A new book of poetry borrows from life to portray the experiences of young Indian women today

Exam Boards

“Ma’am, please.
Five more minutes, please.”
My tears blot the ink.

She pulls my answer sheet so
forcefully that her body
falls through the window.

She lands on her paws –
a ferocious black cat,
eyes red, racing towards me.

Her claws aim for my face.
6 am. My alarm rings.
I feel the crescent moon and

small star scratched
on my forehead.
I look in my mirror. C+.

I rush for my next exam.
A heavy iron watch cuffs
my wrist. “Drop your pen

when asked. Would be a shame
to snap this delicate thing.”
She laughs. The bell rings. I write.

Adulting

The trumpeting horns
mixed with shrill curses
might help me vent my frustration.

The prolonged work hours meshed
with mandatory corporate events might help me
forget the real laughs I shared with friends.

The accidental shoulder rubs
on a crammed commute
might make me feel less lonely.

My “social” drinking and smoking
might just provide the intoxicating
carelessness I crave.

My orchestrated photos
of airport hops and rooftop restaurants
might convince me I made it in life.

The smallness of my 1 BHK
apartment – the place I call home –
might help me unsee its emptiness.

Friends

A few red sole pumps.
Pretty. Delicate. Studded.
Parties. Drinks. Stories on Instagram.
The weekend whirls by.
Afterwards, my wallet refuses to replenish
and blisters take weeks to heal.
Hazy names. Hazier faces.

A few tennis shoes.
Frowned on at a party.
Unwelcome at work.
Available only thrice a week.
for a quick game.
Sweat trickles down my back.
I am exhausted.

One slip-on shoe.
Cushions my fall.
Stretches to wrap me.
We are inseparable.
Dance. Library. Work. Workout. Theatre.
Spring. Summer. Fall. Winter.
No limping. No tripping. No slipping.
I take lighter steps.