Tuesday, October 25, 2011

HOPE CALLED DOG








i wagged my tail, 
in pain,
in vain,
i was huge and bulky, 
people were scared, 
and i was so hated for that. 


but i loved till i dropped. 
they pelted stones and whips,
i still didn't stop. 
i still didnt stop. 




i didn't want to reap, 
no riches no biscuits or treat, 
but i wanted to stop my master from being a creep
i wanted to stand by example 
i wanted him  to understand. 
i wanted him to stand,
i wanted him to take a stand. 


so i stood my ground. 
and showed him the way. 
listened and licked his tears, 
and told him to love and love 
when the fate gives away. 


today he stands, 
in front of my tomb. 
with heart full of love 
he is fresh out of the cocoon. 


those prickly thorns long forgotten,
i smile from haven, 
i know my love has been fruitful and it is to use, 
for he has learnt to say no to abuse. 


wish he was smiling, when i was with him. 
wish he didn't think then he sinned. 


im happy now, 
for now i know that he seeds his heart, 
decides what grows. 
for this is not the life he lives, 
this is the life he chose. 




- jimmy parvathy venkateshwaran


happy birthday jimmy. 


i don't miss you. 
how can i, when i'm with you. 

Sunday, October 23, 2011

't never happened.







scared and scared
 woods so stark,
the lonely me,
within a windy sea.

home afar
life ajar.
the crooked clock
timed untimed.


crime-a- time,
mind-a-whine,
then like a trick
black-n-yellow rick
came to pick.

single n sole,
pounding soul,
balm and bomb
hymn n shriek
got in it.
with a mind so sick
road alone,
night overblown,
silent sound
so loud
cloud un-cloud.


off the spark divine.
scare inside
no uncouth me.
alone distressed,
tainted, stretched and spread


two more got in.
now three and driver
not left to die in lone night
the night sea and divers
then ahead,
a little ploy
the two aboard,
middle me.
wanted to toy.




touch uncomfortable,
sensed rhythm-less fiddle.
told it off
sick un- meddle



the two dirty minds,
babel and bable,
straight and strait,
daunted tainted disdained



shriek-a-squeal
the prey prayed
as the dirty-wretched
hands played.


give me all you have,
a voice said,
pushed the head
down unzipped to give a head.

touched and felt up
emotions rocketed
all the pent up.



no one else
lonely road
only voices heard
of crocking toad.

victim man
a lad in mind
ran with a scream.
in time untimed.


then came, another rick in scene
a boon godsent for
the woe underwent

hopped in it
as it ran away
the windy winds
withered away


in the rick,
night of pain
do i speak as i tremble,
i tremble as i speak…
standing in the rain.
inane. insane.
inane. insane.
still haven't given up hope.
still hold on to my song.
"no night is too long.
no night is too long. "

tomorrow is another song, 
no use being grief stricken,
tell the mind. 
for what happened, 
never happened
it never happened. 
it never did happen. 

... group grope




scared and scared
in woods so stark,
the lonely me,
within a windy sea.

home afar
life ajar.
the crooked clock
timed untimed
crime-a- time,
mind-a-whine,
then like a trick
black-n-yellow rick
came to pick.

single n sole,
pounding soul,
balm and bomb
hymn  n shriek

got in it.
with a mind so sick
road alone,
night overblown,

silent sound
so loud
cloud un-cloud.

off the spark divine.
scare inside
no uncouth me.
alone distressed,
tainted, stretched and spread

two more got in.
now three and driver
not left to die in lone night
the night sea and divers

then ahead,
a little ploy
the two aboard,
middle me. 
wanted to toy.
  
touch uncomfortable,
sensed rhythm-less fiddle.
told it off
sick un- meddle

the two dirty minds,
babel and bable,
straight and strait,
daunted tainted disdained

shriek-a-squeal
the prey prayed
as the dirty-wretched
hands played.


give me all you have,
a voice said,
pushed the head
down unzipped  to give a head.

touched and felt up
emotions rocketed
all the pent up. 

no one else
lonely road
only voices heard
of crocking toad.

victim man
a lad  in mind
ran with a scream.
in time untimed.

then came, another rick in scene
a boon godsent for
the woe underwent

hopped in it
as it ran away
the windy winds
withered away

in the rick,
night of pain
do i speak as i  tremble,
i tremble as i speak…
standing in the rain.
inane. insane.
inane. insane.

still haven't given up hope. 
still hold on to my song. 
"no night is too long. 
no night is too long. "

Saturday, October 15, 2011

The Autobiography Of A Breast



Abreast in first class.

I’m a citizen of Bombay. My name is BREAST.  Boobs, balls and bablay are my nick names.   
I boarded the train at Andheri station. It was the ladies compartment. The first class ladies compartment. The one that has the general first class compartment that has organisms that are one of the other sexes.. And that complete whole organism is called a man. But i'll call them – The Moustached Ball


Everyday when I get into the train the mustached ball looks into me- as if I am some long lost cousin of his lost in the mela of kumbh.. I was for once embarrassed, and I covered myself with my hand and drifted my focus on to the other breasts in the compartment. Two stations passed by. Now it is Santacruz. And this Moustached Ball was still looking into the depths of my nakedness. I could sense that he was not just admiring. He was doing some pelvic movements and was feeling up his balls too. It looked like he was going to spurt out to an orgasm any time. Till now, more stations had passed. The train was to stop at Wadala and move back on another track towards Panvel. As the train changed routes, my mind was violent with this brute. I am a young breast of 22. He was a hefty old mustached ball of 40 something. I was scared, but I smartly tried to ignore his perverted NetraChodan. This happened day after day. This Moustached Ball had boarded the train one station later - at vile pale. 

I should say, I have named the station vile parlous in my mind. There is this certain uncertainty of the unknown fear that I had deep in my heart. I had a clean chest. And he didn't  Every day, he would ogle at me. One day, I  had draped a saree… and hid myself inside a blouse. It was a rainy day. And I was wet. The sari was transparent. The blouse was stuck to me. My pointed nipples were his delight. I could never forget those stares. Those looks. Those lusty movements. Those dirty lips. I can never. I thought he would do something bad. Bad like – touch me, or press me, or oppress me.

He never drifted his eyes from that sight. I felt I was stark naked. As I alighted midst the mad rush at my destination – Kurla station. He followed me. The day was bright . The crowd was noisy. But I could hear it right. He was soon accompanied by 2 of his friends. They said “BABLEY KYAA HAI BAAP”.. As I walked past Kurla station bridge. There was hardly any room to move my hands. Three Moustached Balls joined him and they kind of encircled me. I was felt. One hand was on my me.  Another on my nipples. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout. I wanted to revolt. But I couldn't. I was scared. Really scared.

The four moustached balls were mushtandas and I was a little breasty bubbly babli ball. I have marks of their hands on me. I can see them, even if you cant.  I can still feel their lusty hands on me. I felt so violated that I switched jobs. I ran away from my city. I ran away from my country. I reached Florida. Things were not any different here. I returned after 7 years. Married to a decent Moustached ball now. I haven’t mustered the courage to let him touch me. Though we have had some "force-myself"moments of penal-vaginal sex and as a result we have a baby boy. I left my husband. I am alone today with my folks.  I hate to breast feed him. After all, he will grow up to being a moustached ball. I mean. He would also be a moustached ball. Another moustached ball. Just another moustached ball.



-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My idea of feminism has been very different. A firm non-believer of extremist thoughts, I, for once, never really struck a chord with the bra-burning feminists. (You belong to that category? Koi nahi – the world is big for two contrasting thoughts to co-exist and find our own footing) I have never found it offensive when someone looked at a woman’s boobs or booty and said that they were a beauty. Well, voluptuous or anorexic each has their own tale to tell and a whole lot of woes. Let me delve deep into the plunging necklines and get into deep secrets of the booby world. This is something that a friend of mine had narrated. It took her 2 years of  her following  my blogs and articles, and stalking …  to speak about openly to a complete stranger – ME. and that’s all that she needed. A ear that hears. A shoulder to cry. And yeah...  drama queen friend like me… who makes a joke of every serious situation. You know all i had to do, was not to counsel her. I cant. I am not a professional counsellor  all i did was i listened to her. and slowly directed her to a counselor. and O! Man, it takes a lot of patient ears to hear the unsound heart. well, but then, when finally when she stopped singing her  "why me"... i was all smiles and think all my listening was worth it. 

And today, I share her story; I've changed some details, to conceal her identity. And yes, I have her permission.

Today, she has grown from being a breast to being a woman. And she has learnt to love, and learnt to live. Though, this never came easy. How I wish, it was easier to say no?


you think of it, while i admire the new titillating Vidya Ball an's flick - Dirty Picture's promos. 





Balls, after all, that's the first ever thing that i and HUMankind have touched, clasped, pinched and  suckled to. 

Hai Naa?

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Know Not

do you see liar written?
source: BrainDen








The moon is listless,
the sun is lost in clouds,
Why can't  you hear my heart beat aloud...

 The bird is chirping,
it is singing our song,
I think she knows how much I long...

The sea is quiet,
the waves recede,
how much to control how much to conceal ...

I think it's time for me to know,
I think it is time to give my life a go...


I can't be more helpless than I already am, 

I need to cajole  my  mind - un calm.

I now clasp my life,
A firm grip alone i hold,
The unsaleable part of my heart so bold.

I'd let you play the guessing game,
Be content that all content has been known,
But mind it, my mind has a story of her own

I am in many folklores,
but still with a chapter unwritten...
Buried deep within....


 ...Still with a story untold!!!!
... Still with a story untold!!!!

Wednesday, October 05, 2011

the art of deception

am tired. 

really tired.. 
of lies and liars. 
and of truth that's hidden
and everything forbidden. 


wish to go abroad far and beyond. 
to somewhere that no one knows. 
where the sun shines bright
and no one raises brows. 


where i can be me. 
like i have never been before. 
will someone hear my plea
someone take me to a new shore...


i have grown my wings, 
i flutter them, i am about to fly. 
but the sky is sly. 
the sky is sly. 
the sky is sly.
the sky is so damn sly. 


(and old old poem i had written. guess when there was slander campaign against me in college)

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