Author Archives: Vands

About Vands

Vandana Kumar is a bon vivant who loves travelling, working with young minds and exploring creative possibilities beyond the ordinary. She has done her masters in History from ‘Lady Shri Ram College’ – ‘University of Delhi’ and her Diplôme from the ‘Alliance Française de Delhi’. She is a middle school teacher and also translates for various publishing houses and corporates. An active member of various quiz clubs across Delhi. She has a soft corner for Calcutta where she spent her childhood. Her various passions include singing, playing the piano, composing music and participating in local music competitions. She describes herself as a dreamer…a wanderer and a certified incurable romantic…the romantic moorings worsened with all her fancy French studies. She contributes poems regularly to online magazines and has been published in a couple of anthologies. Poetry for her is her stress buster – her flight of fancy – and strangely – what keeps her rooted too.

Outsider

Hadn’t society

Distanced itself already?

From the cries for help

From the neighbor at 3am

Hadn’t we washed of?

All responsibility

For harvests

Of rot

We kept the mandatory 6ft

From reports

Of daily crimes

Of hate

Of stratum

And skin

That looked different

Of enemy state

Infested with familiar sameness

And yet…

Along came a virus

Making it official

Man for only

One man

Fed on ‘Me Love’

Social distancing

Just a hashtag

We were already

Flawed souls

In self-owned apartments

Rented bodies

A society

Looking at universe

With an outsider’s gaze

~ Vandana

The First of Things

They play Auld Lang Syne somewhere

The neighbours lustily shriek at the Cinderella hour

I position a New Desk top calendar on the table

Unread messages gleam on my cellphone in orange

So some pharma company has wished me good health

Another text tempts me with a winter sale.

And there rests the turquoise scarf gifted to me in a summer of passion

And a boarding pass in a frayed book

The first of January is made of such things

Things to hold on to

And things to simply let go!!!

The Unshape of you

T

Some days I wake up

As Medusa’s child   

Fingers and thumbs       

A runaway girl

Sacrificial mom

Dotting daughter

The clothes in my wardrobe

Hang loose sometimes

Some days burst at the seams

Sometimes I show you my tattoo

A little glimpse of flesh

To go with it

I might like it

Done here a little

A little there

(The colour of that bruised soul?

Now, that I hide)

 I sleep at night

A lot like you do

I love my man

Yet fantasize that rank stranger

 I let my hair down

Meet up with friends

And you notice my wine

I play with the rim

You deduce I like it wild  

Just because I know

The white from the red

And I tell you

It depends on my mood

Whether I trim

Or shave

Or just let it grow dense

I too have urges

 Minus the bulges on parade

 

Will you call me a vixen?

Or one of you

Will you still dedicate?

A day for my ilk

High Tea

Seated ‘lady like’ and demure  

Diagonally opposite you

We the convent indoctrinated

Skilled in social niceties

 

Your head shook at the right moment

“No thanks I am done”

At the mention of another petit four

But our cores throbbed

In unison

Wanting to devour each other

Instead of the canapés on offer

 

The heaving bosom saw your discreet glance

And wanted to dance loose for you

But for the constricting apparel

That came in the way

 

The self-conscious legs crossed again

Flashes of you spreading them

On verdant lawn

Pounding in open blue sky

Settled on that sofa across  

 

You never did ask how hungry I was

And I, wrapped in bourgeois propriety

Never did tell