Poornima talks of two Lakshmis, a Goddess, and a maid. One ever smiling, seated on a throne, while the other, toiling hard, very worried. A poignant poem, in Different Truths.
Lakshmi, Goddess with four hands, ever smiling, welcoming
Curvy, energetic and embellished with imitation jewellery and a crisp cotton saree
Yet always glittering; an epitome of grace and charm
As if sitting on soft lotus petals
Nimble feet
Contemplating cosmic syncs
No!
Our Lakshmi was anything but these
She was about 40 or so she guessed
She came in a synthetic saree (easy-to-dry in monsoons too)
With a mismatched, ill-fit blouse
Because her lender was slender
She walked in with an urgency to kill ten men
As though the dusk meant their reincarnation
Which she didn’t approve of
Her hair was thick, as dark as her skin
A flower unfailingly bloomed somewhere amidst
The tight trail of her plaited scalp
Her Kannada was rustic
And Hindi, barbaric
But she managed eight households
With quite some magic
While hers slowly burnt into ambers
With five hungry mouths who rarely complained
And one who always tore her into bits
With either a slap, a punch, or a vessel, anything that could be lifted;
Thrown at her;
For not doing enough
For not being a woman enough
For not being a man enough
Her days were filled with worries
About school fees, daughters’ menstruation, their safety, an unwilling son
Who refused to study but was her only beacon
Her nights were filled with fights
About other women he chose, his expenses, his inefficiency to be
Anything but an animal
Our Lakshmi was anything but composed
Cussed with all her heart, wore her tongue inside out
Strung flowers in the evening for the temples
Hid her money in the steel box of rice
Watched her Tamil soaps and movies
Smiled at the mention of “Thalaiva”
Dreaming of a tomorrow
Of a life like ‘ours’
Only to realise that everyone here
Doomed in myriad ways like her.
©Poornima Laxmeshwar
Photos from the Internet.
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