Respect not Honour!

When
the minds
the hearts
and the eyes
of society
become polluted
Honour is made to hide
between women's legs
and constantly needs
to be avenged
by killing
raping and
moral-policing 
Women.

Proudly astray!!

                                              Moti

He was a runt –his ribs stood out

He cowered on hearing a human shout

Lurked near the rubbish dump

Salvaging leftovers from the gunk

Tail tucked permanently between the legs

Feral,furtive,dogly dreg.

Mothering a dog was not on my list

Already had more than I could possibly hold in my fist.

But there was no getting away from that gaunt face and the brown  eyes

Chewing empty milk cartons ,potato skins, or vainly trying to prise

empty jagged tin cans with his paws-

that brown teenaged puppy with a bloodied jaw.

So we carried some food each day

He waited to eat till we went away

And one day I imagined that his tail twitched

On seeing me coming-maybe just a little bit.

And why it funnily made my heart soar

How I started expecting him outside my door

The twitch tentative and hesitant

Gradually became a full blown thump ebullient

Now I contentedly walk with  dogs at my heels

And curse and scold as they jump and squeal

For Moti has friends and attendants

And all of them are egregious miscreants

Their hobbies include chasing squirrels,chewing shoes

And occassionally dragging in dead mongoose.

My home is now their official terrain

And no strangers dare trespass this domain.

Moti sees all of us off - my daughter as she gets on

the school bus;he  fawns on us on our returns.

He loves us but loves his friends too

And doesn’t panic each time we bid adieu.

He may not be a Labrador or German Shepherd

But he is handsome,proud and sharp- like a wild leopard

Lolo(my late lab) beams benovently  through some heavenly webcam

Her spirit smiling at this canine bedlam.

Monsoon!

Plump, comely

raindrops rush

to embrace

the wayward

flighty

dry as bone

motes of dust,

and pin

them down 

with reckless abandon

making the air heady

with the

fragrance of love.

Anchored and replete

their love

creates and multiplies-

greenlings

nodding their baby heads

all over the lawn.

And a hundred

moths,bugs,mozzies;

creepy,crawlies.

Birds applaud.

As they feast on

succulent worms.

The Zebra!

The Zebra is a cousin of the Ass
But with far better fashion sense and pizzaz
He swishes his mane with a lot of sass
And disappears elegantly in a black and white razzamtazz.

Kookaburra Gyms!

"A kookaburra(an Australian bush bird with a loud laughing voice) is undergoing personal training after growing too fat to fly because she ate too many sausages.The kookaburra got into trouble with her weight when residents at a Sydney park began feeding her sausages at barbecues."

(I promise I did not make this up-this is a TOI news item)

Misadventures in the Beauteous Parlour.

Have you spent a Sunday afternoon
Feeling swindled irritated and thoroughly buffooned?

 I wonder if you have felt the same
as I did when I innocently went just to have my mane tamed,

And received treatments numerous and arcane.
Hair Spa,thermotherapy and more rolling,ironings and pressings than I ever bargained.


By which time my hair lost what little verve it ever had
And looked gazooked ,startled and pretty sad.

Prompting the lady who runs the saloon
(who incidentally,looks like some copiously painted balloon.)

To say that it is not all that bad;and then sanctimoniously advise,
What you need is some streaks-maybe russet or red, to disguise-

the thinness,the grayness and the lack of volume,
and I wanted to strangle her but could only inwardly fume.

For I was already looking like a frightened porcupine.
And didn't want to go to the next level and look like a streaky,red something that would be disowned even by the porcupine.

So although the vamp wanted me to yield once more to her ministrations and rebond and colour my hair into lustrous locks,
And not just that-to detox,botox and smite my pocks;

I gently but surely and decisively threw her off the track
By saying that it would not be right for her to colour  me red and earn my husband's flak.

Russet and red would freak him out
He will get apoplectic and forever pout.

It's not that he does not like streaks you see,but being rather patriotic and traditional,
He prefers me to colour myself like an Indian peacock in green ,blue and some cobalt nominal.

Her jaw dropped and she gave me some spiel on customer care
I escaped to tell the tale:Buyer Beware!