REPEAL 377

It was a beautiful morning, sunny, with a dark lining,
When the Nation arose with indubious expectations
For a sightless puppeteer to appear, and appease the crowd
With her marionettes dancing across a black and white shroud.
The show had a unique story: two men named Jack
Would fall in love, and ride to the stars upon a dinosaur's back.

When came the puppeteer with her box of puppets on her shoulder
And smiled a happy smile, the weather seemed to grow colder;
The puppetry began and the Nation watched in earnest:
All the while the skies grew black, and soon began a tempest;
As Jack fell in love with Jack, a lightning struck the ground
Between them, and the earth cracked open with a terrible sound;
Out of this crack reached a long arm that picked up the two Jacks
And placed them in dank cells, dressed in black-and-white slacks.

This poem is dedicated to the memory of Equality that perished at the hands of the Supreme Court of India on 11 December, 2013. This poem is dedicated to the 100 million people who are from now on, criminals in the eyes of the law. This poem is inspired by the words of Vikram Seth, in "Dubious", which are as follows:

Some men like Jack and some like Jill
I'm glad I like them both but still
I wonder if this freewheeling
Really is an enlightened thing,
Or is its greater scope a sign
Of deviance from some party line?
In the strict ranks of Gay and Straight
What is my status: Stray? Or Great?

MATHURA

I was pinned down, and watched in terror
As the great wooden shaft inched closer;
The man who held it in his hand, leering,
As he trimmed my flower, his shaft searing
My lips, burning the skin which held my
Flower close, my face no longer dry.

I whine in fear at his hardhearted cruelty
And squirm beneath his massive, sweaty body;
The odour of liquor overpowering, intoxicating,
Mixed with the putrid smell of smoke, choking
My throat, my breath weary from the weight
Of the man upon me, whom I hate.

My mouth opens and shuts like that of a fish;
Silently, tacitly, I acknowledge his force
As he eats the cherry upon my breast, I wish
Only for death to be upon me to cleanse
My being, and wash away the filthy white matter,
That courses through me, sowing those unwanted seeds.

All the world watches on, praising the giant
Whose wretched hands rest upon my breast:
"She is not virtuous like the simple Sita;
And hardly fierce like the mighty Durga;
She speaks not against the ugly, forceful brute -
Her pleasure is clear, and that is the truth."

BOMBAY LOCAL

A dirty-red train whizzed past electric posts, and signal lamps,

Past luxurious condominiums, office complexes, and dirty slums:

That great divide between poverty and affluence,

Dotted the landscape of the train's journey but not my conscience.

The train that snaked through the backyards of the miserable

Was not spared the division, as the first-class commuters, insufferable,

Stared through the wire-mesh that separated them from their

Inhuman fellows, crowded together like cattle for slaughter.

The great divide that I witness, and do not care to acknowledge

Is perpetuated from generation to generation, and the baggage

Of impoverishment is passed on from father to son as an heirloom -

The only thing that he could gift, just as he joyously met his doom.

And as the train rolls into the gothic structures of the Victoria

I exit, but never really leaving behind the poor's dysphoria.