Culture & Society

In Lieu Of A Birth Certificate

I came to the world like a dead telegram...Locked in the jail, accused of stealing electric wire, the village thief’s faint sobs sparkle like my mother’s sindoor.

Small wooden cradles placed by Hindu families praying to have children.
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Born amidst neither fame nor shame,

I came to the world like a dead telegram...

Locked in the jail

accused of stealing electric wire,

the village thief’s faint sobs

sparkle like my mother’s sindoor.

Slaughtering cigarettes remorselessly,

the sentry guards his conscience like a banished saint.

Born amidst neither promise nor sorrow,

I came to the world like untainted white charcoal...

On the mud thatched roof

skirt rolled up to her thighs invitingly

the sparrow greedily chews her daily dose of worms.

Unmindful of scorns of passersby

listening to FM radio lazily in the Saturday afternoon

the vegetable vendor searches angrily for Columbus

in the discarded newspapers.

Born amidst neither pleasure nor fear,

I came to the world like unwashed blue jeans...

At the serpentine box office queues of morning shows

adult fantasies play hide-and-seek like nursery kids.

The last drop of alcohol in the whisky bottle

dances adulterously on my million tongues.

The fragrance of your armpit

travels like gunpowder in the dark forest.

Born amidst neither illusion nor ambition,

I came to the world like the rusted rumours of a riot...

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