rebels.

i.
you called me last night
a poem on the edges of your lips
something you wanted to press against me
like an imprint.
it was a poem
about a monster
and a small girl screaming for help
but no-one knew
whether she was calling
to
on the behalf
or because of
the monster.
you said, softly and solemnly
that you’d never considered
so many possibilities.
i laughed and said i believed in all three
isn’t that a contradiction, you asked,
and i just held the phone
silently
wanting to scream out a no
but not daring.

ii.
the next day my parents sit me down
at the dinner table
to discuss my future.
do i want to be a mathematician
or a poet?
they leave the question hanging
dangling
like a loose thread on a slashed silk duppatta,
or a scarlet parasol
caught between the branches of an oak tree
choose, they say
what will you pursue
maths
or literature?
i stare at the floor
wanting to scream out both
but not daring.

iii.
i’m surprised
when it rains through summer
i want to call the weather forecast man
and ask him
why he called out for the sun
during a thunderstorm
instead i call you
but all i can hear
is static
never mind, my head is clear.

iv.
i want to run through a forest of cherry blossoms
i want to sit on a rooftop and stare at the stars
i want to be able
to do everything
all at once
without them saying, choose
without people screaming that
i’m indecisive
i’m confused
just a jack-of-all-trades.
but what i am
is just
a versatile sky
you are the only person who i know
would understand.

v.
road trip? i ask you
you laugh
life is a road trip, you slur back
i know you’re just drunk on it
so i shrug,
and say,
let’s go get one then
we’re both thinking of the boy in physics class
who’d never tell us what the time was
‘time for you to get a life,’ he’d say
oh, but now it is.

vi.
i’m with other friends
we’re at an ice-cream parlour
people are taking sides
chocolate or vanilla
it’s my turn.
i shrug
i like them both
the crowd gasps
two sides of an army unite in their common disgust
you can’t like both, they say
ice-cream flavour wars have been going on
since the early seventeenth century
how dare you stand
in between two sides of a battlefield
they jeer.
i know i’m standing in no man’s land
just because
i like two contrasting flavours of ice-cream
and i don’t want to fight this war.
i grab a raspberry ice-cream on the way out
and walk out of the parlour, flipping them off
head turned
so no-one can see
the beginning of tears in my eyes.

vii.
coke or pepsi?
you and i sit there, at a party
as they’re taking votes.
i don’t care
they both taste the same to me
you shrug when the crowd approaches you
‘i don’t like either’
and i smile at you.
now they’re on me
i roll my eyes
‘how old are you, six?’ i ask
‘get me some decent liquor
if you have any.’
the silence is broken
only by your laugh.
i smile at you,
you take my hand
‘let’s go to the bar,’ you say
we walk out,
laughing.

viii.
we don’t go to the bar,
obviously
we don’t like being tipsy
swaying
waking up in gutters
with one hell of a hangover.
we climb your rooftop instead
and stare at the night sky
getting ourselves
drunk on starlight.
when we go inside
it’s 1 AM
i text my mom, telling her
i’m at your place, i’m safe
they’re both synonyms but just in case she forgets.

ix.
‘coffee or tea?’ i ask
as we enter your kitchen.
‘it depends on my mood,’ you respond,
sitting on the kitchen couner,
dangling your legs over the edge.
i smile
and begin making us coffee
because i understand
what it’s like to have a preference
even if you love two things
equally.

x.
we thought we wouldn’t go to any more parties
but this time
they insist
so we show up.
we play a game
that is as mono-opinionated as they come
‘truth or dare’
i want to scream
but i know that this is just how things are
it’s my turn
‘truth’ i say
because who knows
what these halfwitted adolescents we have to call peers
can come up with
in the name of a dare.
‘do you like girls or boys?’ she asks
and it’s not the question that puts me off
it’s use of that word,
or.
‘neither,’ i spit. ‘both.’
and i get up
and walk out of there
hearing my footsteps distort the sound of silence.
you follow right after
and hold me in your arms under the ceilinged sky of unhinged stars
i cry into your shoulder.
‘both,’ i whisper. ‘all of the above.’
and you give me a sad smile
and walk me home.
‘my sexuality is no man’s land’ i say as you turn to leave
and you reach out and hug me
‘that only means that you’re braver than those people
who use measuring scales
and tear tokens along the dotted line,’ you say
‘you live in a world
where things are absolute,
not one or the other
just what they are.’
i smile at you
and i watch you walk away
into the shadows.

xi.
this time when you call me
you’re crying
and your voice sounds very small
almost like a sliver of differential calculus.
you say
the mythology course you want to apply for
has only two check boxes for gender
and you don’t know which one to choose.
i didn’t know
that you were like this too
an invisible borderline in-betweener
but i know how to comfort you.
i tell you that they’re hypocrites,
and i recite to you
legends and folklore of Hindu mythology
where gender was a blurred line
even for divinity
i know these myths
like the back of my hand.
when you finally say goodbye
i can hear you smiling on the other end.

xii.
‘cats or dogs?’ the lady at the adoption centre asks.
‘sorry?’ i say, confused
‘are you a cat person
or a dog person?’
she says more slowly this time
i stare at her.
‘i’m a dragon person,’ i say
and when she smiles
i decide not to hold a grudge.
‘we’re out of stock,’ she apologizes
‘but we have a boisterous parrot
named Phoenix.’
‘it’s a deal,’ i say, and my smile is genuine.
‘thank you.’

xiii.
my parents ask me about my future
i say
‘i’m figuring it out
but i know one thing.’
‘yes?’ they ask.
‘i will not be contained
by the lines
society has drawn for me.
i will live
in no man’s land.’

xiv.
‘we categorise things,’ you say
we’re sitting by the beach
there will be sand in the hems of my jeans
but i don’t care.
‘not us, but you know, humans as a whole.
to make it easier to understand,
we box things up.
vanilla or chocolate,
coke or pepsi,
girls or boys,
whatever.
they’re just divisions
over which superficial people form bonds
and unite.’
i smile.
‘what are we?’
you smile back.
‘the minority
invisible
physics calls us errors,
mathematics calls us deviations,
but our chemistry tells us
we are everything we need to be.’
‘rebels,’ i whisper
the word sounds like a promise against my lips.
‘yes,’ you say.
‘yes.’

first posted on dA, 2016.