Dowry

Love is not bought, it cannot be sold,

So every girl must be told

One was taunted, again and again,

She tried to argue, but all in vain

One was made submissive and weak,

She opposed, but was slapped on the cheek

One was hit, breaking her chain,

She never cried, hiding her pain

One could not conceive a male,

What do I say, it was a sad tale

One was taught to lower her gaze,

Another was tortured and set ablaze

These evils will continue to prevail,

when one chooses men who are spineless and frail

When one feeds them with more cash,

Be prepared for a deep gash

In small towns of North Indian states,

Some lure grooms with cash as baits

I writhe in guilt, night and day,

Why didn't I raise my voice yesterday?

Niharika Prasad

Love is Pure

 

Is 'love' a foreign theory?

I have often been told so,

Of this constant argument, I'm so weary,

As I am someone, who goes with the flow

Arranged marriage is the trend here,

But are they not so symbiotic?

Symbiosis is not love, my dear,

Love is a potent narcotic

Love is selfless, love is pure

A deep connection, soul to soul 

Mutual dependency is wise, sure

But love gets you out of control

I pray for it, night and day,

I dream of love, yes, even today,

For I am a hopeless romantic

I slowly wither, becoming more frantic

Niharika Prasad

Juliet without Romeo

 

My love story did not begin with flowers, chocolates, or candlelight dinners. It started with grief. There are several ways in which people mourn a loss. Rarely, one does not cry, but acts indifferent to the tragedy. My reaction to my divorce was similar, I continued to wear my ring even though the stone failed to symbolize any bond. Maybe it gave me a false sense of protection in a senseless society. I belong to a very small town in rural India, where women accomplish 108 circles around a banyan tree to enhance their nuptial bliss. A town where a husband is worshipped, even if he abuses his wife; where married women proudly mark themselves with vermillion streaked from their forehead to their nose tip on festivals. To me, that did bear an uncanny resemblance to the face of a striped chipmunk.

 

My parents spoke about my separation in muffled whispers as if I had done a hideous crime. Neighbourhood aunties surveyed me with narrowed hawk-like eyes. Few others, glared at me with eyes analogous to a tree frog, as if I was a Dalit who had spat in a public well during the pre-Gandhian era. I signed off patients’ reports at my workplace as Dr (Mrs.) Niharika.  Isn’t ‘Dr’ enough? Or had I misspent five years of my life toiling in vain? Would a woman’s identity always be bound to a man’s? They say a few lucky ones are blessed with second bachelorhood. I struggled to find a silver lining.

 

I concealed my agony behind a smile, but my heart is so vestigial, I wanted to pull it out and beat it with a saucepan. It is a flawed crystal, too fragile. Richter eight shockwaves rippled through my heart. I had always been a typical damsel in distress. I crumbled, unable to bear the pressure. The pressure built up akin to a dormant volcano fuming on the inside. I had to pick up all the broken pieces and rebuild myself. I wished for somebody to wipe my tears, to applaud me, but I was alone.

 

Writing had always been my hobby, so I decided to vent my angst on paper. I wrote in block letters- ‘JULIET WITHOUT ROMEO.’ I frowned like a Northern Cardinal ‘angry bird’ and looked around wrestling with the cap of my pen. My laptop was sprawled open on my bed and a neon screen stared at me invitingly. I leaned in and typed the same letters. As I scrolled down the usual, repetitious google search, one brought a smirk to my face. Now that made perfect sense. Juliet without Romeo, what would a Juliet without Romeo be, well, umm, “ALIVE” of course! It was my mini-Eureka moment. I decided to toss away the heavy backpack of my sore past, the one that had been weighing me down, the one preventing me from flying. I looked into the mirror and discovered the one person that would change my life forever. If I could not care for myself, who would? Self-love is the cement foundation for all other forms of love. I decided to do the things that gave me joy, such as writing. I soared with academic success; my career flourished. I compiled my poetry and published it into a bestselling book.

 

Love manifests itself in many forms, but self-love is the most powerful form of love. It is ever-lasting as it is the one, let us say, an eighty-year-old would clutch to after the loss or death of his partner. It is the one which would keep him going for the rest of his life. It is intoxicating and liberating. It is a pity that self-love, which is such a basic and universal form of love, is still regarded as unconventional in our society. Now I am not one of those self-admiring females who pout at themselves to freeze the slimmest version of their face, for a perfect selfie. In the present generation, self-love is equated with narcissism. I sincerely hope that more women are allowed to embrace it, after all, it is a matter of choice. Yes, personal choice. Just like choosing noodles over biryani in a restaurant. Or like religion, being Hindu or Muslim. Or being straight, gay, or lesbian. Interference or dominance in such choices can have disastrous consequences.

 

What form of love is more primitive, more fundamental, and more obligatory than loving oneself? I felt I was strong enough, worthy enough, capable enough. Maybe all this while, I had been looking for someone to love me, but now I realized I was enough. Sunlight filtered into my room through a leafy sieve. I had transformed. I was still the princess I used to be, but I no longer needed a knight in shining armour.

 

Tag to brag

Once there was a little girl, a girl too plain,
She was sent to a boarding school,
Where she must remain
 
She must pronounce the words right,
She must learn sophistication,
And as a student, shine bright
 
They giggled and teased
They mocked her clothes,
In a cold silence, she grieved, she grieved
 
The girl tried to fit in, she tried her best,
At night she wept on her pillow,
She never got any rest
 
She strived to earn the tag,
Her sole purpose there,
Was for her dad to brag
 
She suffered in silence, she never complained
After all, she was a village girl,
Even her tag was stained
 
She thought one day she would rise,
One day she will have a voice
And no tears in her eyes
 
All she had to do, was look within,
She had to give up all fear,
The girl was never meant to fit in.

Niharika Prasad

Faith

No religion teaches anything wrong. Only people can do right or wrong. There is only one God, the creator. That God may be worshipped in any form, according to the faith of the person. Worship is merely a way to give strength, and hope, and to reinforce that faith. 

Commercialization of religion is a sin.

The highest worship is showing empathy and altruism.

The highest religion is humanity. 

 

Angels in Disguise

 

I worked once in a small town, in a North Indian state,

Where doctors are considered Lord Brahma, the great

Where a doctor is considered as an angel in disguise,

How can he ever do anything unwise?

But patients started coming to me,

Doctor, you need to include more findings you see!

I got scared, I was a little taken aback,

What was that, my reports lacked?

I read a report, a diploma in USG doctor gave,

Oh dear, it was 'imagination' and not imaging at play!!!

Where illiteracy and ignorance rule a place,

Greed and shrewdness find a base

Appendicitis, Calculus, and Torsion are all served on a plate,

Cater to whatever the surgeon says

The common man was born to pay,

Let us take his money, he is easy prey

Doctors travel in Toyota, Audi and Ford,

Nobody to question, they fear no God

Superspecialists, why toil night and day?

Let's go to Paris, Hawaii and London on a holiday!

Why strain your eyes telereporting so much?

Panipuri sellers and barbers earn better as such

Patients pester doctors, "Prescribe more," they say,

Physicians list multiple multivitamins right away 

They sing in a chorus, Doctor is God, Doctor is God

Open your eyes, your doctor could be a fraud!

Religion was the flourishing business yesterday,

Healthcare is the new trade, what do you say??

Niharika Prasad

Delicate Hearts

I'm not going anywhere, you said, so I waited,

I waited for as long as I could,

And all this while, my heart and mind debated,

But neither had understood

 

Or maybe understood, but chose not to believe,

Such was the comfort of your lies,

So sweetly did they deceive,

That I chose to close my eyes

 

I was already destined for devastation,

And hence I let you destroy me,

Your love, a divine intoxication,

Bled like a setting sun, on a shiny sea.

 

I let you carry my heart to risky heights,

Numbing me with ecstasy,

I let you spin a web of many delights,

Luring me, driving me to lunacy.

 

And all this while I knew, that I would stop,

Just when you would think you had won,

Delicate hearts can shatter with a drop,

Mine was not meant for your fun.

 

When you thought I was stupid,

Darling I was just playing along,

Your entrance was no work of a Cupid,

I was ahead of you, all along.

 

Were you in love, or was it blind lust?

Like a dog chasing every flashy car,

Don't you think it is a bit unjust,

To abandon me after dragging me this far.

 

Niharika Prasad