Wednesday, November 2, 2011

you brought me me

You brought me books
of poets and lovers
of wind earth and sky
and all that it covers

you brought me thoughts
from the lands of war
stories of love and loss
from territories within and far

your brought me wonders
as simple thoughtful gifts
how easily you understood me
an old book as one sifts

you brought me expressions
of what love can endure
of longing's heartfelt cry
of tears deep and pure

you brought me a person
unbiased and true
love, romance and friendship
unexpected, out-of-blue

above all you brought me
love - full and free
your acceptance of me complete
you brought me me.


There’s a new product in the market. Quco.
It makes your hair smell good enough to make men consider you f$*ckable.
The advertisement doing rounds for Quco is incredibly insane. A diffident young girl walks down the corridors of her college with diminishing confidence as boys (and girls) remark disdainfully on her face: ‘Isko pata nahin hai’. Moved to the point of tears, the near-harassed girl beg...ins to wonder what’s so monstrously wrong with her. She hesitantly begins her own inspection by smelling her armpits, when suddenly, the crusader-of-solutions, the harbinger-of-hope, the seller-of-love, the buyer-of-freedom…the super advertisor asks her to STOP! “The smell is not there baby”, he reassures her. It’s your hair – he points out.
Once the girl gets to know the secret of lubricating male gonads, she is seen happily (and guess what, even confidently) strolling arms in arms with a guy.
The mission of her life accomplished.
In normal circumstances, and not in a marketing/ advertising warped time of ours:
1. The girl would have shot back at her snickering colleagues asking them to go home, and smell their socks.
2. She would have known that her worth was to be determined by the depth of her character, the width of her knowledge, the quest of her soul…and not by some perfume/ dress/ make-up that anyone can buy off the counter.
3. She would continue to live her life happily and confidently even it meant a little grime and some dust here and there, if that be the cost of her freedom.
4. She’d know that any man who intends to ‘customise’ her or doll her up is anyway not worth having.
5. She would spit in the eye of the marketer of this entire farce of de-odorised, hairless Barbie version of women; for she knows too well that the bugger is trying to manipulate people’s preferences rather than merely responding to them – all at her physical and emotional cost.
6. She’d throw the notion of conventional ‘beauty’ down the drain, knowing well that if she acquiesces silently to this dangerous ploy, one of these days…they will come to her selling pills to perfume her shit and magic potions to colour her urine.
Quco – The new level to which our marketers have stooped.
Oh! Ayn Rand! Is this the kind of capitalism you fought for?
Tell me not.