a little while ago


A little while ago,
I thought I saw this night
Pretend. And look away.
Turning brighter,
Growing lighter,
Allowing, some warmth, as if the sun, to me.

Then she pretended to turn back.
Turning back. Again.
And all that warmth,
And all that light.
Was nothing but pain.
From a little while ago.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Queering films by watching them...

I got into a heated argument over a simple question: What makes a gay film good? The debate exploded when the film Dostana was referred to as a potential good gay film. “Oh please,” said one person “It’s the oldest trick in a filmmaker’s manual––get a straight man playing a straight hero to pretend to be gay and have everyone laugh at it. It’s exploitative comedy. That is not a standard for a good gay film.” Another said that the stereotype of the gay couple, one effeminate and the other macho, was upsetting because there may be many youngsters that might get the wrong idea about gay relationships. “But the scene where the mother accepts her pretend-gay son’s sexuality is a good one” said a third person, “You can get families to talk about gay sexuality with that.” However, the most violent argument was presented like this: “None of the leads are gay! This is not a gay film! Why do we need to argue about this?” These arguments are important reminders of how much distance mainstream Ind...
Read more

Kleine Freiheit/ A Little Bit of Freedom (2003)

Image
Do you remember when a touch turned you into an identity? At what point of time in your childhood did a glance become desire? When I touched him I wasn’t sure I expressed a desire to touch. I lay next to him, passive, glancing, desiring to reach through that infinitesimal space between us and do something. Consume him completely. His bare chest rising with each breath, his eyes closed. I reached out, then, to stroke his face. He opened his eyes. He didn’t look at me. Understood, perhaps, the need not to look. Because that would become something, mean something, identify something. My dark brown skin caressed his fairness, down from his face to his neck and his chest. Ran my fingers down the young groove on his chest. Agonising…strokes across his erect nipples…lower, lower, reaching for meaning. He turned away from me and pulled back into my body, spooning. My fingers went lower and found him….enough There’s a bicycle ride that will bring me music and his smile. I am cared for... We ha...
Read more

What does Ukhruling mean?

This is Ukhrul. This is Manipur. This is an NGO. The only NGO I’ve seen, where you’re not left gasping for fresh air after they’ve done their let’s-do-a-song-during-a-break session. They must be church trained choir singers. All of them. Yes, all of them. They sing with perfect pitch and the long-years of practice shows. I am moved – it is only hymns they sing from a stock book of hymns that the conductor (yes, they had one of the participants conduct their song sessions) holds in his hand; and they sang in the local tribal tongue – but I am moved all the same. There were only three women. When MP prepared to suggest that there was only this one problem with the group, they pre-empted her and stated that it wasn’t for the lack of trying. As opposed to those groups who complain “but the president of our kitchen is a woman!” etc. This is a group that is aware of their flaws and their strengths. Cool. They resent us. “What you see in India, is not what you see here…” This is not India. Ha...
Read more