Imperfection Is Beautiful

The slant of my eyes

Freckled skin with a tan

This lopsided smile

Messed up hair

Tied under a worn-out band

Collar bones that don’t show

Layers around my waist

Oh, they hardly go

Those chipped nails

Ah, they never really grow

The curve of my hips

Stretch marks on my skin

Wound that got healed

But the scar?

I can still feel

The fickle odd world

And its standards of beauty

Matching them

Is neither a necessity

Nor a priority

Not much to flaunt

Not much to drool

Because they say

Imperfection

Is beautiful

Sharing this with Poetry Pantry # 262

N - Nonconformity

He:	You have changed. A lot. Like a lot lot.
She:	May I know how and why do you say that?
He:	You have become so rude. I mean seriously what has gotten into you?
She:	Rude?
He:	Yes. Rude. Outright rude.
She:	You never know, what you call rude might be something else
He:	Like what?
She:	Nonconformity
He:	Nonconformity?
She:	Yup, because over the period of time, I realized that there was always a rebel inside me. The one that has always been suppressed by societal norms, buried under the weight of moral and immoral and burnt within the flames of judgmental attitude of one and all around. And then some point, I realized that it's just not worth it.
He:	Worth what?
She:	Being a yet another conformity to the ideas of the world. And if that is rudeness to people, so be it.  This post is written as a part of April A to Z Challenge - 2015

Awaiting its end

trapped, caged

locked up and enslaved

 in societal precincts

of do's and don’ts

of can't and you won't

vivid dreams

now buried

in gray tombstones

zest to live

cut abrupt

like an umbilical cord

existence mere so deplored

awaiting its end

to cruelty

of bitter life

and devastating loneliness

of hollow society

and vain judgments

yes, death seems prettier

than being

trapped and caged

locked up and enslaved

Much more than JUST a number on the weighing scale

BlogAdda's Spicy Saturday Picks

I feel anger rising within me as I write this. And I have a reason. No wait. I don’t have just a reason, I have reasons. I haven’t really ranted on my blog except for a few occasions here. But this rant is much stronger than all my earlier rants because of the way this topic has been attached to me since ‘I don’t know when’. So here we go.

I have always been on the heavier side of the weighing scale all my life. You read it right, all my life. Atleast from the time I remember. But that’s not the point here.

The point here is the general attitude of society towards people on the heavier side of the scale. The attitude where they think it is their birth right to make fun of overweight people. Just like the way, they think it is our moral obligation to be made fun of. The attitude where they think that being on the heavier side of the scale is a sin and hence we deserve to be made fun of. So go ahead, make fun. Because we are like this out of choice and find sheer joy in being overweight. Right? Wrong. I am sorry to break it to you that we hate being your source of free entertainment. And that nobody, just nobody likes to be on the heavier side of the scale, for being mocked for the way our bodies are made differently than yours and for the way our bodies react differently to situations and circumstances. And that when you pass a judgement or make fun of my body, it does not define me, it defines YOU as nothing more than an insensitive buffoon. And everytime I don’t react to your mockery, it is not because I do not have an equally sarcastic and demeaning comment about you, but it is because I do not wish to downgrade myself at your doltish levels.

Right from acquaintances, relatives, friends to colleagues to total strangers, I have been mocked for my body for the number of times I do not even remember with comments as stupid as the fact that I carry huge bags because I need to carry a large lunch box fitting my size. How lame. How stupidly lame. Or wait. There is something even lamer. Like the time when I was running around in the office for getting some work done. And pat comes the comment asking me stop running because the staircase could fall. Right. Coz you see, I weigh equivalent to crane capable of bulldozing an entire building. Wow. Just Wow. This is just the tip of an iceberg of the nasty comments I have heard over the years.

And then there is something equally irksome. The way everybody turns into so-called experts on my body. The way they think they have the right to suggest me remedies to reduce my weight. Because I have no clue how to do it and because I do not know how to handle my body and because they are on the right side of the scale, they obviously have more fitness gyaan than what I have and hence they are obliged to throw their bizarre suggestions for weight loss in my face. As if I am suffering from some terminal illness and they are doing their bit of social service by providing their valuable suggestions.

The more I think about such comments and instances, the more it angers me. Not just because they were said about me but more because of the way our society behaves and general perception of the people towards this topic. The way people have no clue that fat shaming does not motivate anybody to lose weight and that it affects people at much deeper psychological levels than they could ever imagine.   

There was a time when this mockery affected me for days. It affects me. Still. Ofcource not to the extent it used to. Because today I accept myself and my body much more heartily than I used to. And that does not mean I do not work towards making myself more fit. This just means that I accept my curves and my stretch marks much more today than I did earlier.

But not everybody can cope with fat shaming. Even I haven’t learnt to cope with it completely. But then why can't people understand that making fun of people for their overweight body is somewhat equivalent making fun of a blind person? Just like nobody likes to be blind, similarly no one likes being on the heavier side.

I have no clue why our society cannot take a heavier person just like everybody else. Why is there always a need to look down upon me, to mock me or to advise me? Why can't I be taken as just another person? Why can't I be seen more than just a body? Why does every other aspect of my personality hide under the fact that I am overweight?

Because I know that I am much more than JUST a number on the weighing scale.   

Image Source : Google

Bound and Tied

bound and tied

in confined spaces I lay

the world too small

but smaller are its thoughts

pleasure they gain

at nipping your wings

they haven’t flown

so how could they allow

that you be different

and follow your own path

bound and tied

in confined spaces I lay

choking

at their orthodox thoughts

hard it is here to breathe

I wish to break free

I long to just flee

flutter my wings

in those unknown skies

and follow hued dreams

the harder you try

to blend yourself into me

the harder

shall I bounce back

ferocious and fiery

bound and tied

I shall now not lay

the confined spaces

shall now

no longer contain Me !!

Written for Photo Challenge #21 “Cardboard Angel”

Rebelliously Refreshed : Haiku

Rebellious

baseless, stale

don’t follow norms, society

unruly you call me

Refreshed

ablaze from sun

elixir pouring from sky

earth rejuvenated

This post is written as a part of April A to Z Challenge 2014. I am doing two posts for every alphabet. The Non-themed posts can be found here.

Quarantined

BlogAdda's Tangy Tuesday 

   




Shattered in pain, crying her insides out. No words can define her situation. Lost. She lost a part of her existence already. Her soulmate, her husband. The society is around. To take care of the necessities, the rituals. 

After he leaves, bathe her. Bathe her out in the open. Clothes. Colourless for her from now on. She doesn’t deserve colours in her life anymore. Her husband brought colours to her life. No him, no colours. Widow. They call her, right in her face. Cursed she is now. Cursed for life.

Quarantine her. For she is not a suhaagan anymore. Quarantine her like those diseased cattle. For her touch is not auspicious any longer. You talk about touch? Even her presence is inauspicious. Unwanted, to be precise. As if the death of her husband is not enough of a loss for her, she needs to be reminded all the time that she is cursed, cursed for life.

But, we are modern people now. We allow her to wear colours. Yes, ‘allow’ her. Allow her shades of light pinks, light blues, pale yellows and peaches. That’s it. No reds, greens and maroons can adorn her anymore. Nope. She doesn’t need them.

You allow her to live a normal life. Hah, ‘allow’ again. For she now needs permissions. Of those elder women - the ones who have gone through similar fates. Permissions - of the caretakers of culture, caretakers of society. She needs permissions for conducting some simple routines of life. 

But, we are modern people, you know. Ofcourse, she can be a part of ‘normal’ ladies group now that you have ‘allowed’ her. But, you cannot talk about your husbands in front of her. She can get jealous. I mean, who knows, maybe she might just want to rob you of all your happiness out of jealously and curse you of the same fate. You know, curses of ‘such kind’ of people affect you sooner. So again you quarantine certain topics in front of her. Topics of husbands. Of happiness. Of anything that ‘you’ think that she can never ‘enjoy’ now that she is a widow.

Marriages. She shouldn’t be attending them. How can she? Marriages are a celebration. How can she be a part of any celebration? She lost her right to celebrate after her husband, didn’t she? But again, as I told you, we are modern people. Call her, atleast as a formality. She wouldn’t dare to come. But if she disappoints you, you need to show her ‘her’ place. Remind her. Remind her that she is the cursed one. Keep her away as much as possible from any auspicious ceremony. She cannot handle the shagun ki thali nor touch the shagun ki mehndi. Quarantine her again. For apshakun she is. Evil eyed. Make her feel like an outcast. She should know that she is different. Not normal. Cursed.  

Her daughter’s marriage. Her daughter - her only reason for existence. Arey, we are modern people. She ofcourse will be part of her daughter’s wedding. But. You cannot let her do the kanyadaan. No. She is her daughter, so what? Her curse might fall on her own daughter. The girl is starting a new life. How can her mother’s apshakun be a part of her new life? Quarantine her of that dream too, the one she saw with her husband. Of getting her daughter married to handsome man. After all, she is cursed, isn’t she?

No, we are not robbing her of everything, you see. She can do something without any guilt. Like praying. Yes, that is the only righteous thing she can do after her husband. Pray hard. So that the sins of this life don’t affect her next life. As such she is suffering by being a widow in her present birth because of her past life sins.

Widow. You use that word for her as if she is diseased. Diseased. Yes. Not her. But You. It’s you that needs to be quarantined of your baseless beliefs; not her right to live a normal happy life. May be, just may be then, you can call yourself a modern society.  

This post is written as a part of April A to Z Challenge 2014 under Non-Themed category. I am doing two posts for this Challenge and Themed posts can be found here.