Misc

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever"

-John Keats

WHO'S CRAZY?

You may call me crazy.

Call me moody.

Maybe I am.

But you.

You are boring.

You are dull. Lame.

You'll never write poems.

You'll never sketch or paint.

Or sing or dance.

Or understand me,

And my dreamy world.

Equations won't save you.

You practical bastard,

You slave of reality,

Open up. To the crazy.

Let your jaw drop.

The universe is endless.

Goodbye

The hour glass is empty,

The time has come,

To send you off,

To bid goodbye.

I'm not ready,

For the last words,

For the final embrace,

And I never will be.

But time won't wait.

He is merciless.

Unjust. Unfair. Cruel.

We're his helpless victims.

Let's take a long walk, friend.

Drown in the dying moonlight,

Give each other company,

Until the next day dawns.

Even if time comes on four legs

With vicious fangs and ghastly growl,

Let's stand our guard and not say bye.

It won't be the same, but let's stay in touch.

And when time comes again,

This time as a friend, an angel,

Let's walk and talk again,

Like the good old days.

I wish I could sit upright, |

Hands to chin, in deep thought, |

Like the wise people in statues, |

Swishing my pen like a wand, |

While I write my poetry. |

But I'm sobbing on my bed, |

Eyes red, hands trembling, |

Hair stuck to the tears on my face, |

And I reach out desperately, |

Opening and closing drawers, |

Grabbing my notebook, like Gollum, |

My precious, our precious,|

And stagger back to my bed, |

Words and tears pouring ,|

My first draft- a painting of ink and tears. |

Then I read the mess. |

Once. Twice. Thrice. |

Words come out of the page, |

And embrace me in a warm hug, |

And my sobbing slowly stops. |

Now the poem is just a poem. |

Not a part of me anymore. |

I do minor changes on the paper, |

Editing individual lines. |

Rewriting for clarity. |

Then I type it on my laptop, |

Further detaching it from me, |

And become a ruthless editor, |

Greeting most lines with the backspace. |

It hurts, because, I'm editing feelings. |

But some words remain. |

My heart's true desires, |

Not the lies I tell myself. |

Reflecting my heart, |

Better than any mirror. |

Everything rots.

Everything dies.

Even pretty pink flowers,

That bloomed yesterday,

Might die today.

And won't come back. Ever.

Don't hope for the dead.

Hope for the living.

Swinging arms and bobbing hair

Springy legs and fragrant air

When time and roads all was fair

Back then we didn't have to care.

When we had friends when we had play

And knew nothing but today

The sky wasn't so far away

What could go wrong, you say?

I met someone called Mr. Time

He put to sleep my inner child

"you're an adult", he smirked at me

And gave me a bag of worries.

Nothing in my lab works right,

Our microscope is not in sight ,

Lab to lab we go begging,

To do all of our imaging .

Our lab has some villains too ,

You must meet madam Fungoo ,

She hides in our incubator ,

And shows up in our cell culture .

But on odd days we get dry ice

Fiddling with it feels so nice

And sometimes we use clay

To make moulds, it makes my day.

We have an auto stirrer too,

But we only use it to brew,

Tornadoes in glass jars,

Bunking our seminars.

I saw foamy bubbles of soap,

By chance under the microscope,

It felt trippy and pretty dope,

Better than any periscope.

You can't kill my inner child,

She's still in me, fresh and wild,

Trying is only futile,

Leave me alone, Mr. Time.

Merely micron sized,

They take all my headspace.

Those naughty troublemakers,

Won't grow or grow too fast.

No more splitting or passaging.

May the media turn yellow.

May there be contamination.

May they die and go to hell.

They haunt my dreams,

My waking thoughts.

Go away go away,

To the biohazard waste.

WHO OWNS MY BODY?

TW- References to SA

I lost my body—

inch by inch, year by year.

I lost my head

Each time they said,

“Girls must have long hair.”

I was just a child.

But only on the head.

My brows must be trimmed.

And my armpits shaved.

They said. They said. They said.

Then came my breasts—

They existed, and that was a sin.

So I Covered them with a dupatta

I Covered them with a shawl

But they still groped me—

In the bus, in the train,

In the day, in the night.

A group of drunk men

Lurked in the shadows.

When I walked to the bus,

They grabbed my breasts.

I screamed.

I ran.

I hid.

I froze.

And then, they told,

“You shouldn’t have gone out alone.

That night, I lost them too.

But my mother never knew.

She still adjusts my saree pallu,

Pulling it to cover my blouse—

But leaves my waist exposed

And some of my stomach too

That I wanted to cover

because I knew I had a tummy.

Then I hit the gym.

And my arms grew strong

I gained weight. I gained muscle.

And my blouse sleeve was tight

So they told me I was fat—

that I should eat less.

Then comes my “lady parts”—

She bleeds and aches every month.

Because she bears my family’s honor

And it’s too heavy for a vagina.

The first time, they announce it with joy.

Then they wrap sanitary pads in black bags.

I went to the gynec once—

because she itched.

They asked me:

“Are you sexually active?”

“Are you married?”

As if diseases come

with wedding rings.

She sneered at my jeans first .

Then she said

“Women these days have many partners,”

“That’s why they come to us.”

I shaved my legs,

But they wanted my toes too.

So they gave me.

A toe ring and an anklet.

It seemed my neck was still free—

So they gave me a thaali.

And hung it around my neck

With symbols of a faith I didn’t believe in.

Like the mariner's cursed bird.

It weighed me down on my neck.

He was punished for killing.

I was punished for being.

A woman.

So tell me who owns my body

Is it the men who groped me?

Or my in-laws who forced the thaali?

Or my mom who adjusts my saree?

Or the society ?

Or the next-door aunty?

I’m sure it’s not me.

Shape of you- MDCK version

Mcf10a isnt the best line to grow lumens

So mdck is where I go

Me and my lab at BE grow organoids

like acini and mdck domes

Come over add sodium acetate and lo we get domes and tubes

And trust me they’re cool in confocal

Stress fibres at bottom actin rings at top of dome

Mdck, you know I want your tubes

Your tubes were handmade for somebody like me

Come on now, give me data,

I’ll cellpose you and find your shape.

Say girl, stain me with Phalloidin

And take pictures of me in the confocal

Come now, stain me for Actin

Come, come on now stain me for Actin

I’m in love with the shape of you

Monolayer, domes and tubules

Although I like you in 2D too,

I’m in love with your tubules

Last night we went to imaging room

And now my harddrive smells like you

Everyday we’re discovering something brand new

I'm in love with your tubules

(Oh-I-oh-I-oh-I-oh-I)

I'm in love with your tubules

(Oh-I-oh-I-oh-I-oh-I)

I'm in love with your tubules

(Oh-I-oh-I-oh-I-oh-I)

I'm in love with your tubules

Every day we’re discovering something brand new,

I'm in love with the shape of you.

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