at what age do you own your femininity?

ordinary girls
spend the first few years
of sprouting breasts
in denial
of what is obvious
to everyone else

if the men don't undress you
with their eyes
right in the middle of a bazaar,
make you go red from head to toe.
(and you are the one forced to turn away-
because they won't)
the women,
(and them you cannot even
run away from)
with their intimate probing and jeering
will surely make you wish
you were buried miles under the earth.

and so you walk hunched,

carry backpacks in front,
wear outsized clothes,
and heavy shawls in sweltering heat
if you are forced to dress your size,
cling to the tight squeeze of sports bras
for as long as possible.
That at best makes you lflat,

And at worse makes them

Look like a loaf of bread.

But even a rectangle is preferable

To the merest suggestion

Of two spheres.

Anything, 

Anything that can help you pretend

That breasts don't exist

but this is not how it should be, is it?

i look at the transgenders

their model-like posture
breath sucked in,
chest thrown out, 
head thrown back,

and i think
i should have been
as they are.
unashamed of my femininity.

who took it away from me?
where went the excitement
of dressing up in mummy's clothes
and waiting fervently
to grow up and be like her?
who shattered my notions of beautiful womanhood
and made it feel like a burden? a shame?
who made me ashamed of something
that is as natural as a nose?

absence makes the heart fonder

just as
people who never even  listen to nepali songs
start composing dances to folk songs
when they are abroad,

transgenders
have more affection
for breasts
than us women.

Or so it seems to me.

one-upmanship

when they have a job to finish
they justify their yelling
but telling you how you
underperform
in comparison to them

and it becomes
all the more justified
when the job
succeeds

"oh, you need to have some control
put people in line
if you want some good results"

but it's never about those results
it's only about them, who like to yell
and simply look for valid channels to do so

in times of peace and rest
you can see them getting restless
as the desire to hurt
bristles beneath their skin
and itches and itches
and finally ends up
lashing out at poor unsuspecting
maids, drivers, servers
who they know
will never yell back

self declared muses

i write about ten different persons
and don't know whether to laugh or cry
when a single person
(who may not even be mentioned once)
assumes they are all about him

Faux pas

Having put foot in mouth

Rather too often

I turned to the pen

And found that

Pen in mouth

Is not

Half so uncomfortable

Game of love

Come play the game,

You said

It will be fun,

You said

And i did

Believing that

To fall in love

Was the only point 

Of the game

Only to be rudely awakened

By your jeering at my defeat

If you compete to win

Everytime

It is not a game of love.

It is just a game

Go take your gloating

Somewhere else

For it was you

Who set the rules

So you would always win,

Always win.

Learn to let your love win

Gracefully

And take victory  in your loss

Before you invite someone 

To play the game of love

Duty-love

Give a bucketful

Because any less 

Would be bad manners.

Because you have to.

And then,

Because you don't want to,

Go to sleep early on him.