Perveens and Truths

Parveen talked over phone,
her voice tired,
not because of the body,
that decays little by little every day,
The fatigue was of the mind, the self,
which had run for a pretty longtime,
after people she thought to be holy or poor souls
she loved and helped,
Nothing draws her anymore now,anywhere,
her life feels like a frothy cup of coffee
that has gone cold.

She has changed her dwelling,
and has moved in
to the house of his foster father,
an eight six year old ailing man,
still not without a fiery temper,
and a whole tumbler of love for her
She feels better, away from the double-faced anacondas,
who ate her food, passed good time,and turned their faces
homeward, to go back
to their parents and wives.

She has learnt her lessons,
and has cut down on entertaining sycophants,
Learns music three days a week,
and has joined a laughter club
It's a solace, she tells,
and is walking in the evenings, with a huge load
of loneliness upon her soldiers.

There was a choice.
Was there a choice for girls like Perveens,
Who give and give even to strangers without flinching, yet
never complain about the let-downs, the heart -breaks.

Could she have married someone and would have
lived like her mother and sisters-in-laws,
going about doing household chores,
gurgling about shopping malls,
trendy costumes and unruly children,
living in their wells chosen by themselves or parents.
Could she have lived like them,
tight-lipped to everything,
or clever enough to get things done her own way?
Lived such an existence
that hacked at her very roots,
her being and her own existence.

She had dreamt too,a woman as she was,
of tread into a world,
holding a hand that cared,
protected and understood,allowing her her sky,
and stayed uninhibited in his own world,
keeping love unbound.

But men are a rare, almost extinct species ,
not available any more.
Parveen still tries to do with working,
cooking, cleaning, doing the interior,
sometimes sleeps on the floor,walks ten miles in a group,
and reads Shelly to Jhumpa lahiri, and Rushdi too,
albeit with a little distaste,
and is having her yoga lessons, and Thumri.

Perveens have to be alone, because they have wings.
Though betrayed a hundred times,she
still gets up and runs to help people
holding her heart,
She has to be the Perveen she is,
without denial.

'It's mid-life crisis,'
The psychiatrist told,
'this disinterest in things.
You should have married.'

'I had tried' she mumbled,
I had searched, and mingled,
What I got was the prospect of a few needs fulfilled,
and so many things, that could have killed me little by little,
plucking my feathers one by one
I didn't find my reflection, in whose shadow,
I would have happily toiled and rested.

Now I die too,
but it's not a man,a self-declared demigod
whose imposing self is suffocating and killing me,
little by little,
at least I am able to breathe while I die,
and can respect my gift.

I imagined her,
Standing on the roof of her foster father's giant house
Looking at the sky,
With sadness and weariness
largely written on her face,
and her eyes scanning the farther horizon,
Thinking nothing in particular,
Standing with her lovely hair scattered
around her beautiful face
that betrayed nothing.