This is no place for lovers.

This is no place for lovers.
Especially not lovers
    who refuse
      to end up in all sorts of knots.
      to end up in holy matrimony.
You can’t take your lover home.

Even your progressive friends frown
“Why would you invest in a man
Who won’t even buy you a few dinners?
You are old now, you should be more prudent.”
So they won’t offer you their guest room, the spare bed, a honey pot.

You double-check the auto-lock on your car.
You scout around for quiet roads.
Safe lanes, dense foliage, no traffic,
Not even pedestrians.
And hope that the residents won’t phone the cops
When they see a car parked, steaming,
With a couple locked in each other. Inside.

Hotel rooms have wi-fi cameras
And you’d rather not be in a sexy movie
       Since you won’t even get paid
       Or even get a 10% off on the room fare.
But you smile at the thought
     Really, love, no one does it better than us.
And that friend hooked on desi porn, assures you,
“Try karo, I will let you know if I recognise you.”
And both of you laugh.
But that’s not what you want.

You dream of marriage then.
That rich, cute, Ooper Bharath boy from Bhopal
With 163 acres of land.
Surely, somewhere, in all that land
You and your lover could discover each other?
You and your lover could plant memories?
But India is about honour killings
It would be fun to die for passion
      So grand and revolutionary
      A legend, really.
      Like Juliet. Like Anarkali.
But so boring if they killed you,
      to teach a lesson to
adulterous women
When the men get away with malfunctioning cocks and rude snorts.
When the men get away with everything.
    Even the rapes of minors.
Marriage will never end well, you know.
You would be buried 5 feet by 4
In that 163 acres of land.

You can’t even come together on a Nerudian bicycle
There’s too little space to manoeuvre.
And you want to possess
Every inch of his body.
    With your hands, your mouth,
    indeed all your senses.
You want his mouth to discover
     pathways on
the smooth, buxom curves of yours.
A bicycle will give you both
a bloody crick in the neck.

You sleep every night on a large king size bed
Alone
And in your dreams you finally consummate.
The shudders wake you.
You are satiated and hungry at once.
If sex is mind over matter
Then you have been lovers now for centuries.
Only, this country is no place for lovers.
 

Advertisements

About Bhumika's Boudoir

I love to laugh, and end up being a part of high drama and stormy emotion even when I don't pursue it. Being creative, and communicating with people get me going. I enjoy all the good things in life especially those that are slightly risque, and apologise little, if ever, for all that I do. Literature is a passion and so is music.
This entry was posted in Idle Thoughts, Intoxication Induced. Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to This is no place for lovers.

  1. Marvin Grey says:

    Seriously, crazy rhythm.

    Refused a colleague. Even when he promised not to use the bed. Kept thinking, can’t have someone do it in our room. She deserved better. A sublet. A single room. A single bed. In next room, a tenant who slept with Chinese hookers. In a building that rented out to Chinese hookers who plied their trade at a 5 star hotel across the street. Still our clean room and bed.

    Crazy rhythm.

    Do it while driving? But has its limits. Plus, couldn’t drive and do anything else at same time. Takes a specific zodiac sign. Not all zodiacs can multitask, you know?

    Check the mirrors. I used to do that even when alone. Won’t say more.

    Not small towns. We can’t make it in small towns. Why not here? Even here is small. Spread out but small. Maximum cities. I can get away with anything.

    I can’t go further down this crazy rhythm you got going here, Madame of the Boudoir. You have me googling “Nerudian bicycle”. Do you know it keeps coming back to the Boudoir? Except on Bing. Nothing out of Microsoft works like we need it to. And “if sex is mind over matter” is going to keep me awake.

    Serious crazy rhythm, Bhumika.

    Like

  2. Lovely, Bhumika. Flows beautifully. The one thing that occurred to me – You say “this is no country for old lovers”, but I don’t get that much of a sense of “this country” apart from that one stanza on the boy from Bhopal, and to a lesser degree, hotels with wi-fi. But maybe the “country” is not your intent?

    Anyway, enjoyed reading it!

    Like

    • Wait. What? When did I say “this is no country for old lovers?”

      Hahahahaha. This reminds me of this superb gaffe of mine in the CNF Course Book. I’ll tell you when we meet.

      Country is my intent. But country is also hyperbole. 🙂 Thank you so much. Always a thrill when I see a comment by you.

      Like

  3. suresh says:

    You seem to drive home the point no place for lovers is fantastic but inspite of all these a few the lucky ones managed to attain the matrimonial bliss pray for those that still fantazise their dreams but leave this wicked world with no thoughts left behind. the bitch needs to be satisfied for her wants of yesterday can never be the same today

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s