Scrapbook

Heart wrenching pain
Regret, desire to rewind time
To change past o the power to do that
of loss the pain
love gone
adoration lost
a missed prayer
unanswered
pain
of a broken worship
a broken god
a ruined temple
sanctity of love
a treasure lost

While sitting in the number 7 train, my eyes strayed on an ad and I was mesmerized by the garish word: where
Where was I?
Where did I come from?
Where was my purpose?
Where is life?
Where are the surprises?
The happiness?
Fullfilment?
Where is the satisfaction-
Of being where I am?
Where is today?
Where will I be
Twenty years from now?
Where is my identity?
My mission?
Heritage?
Where is my culture?
My flag?
Country.

Wow. I really believe my English professor thinks I cannot write! Hmmm I keep wondering if I should send him an email link to my portfolio. I didn't want to sound brash when I told him I could write a book like Jasmine (by Bharati Mukherjee), I was being honest. The underlying point was the lack of content and purpose in the book. Some may call it a post-modern experimentation, but I saw only a multiple personality disorder. I still can't imagine why she would portray an Indian woman as so fickle as Jasmine!
Indian women to me are loving persons who lose their heart at first sight. Their unrequitted love could only die out with the dying out cinders of their funeral pyre. I would have preferred it if Jasmine had remained loyal to her dead husband, or even love only Taylor. But she goes on to have some paralysed man's baby and doesn't marry him and elopes with Taylor in the end. Fickle!