’s no longer a domain for some

All view-points should equally valid be

An expert’s opinion should hold the same weight as one from you or me

Searching within the complex algorithms of sites online

For “facts” to validate one’s beliefs is just fine-

To pass off as research, used to argue and debate

With health care professionals, or vehemently state

One’s point of view in posts with polarizing content

That is not research, for any purpose or intent

A major disservice this is to all those working incessantly

In research on the pandemic, the virus, vaccines- to free

The world from the pandemic- why would their end-goal be different

They use science, not social media “research”, to justify their intent…

(Image source: http://www.patheos.com)