Kala
வர
issue two
கலவர
/kələʋəɾəm/ KALAVARAM noun. riot, revolt, disorder
issue Two: Intimacy
@zinedabaad
cover art: 'THE EMBRACE' by rakshita aRVIND
Terror-Borne Umang Kalra Fig-ripe lungs like tulips like fissures of frost-hard fright, look, there is only me here. I am holding my own hand, I am cradling my own skin, frozen in a backwards embrace: time-restart womb-tactile heaven-hell. I will name it something someday. Am I alive if nobody is here to watch? Can I still call it vulnerability if the only thing I am aching to is the wind. Can I still call it solitude if there are flowers growing all over my skin. Can I still call it my skin if I’m the only person here. Are you here? I am cloud-unfolding, light, sharp, wind-unravelling into something gruesome — I will make friends with my own rot, the only otherness present, the only face to meet eyes with, I grow forests and forests tree-green soulmates inside my lungs and pretend they are talking back. They are my friends in this aloneness, they are my lover and enemy, my mirror and coralhard, tarmac-struck, diamond-sharpened knife. They are the community I plant and pray for. If anybody saw the inside of this coffin-dark hollow I’d never leave, no fruit succulent enough to confuse trespass and witness. No treasure glistening, no glory golden enough to let myself be sliced open by another. This is my court and crown, I am King, I am everything, I am judge, jury, and executioner. Please don’t cross the fucking threshold, I swear I will scream.
In Response to 'The Embrace' by Rakshita Agarwal
By Simar Gill
Bucket Baths on a Difficult Morning Ranjini Nair The tiles are ice cold, my legs are water and so I puddle onto the floor. The window lets in old sunlight laundered clean so night could slip out of the door. Holding my liquid body in a vessel embrace, I fight its inevitable breaking. Moulding my clay hands over this alien face I try to remember joy in unmaking. I touch warm skin soaked in brine and sing soft, low, a morning lullaby. I mulch through this itchy, woolly brain and knit one more day to wear. I pull it over my obstinate head, slip in one arm and then the next, smooth my palms over wrinkles, then cry.
Butterfly in Stomach by Udeshi Basu
Processed Nudes Neha Popale Once the butterflies die down and I come back home the vacuous din Of all the compliments fading, inviting questions of worry and inadequacy I lie on my bed staring, thinking, dividing my body into parts for me to review, presenting a SWOT analysis to my mind at the end of the date waiting for it to show me the easy kindness that the world somehow does I touch myself desensitised; my body, unmoving and cold I mourn the absence of pleasure; my hands become the void I’m sorry for my loss.
ਬਲਾਤਕਾਰ ਹੋਏ ਿਜਸਮ ਤੇ ਰੂਹ ਦੀ ਗੱਲ ਬਾਤ Namika Mehta
ਿਜਸਮ: ਮੈ ਆਕਰਸ਼ਕ ਹੋਣ ਕਰਕੇ ਉਸ ਨੂੰ ਬੜਾ ਮੋਿਹਆ; ਰੂਹ: ਤਾਂ ਹੀ ਮੈਨੰ ੂ ਲੱਗਦਾ ਮੈ ਵਰ ਦੇ ਮ ਹ ਵਾਂਗ ਰੋਇਆ। ਿਜਸਮ: ਮੈ ਸੁਿਣਆ ਿਦਲ ਿਪਆਰ ਕੀਤਾ ਸੀ ਤੂੰ! ਰੂਹ: ਦੱਸਦਾ ਤੈਨੰ ,ੂ ਿਕਵ ਉਸਨੂੰ ਹੀਰੇ ਮੋਤੀ ਵਾਂਗ ਆਪਣੇ ਿਦਲ ਿਵੱਚ ਸੀ ਪਰੋਇਆ। ਿਜਸਮ: ਬੋਲ ਤੂੰ ! ਿਫਰ ਮ ਵੀ ਦੱਸਦਾ ਮੇਰੇ ਨਾਲ ਕੀ ਹੈ ਹੋਇਆ। ਰੂਹ: ਮੈ ਿਲਖਦਾ ਸੀ ਉਸ ਦੇ ਲਈ— ਇਹ ਕਾਲੀ ਰਾਤ ਿਵੱਚ ਮੈ ਤੇਰੇ ਲਈ ਤਾਰੇ ਵਾਂਗ ਹੈ, ਿਜਸਨੂੰ ਤੇਰੀ ਿਜੰਦਗੀ ਿਵੱਚ ਰੌਸ਼ਨੀ ਕਰਨ ਦੀ ਤਾਂਘ ਹੈ। ਿਜਸ ਿਦਨ ਇਹ ਤਾਰਾ ਅਲੋਪ ਹੋਵੇਗਾ, ਤਾਂ ਸਮਝ ਲਈ ਿਕ ਮੈਨੰ ੂ ਆਵਦੇ ਿਜਸਮ ਤ ਵੱਖ ਹੋਣ ਦਾ ਨਾ ਸੰਕੋਚ ਹੋਵੇਗਾ।। ਿਜਸਮ: ਅਫ਼ਸੋਸ! ਉਸ ਨੂੰ ਮੇਰੀ ਭੁੱਖ ਸੀ, ਤੇਰੀ ਿਪਆਸ ਨਹ ! ਮੈਨੰ ੂ ਪਤਾ ਤੈਨੰ ੂ ਇਸ ਗੱਲ ਦਾ ਕਦੇ ਹੋਇਆ ਅਿਹਸਾਸ ਨਹ । ਕਹਾਣੀ ਿਜਸਮ: ਮੈ ਬੜਾ ਸੋਹਣਾ ਲੀੜੇ ਸੀ ਪਾਇਆ, ਆਪਣੇ ਆਪ ਨੂੰ ਰੀਝਾਂ ਨਾਲ ਸਜਾਇਆ ਤੇ ਉਸਦੇ ਕੋਲ ਆਇਆ, ਉਸਨੇ ਆਪਣੇ ਕੋਮਲ ਹੱਥਾਂ ਨਾਲ ਪਾਣੀ ਮੈਨੰ ੂ ਿਪਆਇਆ। ਰੂਹ: ਉਸ ਵੇਲੇ ਪਤਾ ਨਹ ਿਕਉ ਂ ਮ ਥੋੜਾ ਿਜਹਾ ਘਬਰਾਇਆ; ਿਜਸਮ: ਕੁਝ ਦੇਰ ਬਾਅਦ ਮ ਆਪਣੇ ਆਪ ਨੂੰ ਿਬਨਾਂ ਲੀਿੜਆ ਤ, ਬੇਹੋਸ਼ੀ ਦੀ ਹਾਲ ਿਵੱਚ ਪਾਇਆ। ਰੂਹ: ਤੇਰੇ ਨਾਲ ਉਸ ਦੇ ਵੱਲ ਕੀਤੇ ਗਏ ਬਲਾਤਕਾਰ ਕਾਰਨ ਮੈ ਆਪਣੇ ਆਪ ਨੂੰ ਵਾਇਆ।। ਿਜਸਮ: ਿਮਲੋਣ ਵਾਲਾ ਵੀ ਤੂੰ , ਿਵਛੋੜਣ ਵਾਲਾ ਵੀ ਤੂੰ, ਮੇਰੇ ਵਾਿਹਗੁਰੂ ਮੈਨੰ ੂ ਉਥੇ ਲੈ ਚੱਲ , ਿਜੱਥੇ ਵੱਸਦੀ ਹੋਵੇ ਮੇਰੀ ਰੂਹ।।
A Dialogue Between Body and Soul Namika Mehta Jism: I was beautiful, that’s why he liked me; Rooh: it’s why I wept like a torrential downpour Jism: I’ve heard that you loved him with all of you Rooh: My god, my love for him was more precious than diamonds and pearls Jism: First you tell, then I’ll tell you what happened to me. Rooh: I used to write poetry for him: I am like a star to you in this dark night, Who longs to shine in your life. The day this star disappears, Understand it is because I have been separated from this body. Jism: Alas! He was hungry for me, not for you! And I know this you never understood. So the story goes: Jism: I was adorned, wearing what he likes; I went to him, he offered me water with his delicate hands. Rooh: That’s when I don’t know why but I felt uneasy Jism: After a while, when I gained consciousness, I realised I was unclothed. Rooh: When he raped you, I lost myself. Jism: You are the one who unites, You are the one who separates, My God, take me where my soul dwells.
Touch by Manasvini
Unravelling Sahana Hegde Intimacy coils. Like thread around a spool. Hair twined around fingers, Your legs wound around mine – Trap and trellis all at once. I want, no I don’t want, no I need, no I cannot bear A line from one of my fifty-three unsaved Word documents: “I don’t know if this is what love is supposed to feel like.” A line from my journal, dated December of last year: “his hand was so fast I felt it first – Came out of nowhere – I feel fucking sick.” A line from every other cheesy romance – ‘If this is so wrong then why does it feel so right’ – And here I am going backwards again. If this is right then why does it feel so wrong? Intimacy coils and spirals and it is so easy To lose your footing. Touch is dizzying, throttling, overwhelming, head-spinning. this world has so many fucking hands, and I can’t always tell one from the other.
decision.pdf by aayushi deshpande
Pain(t) Anjaly Ariyanayagam No pain(t) no gain. My art can soothe my muscles And ease my heart's ache. I release, let go. Unpacking heavy feelings, Catch my breath, heaving. “But your mind’s boundless!” They said. So I toil , Building, sweat beading. Toying with feelings, That prick and cripple the soul. Can’t grow, or let go. Feelings ricochet like bullets , Still I draw these foes closer. Friends in times of war. Soothe them or dull them? Must I dare to indulge them, In oils and pain(t).
Too Far But Close by Krupali Gondhalekar
Untitled Aneesha Kotti “I am greater than you.” “I am no less than you.” “I am bigger than you.” “I will grow bigger than you.” This struggle between entities , is what the naked eye sees. But the force of chaos around it, if not stronger, then is more wily. The real battle of power is between the eternal black and the chaos surrounding. It is disorder, it is expanse it is confusion, Chaos wants cold control, abounding.
When the voids merge, chaos succumbs, to a vortex with a pull, hard to elude. To keep the two apart just enough, chaos deludes them into a constant feud.
During Our Video Call Masturbations Sreemoyee Mukherjee During our video-call masturbations. There is a third person between us, aside from our 101 personalities, that CBI agent, or the Amazon employee microtargeting us. I flew back to our city, but Both 15.6 and 1517 km are equidistant on my phone-screen. What does it matter? There is a third person Between us During our video-call masturbations. When I undress for Your Gaze, The cameras only show What I want you to see. Yet, my body moves exactly how you tell it to, So is there a third person Pulling the strings, During our video-call masturbations? When you ask me, to strike my left breast, who am I, the do-er or the one feeling Each stroke?
Am I split into two selves Pivoting on a body? Am I you? No, The pleasure you get from watching is Not mine. Can one body feel both The Self and the Other? Is what floods inside me, finally Recognition? Or there is a third person between us, During our video call masturbations.
Pereflection by Akanksha Panicker
Quite a Few Mansi Shanbag You say you love me? No, just hold on a beat. There's actually someone/s I'd like you to meet. My many personalities, They're here, lying askew. Don't be alarmed, There's quite a few. There's one who never cries, And one who sobs herself to sleep. There's one who is scared to death, And one who’s ready to leap. There's one whose boundaries were crossed, And about that, she never talks. Then there's one who crossed oceans To heal and be her own rock. There's one who has been lying Since before she knew it was wrong. And one who, from the bottom of her heart, Truly hates liars now. There's one who loves her friends, For them, she'd do or die. And there's one who couldn't care less, Actually, probably could, if she tried.
There's one who has loved being alone For as long as she can remember. And one that craves warm company, Every time winter creeps up a September. These were just a few I could, in a giffy, spot. If you wait around long enough, There'd be more out and about. So, don't tell me you love me Unless you've known each and every one. Loving them all is hard, trust me. I'm barely halfway done. You say you love me? No, just hold on a beat. There's actually someone I'd like you to meet. My many personalities. They're all here, lying askew. Don't be alarmed, For there's quite a few.
aïe1 Ian G. Habib i spent hours thinking about how you begin but never end a smile, almost but never quite moving your lips. on screen: that blonde girl runs from a spanish vampire. here: some soap bubbles pop. i go crazy. a couple of very shabby leggings and layers of all kinds, loosely fitted pieces of cloth distressed, everything almost whole, almost raw, almost dry. when i look at you, i find in the glow of silence the immobility of focus. sometimes: the high brightness up there. sometimes: our meetings. sometimes: the voices of strangers intertwining on the backs of the stones. sometimes: the headlights beam, striking the front of the house. i looked out of the window as if i wasn’t, and you slow speeding up and s l o w i n g down the vampire's bite. never beginning, neverending. the girl's blue dress. i've been thinking for hours, thinking about the way your immobility says i don't know if.
1 French; Definition: EXCLAMATION; ouch! ow! Aïe! A short film by Virginie Gourmel; https://vimeo.com/374180369
All this technology, brings you two steps closer, five steps further from me. Frozen behind a screen, I'm staring at a two-dimensional you.
Oddly enough, when we're just on a phone call, you seem more real to me. My imagination comes alive in vibrant colors when you whisper into my ears, its no different than if you were right next to me.
But when all this ends and I can run into your arms and hold you; it comes as a relief to me that you still smell of the Earth and the Woods and everything about your embrace grounds me.
A Comic by Jyotsna Ramesh
The Step Counter Records 0 Steps Saumya R. Kedia We walked around campus till our legs gave way, crawling our way back to childhood. If I could sink inside your loneliness like it was an old bean bag, I would. The empty space next to me is filled with emojis, tweet drafts, and Instagram stories. Social media is unlike crowded cities, it doesn’t let us breathe from its windows. I see you so much that I overlook the joy of looking at you. At least when we are on call sans video, I can’t measure how far away you are. I just wish you were near; you slip into my dreams. We sleepwalk. We don’t tire.
You are the woods at dawn. Sunlight trickles down like sweat. And you hold my hand like we are planting in the wet mud. When I’m afraid that I will not grow beside you: I think of your dewy voice, and how deeply it resonates, despite the weak connection.
Intimacy Ambreen Saniya It took a global pandemic for us to realize that intimacy is more than just touch. What is intimacy, if not for your longing to be understood? When you decide to let your guard down and place a piece of your heart in someone’s hand, you know that you are also giving away your fears, insecurities, wins, losses, stories, memories— you choose to give up a piece of yourself, you choose to be vulnerable. You take something worn and wary, treat it with care, and make it yours, embracing its new warmth. Intimacy is about this: it is about the exchange of hearts, so profoundly in love with each other. Intimacy is about that trust, trusting someone enough to know that everything that was inside you, which was protected all this while, will be just as safe with them.
Intimacy looks different now: It’s at the breakfast table, the work from home days, virtual birthday parties, Zoom dates, lazy lockdown sleepovers, even grocery shopping. Because if the pandemic has taught us anything, it is this— life is numbered and it demands to be lived with gratitude, and every moment to be cherished. Every heartbeat contains a lifetime meant to be spent with the ones you love. even if it is just a text message from half a world apart, or a doing something mundane like laundry together, we will not take it for granted. we will honour that moment.
In Response to 'Touch' by Manasvini
Inspiration for the editors:
Death and Life by Gustav Klimt (1915)
write your own