Nupur Chaturvedi

Decision time

The protestor calls out to me
From behind the makeshift mask
That saves her from real and metaphorical tears
The protestor looks into my eyes and the expression is a curious mix
A plea, a dare, a sneer, and yet a hope
That I will join her
And become part of a growing whole
What is she protesting?
It doesn’t matter
It is a composite struggle
It is a layered tapestry of asks and wants and rights
There is always something denied to someone
There is always a struggle
There is always a society in churn
What do I do?
Do I jump in head first?
Or do I take the easy road?
Where does that lead me anyway?
To artificial meadows and chemical-fed flower beds?
There is a choice I need to make
But it’s Sophie’s choice, isn’t it?Whichever way I turn, I lose.
I lose when I raise arms against the mighty unfairnesses and hypocrisies
And I lose when I stay silent.
The protestor doesn’t wait for me, she moves on to the next
And I watch from the periphery
I feel my feet getting cut
From walking on the thin edge.
I need to pick a side, or I will end up cut in half, useless to both.
I need to stand up and be counted.
I will lose myself if I don’t.

The meeting

As I sit across from you
Shadows flit across your face
Such a cliché!
Actually nothing flits across
I fib.

As I sit across from you
Your pupils move from my left to my right
Trying to focus on me but failing
Because actually you don’t want to see
I know.

As I sit across from you
A conversation starts and sputters

“How have you been?”
“Fine. And you?”
“Same. You want to order something?”
“No, just water is good. You?”
“Same.”

Such a shame!
We used to read each other’s silences
I remember.

As I sit across from you
You reach out and hold my hands
The warmth, familiar, the sweat, not
Are you nervous?
I wonder.

What brought us to this point
Across the table
Like two businesspeople negotiating
We used to occupy the love-seat in the private section
And they used to leave us undisturbed.
The private section is being revamped
Just like my heart
I hope.

I withdraw my hands
And get up.
“Wait!”
I stop.
“Meet me where Rumi said—beyond right and wrong”
The fight leaves me.
And…I love.