16 Days of Activism | Entry 7

Untitled

Nishtha Vashishta 

You tell me not to wear
The Saree
You are ashamed you see me in? It’s taught me to walk
With dignity, with poise Unapologetic 

You tell me the red bindi Is for women alone?
It’s anger worn with pride For the world to see 

You tell me I am lost? I know
That I have
Just found myself.

(As part of 16 days of activism, we invited entries on Life of Sexual Minorities. We will be showcasing more in the days to come. Watch this space)

16 Days of Activism | Entry 6

I Did Ask You Nicely 

Sudeep Pagedar 

Sir,
I have nothing more to say –
at least not to you 

Would you kindly let me go? 

you will call my parents! wait,
how old 

do you think I am? 

Been around for a while now, not new to this place 

you don’t like me? I don’t need you to. 

Sir – I use this term very lightly –
if who I am offends, 

you need only close your eyes. 

will you please let me go? 

“Justice is Blind”?
I knew you’d say that!
but in my mind,
justice is blinded
a hot poker pushed through unbelieving eyes 

the blindfold is appropriate – you should wear one too, but I can see
you already are 

Now listen. 

I am not Kejri or Anna, there will be no dharna But when I tire of
this detention, 

I only hope you remember: I did ask you nicely. 

End Note: These are the words of an unnamed individual. Gender, age, religion unknown. Someone who is tired of oppression, and speaks with a politeness born of exhaustion. However, this is also the point at which we realise that this person’s resolve has not diminished, and from this point on, it can only keep getting stronger. It is, at worst, an idealist’s dream, and at best, a nightmare for an oppressive entity! 

(As part of 16 days of activism, we invited entries on Life of Sexual Minorities. We will be showcasing more in the days to come. Watch this space)

16 Days of Activism | Entry 5

Naga
by Richa Shivangi Gupta

You slither

On freshly slaughtered

Souls

Smearing the crimson

Of life

On your numbing scales

You slither

As your coarse

Skin rasps against their

Tangerine, healing 

Scars 

You slip

And hasten your

Pace when canopies

Of forbearance let the

Yellowed sun enter

Your darkness

You twine

Through the depths 

Of faultless green leaves

Who got caught in the

Wild wild wind

And were orphaned

For good

You fancy

Of flying above

The cobalt blue you

Touch in the lake you

Queered

You coil 

Into burrows

Of repression when

Children dressed in shades

Of violet, knock at your

Unwelcoming door looking

For the love you

Looted from their cradle

(As part of 16 days of activism, we invited entries on Life of Sexual Minorities. We will be showcasing more in the days to come. Watch this space)

16 Days of Activism | Entry 4

Melted

By Harnidh Kaur

I burnt my hand today, and my
mother clutched it, careful not
to touch my melting skin, eyes
wild with fear and borrowed
pain, as she mumbled about
how my happiness left me
open to hurt- my smiles just
evoked fear in her, because
the way my skin slipped off
my flesh was a sign of how
fragile I was in my construction,
how easy it would be to break
me in half, easy to bite off bits
till I'm left lying like a moth eaten
blanket, shivering under myself,
craving warmth but afraid of
being singed again- maybe that's
why I refuse to let my skin nestle
next to yours, that's why I refuse
to let our curves meet, preferring
to press against straight lines
that feel lukewarm at best, and
terrifying at least, this is why
I cannot allow myself to be
consumed by your softness, or
give myself some space to breathe-
what if the burns you leave on
me leave ugly scars that tell of
how I burned, of how I revelled in
your flames and watched them
consume all I had ever known?
what if I never find myself again
without that heat? What if the
passions that bloomed in as you
held my palm against your
breast all that I could ever need?
What if I was only kindling, and
would be left to ash? What if
these 'what if's are all I was
ever truly meant to have?

(As part of 16 days of activism, we invited entries on Life of Sexual Minorities. We will be showcasing more in the days to come. Watch this space)

16 Days of Activism - Entry 3

Asexuality for Dummies
By Indian Aces

Setting: A regular pub. A girl is sitting at the bar alone, munching on cheese sticks, looking at people casually. She is asexual, a sexual minority so unheard of, that even the LGBT community doesn’t talk about it. During the course of the poem, we try to bust a number of myths that usually surround the topic of asexuality.
A heteronormative boy, largely unaware of such minorities, approaches...
Boy: Hi,
I noticed,
you were checking me out dancing.
Girl: Sorry,
You’re good,
But I was just glancing.
Boy: So I
just wonder,
you waiting for someone here?
G: Nah,
I’m solo,
for a chat, I’d lend an ear.
B: A pretty girl, like you,
with a charmer like me...
G: Haha,
we’d make
quite a pair, I agree!
B: So, where,
do you think,
is this night going to take us?

*The cake slice she had ordered appears, taking all her attention*
(It’s an inside joke within the global asexual community that we prefer cake to sex)
B: Umm, so I
was wondering,
where’s tonight taking us?
G: Don’t know about you,
but I’ll be catching a bus.
B: Let’s change those plans,
I’d love to be that cake.
G: While,
I’m flattered,
What’s the point you’re trying to make?
B: See,
look at us,
the time couldn’t be more right, I feel,
we could
really utilize this night.
G: *coughs* Ahm Well no,
I’m not sleeping with any men.
B: Oh sorry,
I usually
Easily spot a lesbian!
G: mm no,
Well I don’t
swing either way to be true.

B: Umm,
not homo?
then what exactly are you?
G: There’s more
beyond that spectrum,
ever heard of the term ‘ace’?
B: You mean,
A sexuality,
apart from straights and gays?
G: Well,
we have zero
sexuality, not even a trace, On this
hetero-homo scale,
we can’t really be placed.
B: Oh god,
A millennial,
trying to be a special snowflake.
G: I saw,
that coming,
I’ll go enjoy my cake >.>
B: Woah!
I’m sorry,
Didn’t mean to offend you maam, I’d love,
to learn more
if you believe that I can?
G: Like you,
Can be attracted
to genders one or many,

We,
the asexuals,
we just aren’t to any.
B: So then,
you mean,
like having no libido?
G: mm well,
Some infact
have drawers full of dildos!
B: Okay,
But no,
I guess I’m confused much, You mean,
Some fap
And some like to be touched? Wait,
what’s even
the real difference then? I mean how,
Exactly
Are they not like average women?
G: Ok,
I’ll tell you
how I feel about food. Say,
I see a pizza,
that looks real good, I drool
And I feel
an urge to go get a slice,

My twin,
she doesn’t,
though she eats to survive.
B: Okay,
I get that
That example, it’s simple, but does
that really,
translate even to people?
G: Yes, like, when you
come across an attractive person, do you
feel an urge
to do something with them?
B: Hmm,
there’s lust.
So that don’t happen to aces? They won’t,
ever even,
you know, suck faces?
G: Right!
no attraction,
and it’s a spectrum on its own, The behavior’s,
On a separate scale,
some are repulsed, but some bone.
B: Ah,
but you aces,
so you don’t do relationships?

G: Some don’t,
some do,
we can still be romantics! B: Aha!
I believe
I’ve a friend he’s just like that!
G: I guess
you should

(As part of 16 days of activism, we invited entries on Life of Sexual Minorities. We will be showcasing more in the days to come. Watch this space)

16 Days of Activism | Entry 2

Poem
by Minakshi

That September twilight,

When the town was still drowsy

From the day’s humdrum

And I had just woken from that same dream

Her red silk drape still lay on the wooden floor

A studded brooch and a bottle of French perfume on the mirror table

Some sexy G-string lingerie in dark blue carelessly dropped near the stairway.

I can still smell the coffee,

The red lipstick mark on the mug in which she sipped

And the stain of dark chocolate on the pastel blue linen in bed

The chocolate we used to make love from last night

Still lingered on…. 

While I caressed her bosoms and she caressed mine

The red lipstick now leaving its mark not just on the mug

But my breasts, lips and parts of my skinny thighs

I was panting as she moved her hands across my neck to my lower back

Glistening in the red dim shade of the lamp

her imperfect bodyline was simply too perfect

From her swollen heel from the new pair of stilettos,

to the droplets of sweat on her curves, 

From the warmth of her unwaxed body,

to the soft touch of her dark black nipples  

From the red bite on my left bosom,

to the touch of her firm hand on my neck as she untied my rough unkempt hair  

There was only and only

….nothing, but longing for more 

I could hear,

Those chatters

some that mocked

many that scoffed

and others that sneered 

That September twilight

Amidst the cacophony 

It was our world of infinity

(As part of 16 days of activism, we invited entries on Life of Sexual Minorities. We will be showcasing more in the days to come. Watch this space)

16 days of activism | Entry 1

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.