A bold feminist poem, by Prof Nandini, where she lets her hair down, exclusively for Different Truths.
Men who loved their wives and those who did not all fell in love with her when she was simply out and about in the world. Her ‘men’ knew she was the brimming vessel with an eternal capacity to pour. Well, she didn’t think much about love, neither of the ‘safe’ love-loves, nor of any loves in the conflict zone. Her dry sardonic wit made them only fall in love more with rationality. Lost in time, with the audacity of hope, she was found in eternity; turning her wounds into wisdom, an expert at the law of diminishing marginal utility! She wanted to be forgotten from their collective memory when she had to wait to watch the slippers of couples in front of the Taj while the couples were clicking away ‘couple-pics’ to glory. A street urchin poked a hole in her story in the midst of a deadly inner silence. “Won’t I even be allowed to wander lonely like a cloud? Ahhh!” She, of course, had her many longings and belongings. Her ‘men’ every so often left her drained, high and dry. Some other times they cared to say a proper goodbye. In any case, she didn’t judge them, she just did a low lie. Her self-introspection and serious reflection were a caricature of living-loving. Her faith was bigger than fears with time’s intoxicants in her hands. There was no wind in there—just air to protect her ‘men’ from fading. Above her outer skin, there were wordless walls with a fistful of sky. With time, invariably, her men turned into distant memories. She wrote the stories of many a life, but her own story lay buried at someplace in a vault. One day she lost the keys to that treasury that she had carefully concealed. She had that habit— save the best for the last. But much cared-for stuff from her wardrobe were always lost.
Visual by Different Truths
By
By
By
By