Posted in Poem

The Newly Wed Widow

Painting- Mourners
Prannath Mago|Oil on canvas| National Gallery of Modern Art

A girl of twenty-two – pretty and petite
Merely was she aware how lust and love had forbidden intersections
Yet she wakes up next to a strange man-
Now a woman
Four years older, two years wiser he holds her against his bare chest
She looks him in the eye- a little afraid, a little shy
That is when he caress her hair-
There! There she witnesses the beast glide towards a sight that was forever concealed
She peeps at his hand too scared to hold and graze her fingers at the scars of long lost wounds
That! That is when he surrenders himself beneath her gentleness
She steps back shy and hesitant,
Then! Then he leaps towards her and lets her melt amidst his bewildered kindness.
Strangers tied in bonds of matrimony
Together they learn to unravel the lovers they before had never met.

A few months after with love still afresh
She returns from work to home
Leaving behind the sorrows of daylight
At dusk she waits for her eternal sunshine.
Little did she know torments and tragedies awaited on that doomed day’s sunrise.
And HE DID NOT RETURN-
.
.
She couldn’t believe what her eyes saw-
Her lover now shrunk to a silent corpse
The words she heard could never be unheard-
The whispers- they say he’ll never stop by again.
His scent was forever lost
She now had no one who’s touch would melt her soul.

Yet to know the depths of the red in her hair
Yet to adjust the clinky bangles that wouldn’t just go with her outfit
With the awkward pretentious “serene” black and gold across her neck
With a baggage of what haven’t been shared yet
The newly wed widow stood baffled and lost.

Her friends would come; his friends would go
Both their families would say everything will be alright
But all these hopes- based on false pretense

While colour leaves her clothes, her skin stains to pale
Just blotches of red mark her teary eyes and mourning heart
Education drowns in traditions-
They cut her hair- shingled
Calmly, she accepts- not tired to rebel
Just a last gesture for the love she lost
She blames herself quietly for the bad luck she brought
But the people around make it loud and clear.
Though it’s not her fault
She wish to be punished.
She does not want to die
But all of a sudden her ambitions alone are not enough for her to carry on.

Her’s is not a tale of losing feminism
It’s a grieving void that would never be filled
Which is dug deeper with his memories lingering around
The newly wed widow mistakenly looks for him in the not so endearing crowd.
-Ruchi Bhardwaj

Posted in Experience, People, Photography, Poem

PILGRIMS OF OUR OWN SCARS

Inscribed on the skin- narrates the stories of our heroism
And of failures and debt,
Your body- it tells a tale
I wish so could mine
Alas! It speaks silence-
Peeping through the plight of a blank verse.
The scars- they are intriguing
I wish so might be your charm
The ones we inherit
And the ones we create
The ones we dare to embark
We recreate and recreate untill the changed us could reconnect
Indeed, we are the pilgrims of our own scars.

Posted in Artwork, Experience, Poem

The Game Called Perception

Thewomanipretendtobe7

I have an eye

A subtle and kind vision

I see through the window

And create my own stories

The gestures- they vary.

But never are they faltered,

It’s an unfair game called – Perception

Calling for chaos and havoc

Because the strengths are yet to be known

And the weak might be what we worship.

No written rules, No guidelines to abide

Yet the world is the jury-

What decisions are to be made?

No one knows

Yet unfailingly they declare the putrid.

 

-Artwork by Aakriti Thakur

-Poem by Ruchi Bhardwaj

Posted in Article, Artwork, Poem

Imprints Of The Old Playlist And New Songs

Imprints of the old playlist and new songs.jpg
Amidst a subtle chaos in my mind
I saw it, I heard it
I felt it, I visualized.
It spoke of some long lost memory,
Daunted by sudden misery
I agonized the mundane and the dreary.
It was a sweet little melody
A tender gripping hum
But the words- the words were brutal
They were unkind
They unveiled my deep seated fears
And curtains fell on the long guilty strolls-
Because I now had company.
It was music that took me on a new journey
While I peeped through what was I leaving behind,
It left an impression
And more was yet to imprint.

Sometime back I was wondering what my playlist has to say about me. This dilemma finally made its way out of my head when I came across the song ‘Walkashame’ by Meghan Trainor whilst I was biting my nails over an embarrassing incident. It’s a song I used to listen in my late teens after being an imprudent child who now needed to make sure that no matter what her daddy is going to look at her the same way. As I lip synced the lyrics the guilt seemed to descend to a path trodden by none- not even by the darkest memories with a snooze button. This sudden realization accompanied by huge amount of relief urged me to go through my old playlists. Barely a music person but I was shocked to see the variety of artists in the list. As the song ‘Up and up’ by Coldplay started playing my face had a calm smile and singing along with Chris Martin’s voice and visualizing the creative video instilled some hope in me. Exactly the same reaction every single time! The song ‘Anna Sun’ by Walk the moon tempts me to be at that house falling apart and never return. Oh! the teenage love I had for Katy Perry now seems to be a weird phase but worshiping her back then brought a friend and me together. Every time I listen to her songs I end up in nostalgia. The entire album ‘Some Nights’ by Fun had its artistic as well as realistic quirks that made it a mandatory on my playlist back then. ‘Seasons’ by Olly Murs was added when I was caught fidgeting and I needed another chance. I started listening to James Blunt when life was mundane and I longed for the years behind me(can’t make it sound more juvenile). The song ‘Gypsy’ was heard on repeat on a trip when I was learning that everybody is a wanderer on the inside. The song ‘Rude’ by Magic was an influence from people listening to it in college. ‘Comatose’ belongs to the time when I had long talks with an EDM lover friend. His persona suits EDM well but me choosing those songs is probably an old habit of showing care by sharing music. The songs by Lorde are extremely relatable and empowering. Her song ‘Royals’ felt like she just said everything I was thinking about. George Ezra’s young face and mature voice is probably the most melodious irony I am aware of. ‘The Script’ is probably a band that is never going off my playlist. I remember listening to them and wondering how can every line leave such an impact. The recently added album ‘Cleopatra’ by Lumineers is the most beautiful ballad to me so far; may be because I admire the story as well as the protagonist behind those songs. ‘Happier’ by Ed Sheeran  acknowledges a silly yet secret desire. The list is endless. I might cringe when I listen to this music yet I fail to delete these songs. May be it is hard to give up on some songs because now they are a part of me or simply a reminder of an event in past. The list will keep on adding new songs but the old ones are now imprinted on me.

Posted in Artwork, Experience, Graphic art, Poem

Absurd Intersections

absurd-intersections-final-bog-2

Ever been on the verge of crying?

Yet held back ’cause of a scrofulous friend- denial.

The thoughts that’ll be forever damned- ribald, solicitous and vile

Hard to admit – I, being a lingering curse.

Fear the modest; Escape the shy

Reciting my moral-less fable I walk past the adverse.

Oh the magic potion! The wicked witches’ alcohol

Dripping in my body drop by drop

It cuts my heart open

And burns his soul

A mystery of giving in; slowly losing control

I start to talk; Pick up till I babble

I speak my mind- the bold and all the dirty talks

I lose my innocence to him

Now unafraid of harbouring the innocent sins.

Erupting volcano- emotions just not right

I wait for no one to keep an eye

That is when I bitch ‘n’ whine ‘n’ cry

And commit every devious crime.

Yes, now a woman with every thought absurd

I catch up with his every word,

Finally a glimpse of our world’s intersection…

I wake up the next morning

Blind to his new love

Oh! The last night? It wasn’t me!

It was like giving alcohol a tongue and a pair of lips.

-Ruchi Bhardwaj

Posted in Artwork, Poem

The Woman I Pretend To Be..

colours and hues.jpg

I pretend to be calm in the ocean of tremors

I pretend to smile listening to the rumors

Trapped in my own colours and countless hues

I pretend as if I don’t know the real you

I keep away from probing-

Scared my  fears shall be affirmed and true

Aware of the apprehensive depths

Alas! the shallows I fear.

Dread it when shallows are deep

And depths no more obscure.

I have nothing to hide; No need to conceal

Yet I pretend to leave behind an aura of mystique.

Drenched in my own thoughts, soaked with imagination

I pretend not to think the queer.

I know it all- Pretend to be a wandering soul

I pretend to stay in one place

When my world had traversed the entire universe.

I pretend to stay quiet

Listening to my own silence when it makes the never ending creaks

And it hums a little song amidst the bleak

My heart filled with music; A tune ever repeating

The same rhythm just different lyrics

I pretend to stay still not dancing to my own epiphany

I pretend, pretend and pretend- a game that never ends

Not to merge, not to camouflage- but an urge to never blend.

-Ruchi Bhardwaj