I am the child of
Hypocrisy.
You call me Kali
Gouri or Lakshmi
You rob me of all the
earthly glories, little dewy hopes
fluttering aspirations—
to be like any woman
playing the normal one
role-playing the ideal
I stand thoroughly confused.
O aroma dear, gagged,
bandaged, blocked as I lie
like a mummy in the lovely, glittery, necropolis
that you created for me so lovingly brick by brick
from where I peep like la dame Anarkali.
Contributor:
KEYA MAJUMDAR. Teaches English at Jamshedpur Women’s College, Ranchi University. She obtained her Ph.D. degree from Bhagalpur University. Has presented papers at national and international conferences and has published widely in journals and books on Commonwealth Literature, Women’s Studies, Comparative Literature, Cultural Studies, besides English and American Literature.
