Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Cultural Studies: In the realm of Fire.

Homosexuality has been condemned as a social aberration for centuries. Even Lord Macaulay’s Indian Penal Code renders it an unnatural act, liable to punishment. Despite finding references to it in religious scriptures, if not in social sanction, homosexuality has only now begun to find acceptance within the country. The gay pride parades and prime time debates in the media mark the beginning of what is going to be a long drawn battle for acceptance. It will take generations for mindsets to change, for the social stigma to subside. In Delhi HC’s stay on prosecution of homosexuality has led to an appeal still pending in the Supreme Court. The issue lies in a limbo of uncertainty.

Deepa Mehta’s Fire was a powerful statement and a path-breaking challenge to the prevalent social norms on the subject. The message was simple – man had the right to life and desire. The suppression of yearning only multiplied it tenfold. Radha (Shabana Azmi) and Sita (Nandita Das) – the main protagonists – find comfort and solace in their unusual companionship after being neglected by their respective husbands.

The film attracted its fair share of controversy for its bold theme and bolder enactment. Shabana Azmi had even admitted to being hesitant while signing for the film, so forbidden was the subject. Through this project, we shall study the cultural implications of homosexuality projected through the film in a systematic manner.

GENERAL PERCEPTION OF HOMOSEXUALITY

A recent survey in a newspaper had revealed a growing acceptance for homosexuality in society. However, there is no way to validate the answers of those interviewed, for it has now become politically correct to support homosexuality. Openly, at least. There still lingers a less idyllic reality behind closed doors and closets of sexuality. Anonymous case studies have exposed a cultural hypocrisy and a blatant refusal on the part of the parents to accept their child’s sexuality.

The acknowledgement of sexual love between a man and a woman in our culture has always been a disconcerting topic of discussion, one that was hurriedly swept under the carpet. Therefore, the instances of homosexual behaviour were considered a “Western import”, a phenomenon that was not a part of “Indian culture.” Needless to say, it has only begun to be noticed as an alternate sexuality.

Gay and lesbian couples have been blackmailed into silence as they fear persecution and for their reputation under Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code. Yoga guru Baba Ramdev was outspoken in his opinion of homosexuality, brazenly labelling it as a ‘disease’, one that could be cured by yoga. Manvendra Singh Gohil, the gay prince of Rajpipla had openly taken up Ramdev on this claim.[1]

The short-term public memory ensured that the controversy died a natural death. Recently, Health Minister Ghulam Nabi Azad had stated that homosexuality was not only a disease, “but it is also unnatural.”[2] This comment raised a hornet’s net on this issue.
In this environment of disparagement, few have mustered the courage to live their reality openly.

A majority of them submit to the social pressure and biological necessity of heterosexual marriages. Inevitably, neither partner is able to satisfy the other. However, the stark truth remains hidden. Such couples then exist in a state of unfortunate compromise.

GAY INDIAN CELEBRITIES

There are only a handful of Indian celebrities who are open about their sexuality. Even filmmaker Karan Johar, known for his forthrightness declined to comment over his much speculated sexuality. Others like Manvendra Singh Gohil, designer Rohit Verma, actor Bobby Darling and journalist Ashok Row Kavi had to face immense family disapproval and social embarrassment for coming out of the closet.

Designer Rohit Bal has always been candid about his sexuality and his relationship with upcoming model, Lalit Tehlan. When asked about his stance in an interview he said, “Why shouldn’t I be open?... I have no control over my likes and dislikes. God made me like this. What I do in my bedroom has nothing to do with my abilities as a designer… you can’t be born a cat and act like a dog. It’s better to live… with dignity.”

It is very disheartening for the LGBT community to live in a society which evaluates them on the “good Indian values” they are to uphold than on all that they have to offer. It should be no surprise to any of us to still have fewer celebrities willingly holding a beacon of hope for the common man, unlike the West.
Noted mythologist, Dr. Devdutt Patnaik has stated in one of his columns that the concept of homosexuality was not alien to Indian culture.[3] A sense of conservatism descended during the era of the British rule in India. Macaulay’s draconian law in section 377 of the Indian Penal Code enforced a sense of shame. In abiding within the shackles of colonial supremacy, the cultural prominence of homosexuality was forgotten.

In the grand pagodas of eastern and southern India such as Puri and Tanjore, we find depictions of erotic same-sex liaison. Similar images adorned the prayer halls and cave temples of monastic orders such as Jainism and Buddhism.

Homosexuality finds an instance in Valmiki’s Ramayana where Rakshasa women would kiss and embrace. As also in the Padma Purana which had two queens attempting to conceive by making love to each other after the untimely death of their husband.

There is also the story of Shikandi in Mahabharata, who despite being born a girl had been raised like a boy. Later in the story, Shikandi acquires male organs to make love to his wife in order to prove his manhood.

Therefore, to dismiss homosexuality as an affliction from the Western culture reeks of ignorance about our own culture. It has, after all, been a reality for centuries and shall continue to do so.

FIRE – AN OVERVIEW
·         The Plot:  A newly wedded bride, Sita (Nandita Das) is greatly disillusioned by her husband’s aloofness. She senses the same emptiness in her sister-in-law, Radha (Shabana Azmi), whose husband has taken an oath of celibacy. Their humdrum existence, marked only by their domestic errands and festivals, brings them closer.

It takes a stolen kiss one night for the women to realise their mutual attraction for each other. From that point onward begins a clandestine romance between opposites, tempered with a latent fear of society. It eventually builds and reaches a point where all regard for “societal values” is lost.

Weary of the patriarchal oppression, the women leave the house together to face an uncertain future, but a shared destiny.
·         Relevance:  Although the theme of Fire is homosexuality, there is a strong undercurrent of chauvinism. Director Deepa Mehta has tried to reveal the hypocrisy of the male dominated society. The trespasses committed by the male members of the family are ignored, their gravity negated. But a trait as natural as homosexuality as a means to satisfying a natural urge is met with disdain and eventual ostracism.

The consequences greatly suppressed the individual’s right to choose for centuries. Through this film, Ms. Mehta has ignited and passed on the Fire of defiance at a time when it was most needed.
·         Portrayal of homosexuality and other characters in the film:  The director Deepa Mehta had, without enforcing stereotypes, etched memorable and realistic characters on celluloid. From the outside, Sita and Radha’s joint family (including their spouses, an ailing mother-in-law and a servant) seems a typical middle-class set-up with the men earning and the women having precious little to occupy themselves with.

The two protagonists are regular home-makers, fulfilling everyone’s needs but their own. Beneath the façade of a conservative household lay a reality of discontentment, religious superstition and a sub-text of patriarchy. Sita’s husband, Jatin (Javed Jaffrey) is still in a relationship with his Japanese girlfriend. Radha’s husband, Ashok (Kulbhushan Kharbanda) neglects her for the higher cause of “spirituality.”

The two women work dutifully at the dhaba owned by their husbands; tend to their mother-in-law and the household chores. The men are never expected to help around the house and Jatin’s extra-marital affair is never spoken strongly against. However, when the two women discover and act upon their true sexual impulse, it is met by collective revulsion.

The family, being a victim of its own conditioning, shuns the women. The husbands are never questioned about their lack of contribution since the women are expected to pick up after them.

The family’s horror pertaining to their sexuality seems to stem as much from an archaic idea of sexuality as from the thought of women seeking their own happiness beyond the oppressive social parameters.

Ashok’s reaction to his wife, Radha’s sexuality is peculiar. He seems less offended by the revelation than by the fact that he could not satisfy her. He considers her homosexuality a slight to his own manhood.

Sita’s husband Jatin too, does not take very kindly to her declination of his sexual overtures.
·         Reception:  The film raised eyebrows and a lot of uncomfortable questions about the real prevalence of the “disease.” Offended MPs repeatedly asserted that even if there existed clandestine liaisons between women, the film would only encourage such “perverse behaviour.”

The Shiv Sena protested against the film, by calling it an insult to Hinduism and Indian culture. Cinema halls were vandalised, with the pandemonium ending only on the condition that the female protagonists were given Muslim names. Bal Thackeray claimed that homosexuality did not exist in Hindu families. He also said that ‘Radha’ and ‘Sita’ were names of Hindu goddesses, hence a direct affront to the religion.

The extreme political backlash compelled Ms. Mehta to appeal to the Supreme Court for the smooth running of the film. There was immense media attention given to the parliamentary debates. The morality and the message in the film were questioned and counter-questioned. Ashok Row Kavi in defense of the film said that the protests were the latest form of “gay bashing in homophobic India.”

However, the public reaction was entirely different. The film ran to packed houses for three weeks and received much critical acclaim. Fire is said to be India’s first film on lesbianism. Films made on the same topic followed much later. Fire was the forerunner and precursor to this genre.

The encouraging feedback to the film was to later motivate more filmmakers to make something along the same lines. Fire, as Deepa Mehta had put it, was not a film about homosexuality so much as it was about the choices a person made.

For the protagonists, it was indeed a difficult choice to make between breaking free and preserving the family structure.
CONCLUSION
The research and opinions penned for this project are an attempt to evenly balance the issue of homosexuality. It is an attempt to validate a pro-homosexual stand with a reaffirmation in the changing times. It is only when an individual applies thought to a notion, pre-conceived or otherwise, does a clearer image appear from an academic point of view.

This project begs to examine the following question – what is the future of homosexuality in India? Will there be an eventual acceptance? Will the politicization of the issue come to an end? When will section 377 be repealed from the Indian Penal Code? It has already been upheld by the Delhi High Court and awaits a judgement of finality from the Apex Court.

Though there is greater acceptance of homosexuality than in 1996, (the year Fire was released), it remains to be seen if collective will can be mustered to bring about a change in legislation. In that event, the issue will be tackled on an open platform and addressed with a spirit of acceptance.

Freedom of self-expression does not have to be clamped down because of a dictatorial tyranny in a democracy. More and more NGOs have come out in open support of the LGBT community. They are now more assertive about their rights and vocal about the portrayal of gay stereotypes in movies.

It is time that a suppressed and criminalized gay community rose to demand equality, recognition and respect. It is too late to shun the tide of progress. It is time to have the issue gain importance for a public podium. The time is now.


[2] This had led to an angry response from the readers and members of the LGBT community alike: http://www.mid-day.com/news/2011/jul/050711-Pink-community-Gay-Ghulam-Nabi-Azad-LGBT-homosexuality.htm
[3] Dr. Patnaik’s insightful article on homosexuality and the Indian culture is available here: http://devdutt.com/did-homosexuality-exist-in-ancient-india/

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Mad, mad, mad, mad world.

Mom was right, I realize after a discussion some days ago. Normality is dead. The world swings on extremity. A hot-tempered person is hysterical to the point where Satan himself would beg for mercy. And if they tend to tear-up, hoo boy... it's easier to barricade yourself from gushing water.

No, seriously. Where did the 'normal' people go? It's subjective I'm sure. But normal for me is a person who wouldn't intentionally harm someone. Or would be a little more... stable, in the face of adversity. Don't see that happening, do we? We see people putting guns to their heads. Slitting their wrists. Taking pills. Hell, hanging themselves, if they're too considerate to leave a mess around.

But why do it? Isn't there always a choice? Is the intolerance for imperfections so unbearable? People are normal, on the face of things. They'll greet you with a smile, speak good of the weather, give some friendly advice when you ask for it.

How long do you have to know a person before you see their real... colours, for lack of a better word... ? Because it is scary when you find out what they're about, in the long run. Very scary, indeed!

Strange times, these... makes it all the more difficult to find and sustain any kind of meaningful relationship. :|

What's wrong with love?

I roll my eyes whenever a friend puts up a self-pitying Facebook status lamenting the loss of love and how it doesn't exist or how some random guy doesn't take her calls or how she's all alone in a crowd, unloved and abandoned by pretty much everyone.

It makes me angry. So, so angry. What would a person barely out of teenage know about love? A real understanding of the matter at hand (or life in general) takes years. If humans lived longer, and women did not have a biological clock to hyperventilate about, I'm certain everyone would marry late into their 40s. It's the time when everyone's more or less sensible, quirky (but more discreet about it) and have learned the all-essential quality of toleration.

I don't understand my friends's notion of romance. So you eat out a couple of times. Talk on the phone till either your balance or your battery is exhausted. But when it comes to compromise, out fly the daggers! And down stream the tears... :\

I don't know if it's technology, emotional unavailablity or if my lot is wired differently. But people seem to have no patience for any kind of adjustment. Or maturity. Or the slightest bit of sense in their heads.

I am aware that I sound condescending in my approach. More so, since I have never been in a relationship. I had my reasons, of course. They just don't need justifying. Either way, I have a fairly decent idea of what it feels like to be let down. Royally. So I'd like to believe I know what I'm talking about.

I find the friends who claim to be abandoned by the world at large most ungrateful.

Really now, you've got family. You've got friends. You don't want to tell them what's on your mind. And you expect them to get you. It seems a difficult mental process to understand.

And it's a gender universal thing. Love is too intense and powerful a feeling to be used lightly, thrown around for the next person you share your pizza with.

A huge issue I find with my peers is that they want to grow up. And really fast at that too. We want the best of things (not in an evil, materialistic way). We want to commit and surrender completely to the charm of a beautiful relationship. Except we don't know how to. The compromise is always one-sided and the grass is always greener on the other side.

We've forgotten to wait for love. Because we're too busy trying to seek every ounce of it from whoever bestows it upon us. It's okay to wait, I want to tell my friends at times. It's okay to want to be single. It's okay to be by yourself, till you find a truly mature person you can spend your time with. Why are we in such a hurry? Why do we 'love' with such passion, only to weep at its inevitable fizzle?

Why do we pick a partner over self-esteem? Humiliation over self-reliance? Misery over sorrow? Believe you me, happiness really is a matter of choice sometimes. But when, oh when will we ever learn? :)

Friday, November 25, 2011

New Guy.

Our new Introduction to Journalism teacher did what our near-matriarchal department head couldn't do. He got us to read the papers. I have never before, in any subject, seen such an active participation from the class when it came to current affairs.

I'm not quite sure what compelling power of persuasion he holds over the class. Good speaking skills, I'll hand that to him. Also the fact that he's probably the only young, strapping lad a lot of girls in a Christian convent have seen in a long, long time. I sit amused during his classes, watching their reactions, and his own. For the most part (or maybe all the time), he seems blissfully unaware that he's in a class full of some of the hottest chicks on campus (a list I find myself excluded from. Woefully.).

It's a good thing. Decent men who don't ogle? May their tribe increase. Decent men who get hot chicks interested in *gasp* papers?? May God grant you immortality.

The gentleman in question, sadly, is not devoid of his own personal grievances. And that includes a defamation suit filed against him (yes, that won him universal sympathy from the class). Still, he takes it in his stride, teaches us - a bunch of crazy girls with unbelievable patience, before rushing off to what I can only assume is a thankless field job at the paper he works on. Hopefully, we'll get to know him better as the semester progresses.

Nice guy. New guy. I think we'll get on just fine with him. Some, I suspect, much better than the others. ;D

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

... And God said, "Yes."

I always believed that waxing was the worst thing that could happen to a woman. Girl, if you start early (sucks to hormones!). It's messy, HOT (ooh, so hot, in the most unpleasant way imaginable) and painful. I'm never in the best of moods, or the most amicable disposition in such situations. Mostly... I curse my womanhood and wonder why in goddamn hell, did the Soviet spies not torture Bond like this in one of the movies.

My beautician is a 55 year old Maharashtrian lady. Let's call her Chanda. She's a rather chatty species of womankind, always sharing intimate details of her life, it's complexities (mostly tragic) and her daily plans. I suppose it is rude, but I can't contribute much to the conversation beyond an odd monosyllable (if that). Not when my hair follicles are being ripped out of their sockets.

But that in no way inhibited her from making any kind of conversation with a red-faced teeny-dult (teenager and adult, keep up!), who's too busy praying to the heavens for deliverance. When I'm not writhing with agony over my waxed-out, sizzled skin, I am actually listening to her. The little I do get to hear, since our interactions are restricted to her monthly visits.

Chanda is must be one of the most unfortunate women I know. Not exactly an epitome of beauty and good health (her massive dark, stooping frame reminding me of an over-sized bull), she was hurriedly married off to the first man who came her way. He was a philanderer and made her life miserable. And one fine day, died of AIDS ("Because he was shagging a bar girl," she once nonchalantly told mom).

Her greedy sisters descended upon what was left of her ancestral property. There was no retirement written in her destiny. No easy day. She's been working as a door-to-door beautician for more than 30 years now. But life's pressures remain largely unrelenting. She still lives a life of near-penury. Her young son (5th grader at the time of writing this blog post) doesn't study. There is no family, no support system around to call her own. It must be a very lonely existence.

I feel sorry for her. I really do, when I'm not cursing under my breath after my skin reddens. I don't think she feels any kind of self-pity, though. Perhaps she doesn't have the time. She is as generous as she is poor (gullible too, despite the austere, daunting front and appearance). And that is exactly why people take advantage of her.

That is the story of Chanda's life. And how she loses it, piece by piece. Every damn day. She grows sicker, a diabetic with a bad back. Her son lives each day, fearful of the moment when he will lose her forever. And it makes me sad.

People... are born with a destiny. We know about Shakespeare's quote (and it is quoted ever so often) about some people being born for greatness, others achieving it and so on. But what about the ones who don't achieve it? What about the ones who remain backstage? Thankless stage-hands? Whatever becomes of them?

It is very difficult to understand God's business of allocating greatness and fortune to some people. Unlike the government doling out their share of privileges, we can't question God for the same. Or file a law suit against him for giving us a raw deal (though that would be kind of interesting...).

Strange thing about life... it drags on. And it's up to you to make it better. Because God won't. Maybe there isn't one. But I know one thing for sure. That if you turn to God and you ask him, "Lord, can this get any worse?", be assured that he will turn around and say, "Yes."

It is something we can either fear or be grateful for. That it could get worse and it hasn't so far. I learnt this bit from a lady I'd met in London. Her name was Rani. She had been as unfortunate as Chanda when it came to wealth and spouses (in Rani's case, there were two). Add to the mixture domestic violence, and the traumatic loss of her older son. She lives with her younger one in a London suburb somewhere... (she's moved places and we haven't been in touch).

She was a chatterbox too. I could run out of breath in the long walk from her house to my uncle's (whom I was staying with), but she never did. No, Rani could go on and on about her daily schedule and her little observations on the most insignificant things one wouldn't really care about.

I'd met her sometime in 2008, a year after my life had come apart (details are not important) and found her to be a rather inspiring presence (once you got past all that jabbering... oh boy, could she talk!). One day, when I couldn't hold it in anymore, I asked her what kept her so optimistic all the time. 24/7. I mean, really... it seemed so perfect.

I eagerly awaited a brilliant Hollywood-ian response, some epic speech which I would write in my diary (or post on a blog some day). Instead, all I got was - "I think about all the unfortunate women in the third world countries and I realize that I am better off than them. People go through a lot worse."

It felt like such a damp squib. I really did need a pep talk, then. Something to remind me why my life didn't suck at that point in time. Quite sadly, I never got a satisfying enough one. Ever. So when I thought back to what she had said to me that day in the garden (all I remember is the green grass and her giving a generous charity donation to an African-American man in the corner), it seemed a much simpler explanation than anything one could offer.

I realized in that strange moment of epiphany that... you find your own happiness. That there'll always be someone a rung lower than you. And another, higher. Climbing up and down was up to us. It was all about perception. Your reaction to a particular situation.

It was good to have met these ladies. They were both so different in terms of background, community and appearance (Rani was a stunner in her time!). But oddly bound together by... similar circumstance? I choose not to call it misfortune.

They have a way of reminding you about gratitude. Why getting your spirit crushed isn't the end of the world. Because the bottomline is... spirits don't. Which is why they're indomitable. Which is why they heal. Slowly... somewhere under your skin. If you listen carefully... feel it. Really feel it.

As I realized some time later on, God does say "Yes" when you ask him about the 'worse' aspect of things. Maybe He enjoys it secretly.

Which is why you should ask not for a lighter cross but for a stronger back. Always. And he will say "yes" to that, too. :)

Monday, May 30, 2011

An Angel's Fate

Given below is the sequel to Broken Angel, a poem written by my friend Daniella. Was typed around 5 AM in the morning and I nearly slept on the keyboard after that.  I hope things are making sense.

   She lay battered on the floor. Only emotionally, but it was more unbearable than the physicality of pain. Nothing would make him come back. Him, time, happiness.... perhaps even sanity. They were long gone, cherished moments of something... beautiful... Never to return...

   She had loved him with all her heart. Yearned for him with her entire being. Every fibre of her existence. "You keep me alive," he'd whispered to her during an unforgettable moment of... was it ecstasy? Was that the best way to describe it? The only way? She had been there when he had lain on the floor, broken, just the way she was now. His life had been a burden to him. She had lifted it off his chest. And he grew light... lighter than a feather, than a breeze on a summer day... and then he slipped through her fingers till she grasped nothing but the air.

   He had taken everything she could have given him and walked away. That's it. He had never turned back, never bothered to ask if she was alive... or just struggling to be... He just left.

   She picked herself off the ground and staggered to the mirror. Her kohl-lined eyes were smudged at the corners. She looked a mess. And that's because I consider myself one. Maybe it was best if she... died. There was nothing else to live for. No family, no friends... a job? Well...

   She walked into her bedroom. Their picture was still on the bed. He'd moved out long ago but she never had the heart to give it away. She looked into his eyes, the ones that smiled at her through the frame. It seemed a smug one to her. As if he was jeering at her. Telling her that he could live without her, move on without looking back. The dormant rage inside her chest coiled tightly around her ribs. She clutched at the picture frame tightly.

   How dare he... She threw it hard, as hard as she could throw it, across the room. The frame shattered from the devastating impact, as hard as her heart had been. She stepped on the picture again and again. Then tore it apart. Two halves, then four, then eight...till it couldn't be torn any further.

   "I don't need you!" she hollered at the mutilated remains of a treasured memory. "I was living without you! And I was happy!" She was happy before him. She could be happy afer him. Who was he to determine the way her feelings flowed? Since when had he been given the power? She realized with an optimistic surge of energy that she hated him. She was delighted and began to feed off this stimulus.

   "I hate you...." she hissed at the picture. "I hate you!" She spat at it, and then threw it away. She went back to the bathroom mirror. She dabbed a cotton carefully around her eyes. She applied the kohl again. It looked much better. Her untamed, unruly mass of black curly hair found its way into a prim and proper ponytail. She still looked like she was ready to grab that pathetic bastard by the tie she'd gifted him and hang him with it. Or do worse... there was a lot one could do with little.

   She laughed at the thought. The reflection laughed too. It looked good... it felt amazing. She laughed some more, even though she didn't feel up to it. But then she found it came quite naturally. Fool... she chided herself. Crying over a guy... In her heart of hearts, she was bitter. Wounded and bleeding too. She was so aware of it. The laughter was such a facade... But that did not mean she could not face life... No, she could. Of course, she could! No one could stop her. No. one.

   She slipped out of her faded kurti into another one. It was old too, but in comparatively better condition. She wore a pair of dark jeans instead of her usual chudidaar under it. It looked much better. She would go roam the streets. It was decided. It wasn't particularly late, and the streets were rather safe too. Hell, no! She'd take a bus and get off somewhere. An unknown destination. Explore it like it was her home.

   You're crazy! the voice inside said. Just moments ago, you were... She blanked the thought out. Thinking about it won't help... She looked forward to the ride anyway. She ended up boarding one of those deluxe buses with a television. She felt like a queen.

   The TV showed a scene from the movie, Life in a Metro. Irrfan Khan and Konkana Sen Sharma sat by the sea shore. He was trying to talk some sense into her about letting go. "You know," he told her, "I had a friend who had bought a car recently. But he said he'd take it out for a spin only and only if all the city's street lights were green."

   "That's silly!" Konkana laughed, "you're bound to find a red light some place or the other!" Irrfan had smiled. "That's the exact same thing with life." The girl leaned deeper into her seat. She shared the duo's amusement. There was a great deal of truth in his words. She craned her neck out of the window and saw The Gateway of India in the distance. The bus did not seem to be stopping there. But she would be.

   She got off at a traffic signal and walked the rest of the way there. It rained. She did not hide from it. It rained harder. She laughed. She played with the kids who danced in the puddles there. She scored her very first goal in their gully football. She ate road-side junk till she was close to bursting. She walked barefeet in the mud. On the beach. She was doing what she had forgotten to do in a while.... She lived.

   She walked around the majestic monument and leaned against its wall. She looked up at the sky. It was darkish purple. It's rain offering and the wind caressed her like a blessing. Like a sign from above. It was the most beautiful feeling she had ever felt. The most beautiful sight she had ever seen. Above all, it was the most beautiful moment in her life... yet.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Broken Angel

Hi folks. I did not write this poem. It's something my friend Daniella had uploaded on Facebook. It troubled me no end, when I read this around 3 AM, the first day of my vacation. And I just HAD TO write a sequel to this. It shall be uploaded shortly. Until then... please read and comment.


 Crooked and torn it falls upon the ground
A stealy and very unsuspected sound
At first i raised my head to check for strangers there
But silence and loneliness was all that i found.

The four lettered word
A dreaded fortune torn
 i felt it all the time
Could it melt your heart of stone???

The silence around me ...Pierced my silent heart
The creaking bench had moss that showed decay within
How could i loose it? Loose it without bargain
How’d u break the chains.. Who'd let u in??

As leather and thread
Made boots to cover your rugged feet
You held your head high
Must say your now elite
Crushing a soul aint bad
But it aint that good I’d say..
But all id ask u now..
Is why'd  u promise you’d stay??

The tie I’d beg u to wear
Is now your sign of pride
I cry each moment cause that tie
Has now purchased u a bride

Cigarettes and alcohol
An integral part of ur life
Today i regret separating u
I’ve helped her become ur wife

Today alone i sit upon this garden bench
I can’t go on no more
This life is but a wrench

All that’s happened now...
Every little bit of my life
Has made me realise..
Yes I’ve made mistakes
You’ve given me only strife

A tear roles down my cheek..
I feel alone ...fore lone...
Damn it ...uve left me
Totally torn….

Broken thats what i am
A broken angel for u...
Useless and totally ruined..
But this is the truth..

This angel is broken and wounded..
Hurt and nearly dead ...
A broken angel was in love with u.. Would u care to say a goodbye?
Cause she has now reached her death bed...