Do You See?
Again, long time no posts… But something about the autumn festive season perks you up. Or does it? While everyone exhibited sartorial, gastronomic, real estate, body embellishment and other conquests, I read a photo essay and wrote this in the moment. No please, it’s NOT a poem. I am told it has shades of Suniti Namjoshi: **Durga is going to her mother’s place on a rickshaw. At the turn in a dark alley, a shortcut, suddenly three men come upon her and push the ragged rickshaw puller down from his seat. Scuffle and scream. Then quiet. Stop. **Durga is late for office. One of those days she feels sick and falls behind on her schedule. The male colleagues keep cracking the “monthly” joke on her in the lunch room while she swallows a pill and prepares for a late evening over files. Stop. **Durga is not allowed to cross the threshold of the big house in her village. She can chop the crops, shear the corn, gather the bundles, clean the wheat grinder, but can never enter the big house kitchen. She can wash their clothes, clean their buckets, but never touch the big house drinking water pots. A low-caste woman, she can become a body for big house men. But a nobody to be counted as human. Stop.