Sunday, November 21, 2010

Blowing Horns

A certain death versus
an existence dabbling
with the lower fragments
of the poverty line,
the line of poverty.

My government
and My parents
made the obvious choice

They call me a minor girl,
and I wash dishes
with gutter water--
just a part-time job.
A shoe factory
employs me
for more hours though.

Each day is insanely long,
with pushes and shoves and slaps
from knowns and unknowns.
Crevices of my heart
are now filled
with a shaky jelly
of fear and pain.

But (smiles) little whiffs
of joy do come
in childish and childlike fashion,
scattered in occurrence
and reminding,
me of my age.

And about three months back,
boys at the factory touched me--
some weird places.

The fear of this night
somehow seems to have started there

My father,
feverish forever,
ordered me to please the insides
of this monstrous black car
where two gentlemen
blow their horns.

I know how.
I know why.

The generation
you are proud of,
is full of knowledge.

--Tanuj Solanki works in an insurance firm in Bombay. He is 24. His work has been published in online journals such as Cartier Street Review, Tin Foil Dresses, Crisis Chronicles Library. He is currently completing a short story collection about fatalism in Indian cities, titled The Bom Bay of Life. He just can’t learn swimming.

No comments: