On House Hunting In Bombay

WhatsApp Image 2019-09-06 at 2.31.15 PM

Sat pillion behind a man named Faiz

The name of my

First love.

“My girlfriend is Hindu,” he asserts

Narrow, hazel eyes and a kind disposition

I would say a kind heart but you never know

Around here.

I nod, my eyes fixed vacantly, my hands clutched aggressively

at the Angry sea – blurs of grey and mud, screaming at me to tell

him that my mother is Hindu too.

Us both, ignorant, unabashed

about wearing our bigotry on our sleeves.

“Look at me, my blood is mixed up of those who you hate – where do I fit in?”

Cut up the city in tiny boxes

Cut up its people, cram them into the boxes

Al Hilal, Al Qareem, Al Saba

Each house smells different – years of pain, age, wisdom, heartbreak, love, loss, death, bills, taxes, payments, cum spreading itself across is walls

“Where do I fit in?”

Close your eyes and imagine yourself within the four walls – talking to somebody you love,

Envisioning last night’s orgasm as you smoke a cigarette and watch the tea boil over.

“My boyfriend’s Brahmin,” does that help?

His blood looks the same as mine. He has strong arms and a lovely smile and he holds me when I keel over, my uterus exploding into a thousand prickly stars

and I imagine we can do this within the four walls of this house.

Hazel eyes replace the jade ones of the white colony cat who’ll take its pick of roti

irrespective of your name –

Sundar, Darshan, Ajanta, Kalpana

Look at the lot of us – waiting to be boxed in.

The angry sea, a moment’s respite, from the relentless holes I try and skip over

but fall flat, face down into;

Inhale the dust.

Brush it off, begin again.

Close your eyes – can you picture yourself within these four walls?

Image credit : Anurag Banerjee

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