Once Upon Her Face

Once upon her face, there was always a smile. For me, for her other customers, for her husband, for her happy little baby named Khushi. She smiled through the crew cuts I insisted on. She smiled again, broader, when I finally took her advice and let my hair grow. She smiled with me as she let me peep into the facials room, where her baby, breastfed and burped, slept soundly and peacefully through the drone of hairdryers. I don't remember ever seeing her not smile. They all smiled, smiled a lot.

And now father and child are dead. A road accident and they are gone. And she is lying in hospital. I feel hollow inside. I am a queen with words but there are no words for her. Tomorrow I shall visit her and say nothing. No matter how much I speak, I shall say nothing. Tomorrow my words are useless.

I wonder if she will ever smile again.

Happy Kumar: something doesn't Click.

So Happy Kumar goes about his day oblivious to the megabuck opportunities out there. (Love the jingle, by the way). What I don't get is, what's the problem? Isn't that what the ideal job is? One where you're perfectly happy? Isn't it about the whole "Do what you love" thing?

Happiness ain't the job abroad, the big promotion, the corner office. A lof of happiness is just about being content. You can have all the trimmings, live the capitalist dream and still be miserable. There's a big difference between happy and complacent and hmmm .. perhaps I analyse these ads way too much. Let's just leave Happy Kumar where he is, content and smiling (a good thing, I will restate) and hope that all the miserable buggers out there go to ClickJobs.com and find something that makes them smile too.

Death doesn't scare me any more

At first glance, you may think it is depressing, but this poem is about hope. I think it is incredible that I was able to look ahead with hope at this point of  my life, having gone through what I had.

Death doesn't scare me any more
I already know what hell is
And heaven may not be so good
But it'll be better than this

So this is life
Out of the hell of heroin
Suspended somewhere between then and now
Until I start again

Start living, start giving,
Stop lying, stop crying,
No more hate or despair
No lifeless body swinging in the air

Dreams coming back to life
Plans pulled out of the dust
'Cause when you want and need a future
You have to free the feelings you suppressed

I'm tired of their stares
And of all the sly, knowing grins
I'm sick of those dead eyes in my mirror
And bones barely veiled by my skin

But you have to cry before you can laugh
And you have to wade thro' the mire and stench
Before you can see the sparrows and smile ...
It just takes a little while.

Written on March 21, 1986, Friday, 8:58 pm. I was 20 years old.