Love under CCTV
i
I’m slowly learning how to not be afraid
While kissing my boyfriend
In the secluded adult fiction corner of a bookstore on 15th street
And when our lips meet, and our fingers curl around each other, I always look up
At the CCTV camera and smile
For the voyeuristic
ii
My boyfriend taught me how to disengage from a fight
First you smile, then you slowly walk away, and in your smile, they know you won somehow
They didn’t understand
My boyfriend taught me how to type messages
For my exes, telling them I loved them, but I just didn’t understand why I liked men more
Type them, but not send them
For no one deserved an explanation for my love
But me
iii
I’m slowly realising why
Councils tried and stoned men in Arabic countries, why the Old Testament called us an abomination, why three thousand students walk
Every year, placard in hand, demanding freedom from 377
I’m slowly realising why some men would fear
If others found love
While they remained bitter, over pleasures they never understood, and women they ignored
iv
But we still walk with pride, and we still kiss in bookstores, and when people stare
We smile and shrug
My boyfriend and I, hold hands, even between the sheets
And I’m slowly learning
Our love is like walking barefoot – muddy ankles and no high heels
‘Cos the neighbours think it’s pretty gross
But those fuckers don’t know how his body feels
—
Swipe Right
The first hi was the trembling of leaves
On monsoon mornings
When the rain dug holes on sand
And my toes, flooded, as water rushed in through the hole under my school shoes
My first words came rushing like the
Metro at Moolchand
And when you laughed, a little, blushed,
A little, it was like the sun had peeked
From behind the buildings of South Delhi
Your fingers traipsed between your curly
Strands of hair, and you said
I should go, and I said, alone?
You laughed, and
I felt a sudden stirring in my thighs,
At your laugh, I wondered, could
Something happen, between one-and-a-half hour
Old acquaintances?
But another half an hour later, we
Were in bed, together, in your
Room, a hoarding of Sunny Deol
In a vest overlooking your north facing
Window, and on the wall,
A painting of horses, swaying
Under the fan, like my heart
And as you undressed slowly, my pants
Felt as if on fire, and you bit your lips,
And my breath was hotter than
Summer winds in Ajmer
Every minute, my heartbeat raced, till you
Took off your bra, and I let my
Hands fall to my sides
The room suddenly felt awkward, and
Sunny Deol has always been my least
Favourite, and one and a half hours,
Isn’t enough, to decide about
Third base, besides, I like
Smaller breasts more, I think
—
Cover image courtesy Clément Belleudy (CC BY-SA 2.0), second image courtesy Jason Pratt (CC BY 2.0)
