Birthday Presents - August Nexus (good book recommendations .txt) 📗

or to put it precisely, understood it. I didn’t get her in the first reading, but as I read it for the second time I knew the agony coming out of her words. I felt those words are on my body and soul while I cried.

When I say K. Dhanasri is my favourite poet, I mean it. She is a true feminist but she is not like other feminists who praise females as if they are goddesses or warriors, she keeps females as realistic in her poems as we are in real life and never tries to present them in a heavenly form.  The best thing about her is that she only speaks through her poems. She never gives any interviews or statements nor is she on Twitter. Yes! You heard that right, she is not on twitter or on facebook or on any other social media. She is a recluse writing her poems in her home silently away from the chaos of today’s world but can certainly say she knows life more than anybody else. I don’t know why this poem is so near to my heart but I know that it’s the most beautiful piece of poetry I’ve read. I sometimes try to picture K. Dhanasri. According to Google she is in her early 30s only, but I doubt it, her poems seem to be originated from much more older and mature mind. Before knowing her age I pictured her as a woman in her late fifties with glasses on, clad in a sari, sitting on her table, etching her heart out on paper, in the last years of her life, after seeing all the colours of joy and grief in the long journey life is. Actually she is not that much old but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t seen the colours of joy and grief, I am sure she has seen the harsh realities of life and has grieved for losses beyond imagination and that pain became her poetry and tears became the ink. This poem has been titled as ‘Loss’ by her but I call it as ‘Agony’. Agony which is a resultant of Loss.

I sometimes wonder what does an author/poet thinks while writing. Do they live their wildest dreams in their dystopian worlds or do they show the world about their inner self in their works, which they otherwise hide. Do they build fantasies to escape from their realities or do they express their true feelings in verses and words. The conclusion that I arrived at is, while a person writes a book or a poem s/he actually, at that point of time, reveals what his/her true self is. The more elaborately a person creates a fantasy, the more of the true self oozes out. I am not saying that each and every work of an author should be treated as an autobiography; what I mean is that a tiny part of an author is always embedded in his/her creation, for example, this poem by K. Dhanasri, does not implies that she actually had and lost a child at the age of sixteen but, I am sure that she suffered from a great loss at some point in her life which gave birth to her lost dream child. Her poems, written with different perspectives, give an insight into lives of different people. I would like to recommend her books to people who are looking for a good collection of poems.

                                                                                                           -Neha Bohidar

 

 Today I read this article in a National Daily written by Neha Bohidar. The article talked about one of my poems titled ‘loss’, which I believe is one of my best works so far. This girl has truly got the essence of both my poems and the art of writing poems.

Dhanasri is my nom de plume or pen name. With this pen name I’ve got published two books of poems till date and more are coming up. I am an accomplished writer today and have everything one wants from life. But the story was different 13 years ago. Chapter 3

Sri

 

If you go by date then it was my eighteenth birthday but actually it was just another day of my life and I was all alone. Literally. Mom and Dad were not at home because last night my maternal grandmother suddenly got ill and they have to rush immediately to see her, maybe for the last time.  I am not being harsh or anything I love my grandmother as every child does but it was the third time she had had a heart stroke and that too in one year. Death is something inevitable and we should not fool ourselves by thinking of ourselves as eternal beings. I was alone on my birthday, no party, no sucking friends. Just me, my cell phone and my books. Books, the ultimate recluse as some people call it, was my only obsession. I read like people breathe, continuously. It felt like I will cease to exist and the world will fall apart if I stopped reading. But at that that moment I was not reading I was thinking about Eva instead. She was late, she told me that she will be at my home at 2 o clock but the clock face was showing 3 and she was not here yet. Eva is the only person I knew and actually can confine in. Sometimes it feels like she is a sister from another mother.  Suddenly the doorbell rang. Think of the devil.

‘Who is here in the middle of afternoon? Eva I guess’ I thought aloud. I got down from my bed and went downstairs to open the door. As I opened the door I saw a bouquet of flowers standing on two legs, wait what? Then in a matter of seconds I realised there was a person at my doorstep with a bouquet in one hand and a gift in another. Okay birthday wishers. I really hate them. Really!!! They are people who, for the whole year, behave like you don’t exist but on your birthday they wish you. Beggars begging for goodwill. Well as I had no choice left I asked the person to come inside. Well he was not a stranger. I knew this guy perfectly well. He was the elder son of my father’s best friend. Who in the world told him it’s my birthday? I wondered but the next moment I had my answer. Facebook.

“Hi Sri. Happy Birthday. This is for you.” said he handing me the flowers he brought with a big smile on his face. Roses. If he only knew. I don’t like red roses but anyway I took them and thanked him.

“Come in. Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks” he said as he got settled on the sofa. “Yeah this one is also for you” he said giving me a box wrapped in a beautiful wrapping paper. It was a small square box with a ribbon flower stuck to it.

“Thank you kritesh” I put the box on the table. Let me get you something. “What would you like to have?” saying this I turned and started to walk towards kitchen. Cold drink will do I thought.

“Aren’t you parents home” he asked out of nowhere. I spun around and glanced at him for a moment. “No they are not at home. They’re at grandma’s. She got sick last night.’

“Oh I see”

“Yeah.” then I went to the kitchen. As I poured soft drink in glasses I thought of him. I know kritesh from the last two years but we never had a proper conversation. He was a good guy but I didn’t know much about him nor did I want to. When I came back to room he was still sitting seeing around.

“Nice top” he said as I placed the tray on the table.

Oh really. What in the world he is up to? Flattering me. I looked at myself. I was wearing a black tank top with a pair of loose fitting pants and a scarf which I fished from beneath my bed as the doorbell rang. Dude I was in bed before you arrived. Don’t flirt. It won’t work. Not on me. I didn’t say any of this. I didn’t say anything actually. Just smiled at him and sat on a chair opposite him.

“Help yourself. Have some” I said breaking the silence that hung.

“Yeah thanks. Open it” he said pointing to the gift.

“I will do later on. Thanks once again” what’s the hurry.

“No please open it now, I insist” said he picking up a glass.

You insist! As if I do care. Anyway I picked up the wrapped box as he sipped the drink and removed the flower. The box was small but kind of heavy. I tried to make a guess but failed. So I started to remove the wrapping paper and a dusty old box came into view. It looked like it would have been red when it was new. The corners of the box were torn and ragged. I opened the box and I didn’t expect the thing that was inside. A Ring. Not just a ring it had my initials on it. I was confused and confused. Freaking hell. Is he proposing me? Please no. Enough surprises for today. I am already tired of this shit.

 

“What the hell is this” I nearly shouted at him as I looked up but he was not on the sofa. What happened to him? But the next moment I felt hands on my shoulders. He was standing behind me with his back hunched over me as he looked into the box. “I love you.” He whispered in my left ear “I love you and I can’t bear it anymore. Will you be my girlfriend? Please don’t say no you can have as much time as you want but please don’t say no.”

The problem with the boys is that they leave you no choice. They ask you, for sure, but also have predefined notions and leave you no choice.

“See kritesh, I never thought like this about you nor have I time for all this. I am grateful that you came but now gather your things and please go.” I said standing up and giving him the box back but instead of going he held my hands and tried to slide the ring into my ring finger. I jerked my hand off his and threw the ring away. It fell on the floor making a clanking noise.

“Don’t you understand? I don’t like you; actually I don’t even know you. Just go. Please, leave me alone!!” I shouted and pushed him away.

“Please Sri, try to understand I can’t live without you, I love you” he pulled me and hugged me tightly pushing air out of my lungs. He was tall and muscular and I can’t move and breathe. I struggled and pushed him away and slapped him. He turned towards me, his eyes filled with rage and his face red.

“You bitch” he slapped