Guest Editor’s Note: Women, Power & Creativity

Padmaja Iyengar-Paddy

Dear SETU readers and my friends and poets,

Imagine when over a hundred voices of women speak together! No, it isn’t always noise or cacophony…!!!  Believe me, women can speak, roar, plead, cajole, convince, argue, discuss – and perform many more activities with their voices - in perfect synchrony!!! Everything depends on the time, place and the platform…

This edition of SETU’s ‘Women, Power & Creativity’ is the collective voice of 110 women poets from 25 countries through their 312 poems! Their poems are a reflection of what the 21^st Century woman is thinking and wishes to convey to the world! Their nationalities may vary, but they are all going through a period of transition – trying to remember what their mothers and grandmothers taught them and also keeping pace with the technological advancements of the 21^st Century, that gives them an instant voice through social media whether it is MeToo or any other view!

As I read the poems received, I was able to resonate with each one of the poems as experiences I myself went through in my life or have seen the scenario painted in my society or country too…

The voices of women in this collection of poems, are gentle, confident, strident, imploring, cautioning, chiding, loving, passionate, irritated, angry and so on, as they have gone about exploring the various power structures surrounding them and through their immense efforts, have succeeded in not only creating their distinct identity, but also, realizing their potential to the fullest even if the opportunities were limited and hurdles were many …

The women poets in this edition of ‘Women, Power & Creativity’, comprise homemakers, students, school teachers, university professors, bureaucrats, corporate professionals, business women, lawyers, doctors, engineers, economists, bankers, artists, musicians, dancers and many more. Their age ranges from 12+ to 80+. It is touching to hear a 12-year-old poet assure “It is OK” and the 80-year young poet delving into history and questioning Emperor Shahjahan through the voice of Mumtaz Mahal!!! Then, there is the corporate-honcho-turned-businesswoman who “taps” the “Glass Ceiling” and says, “It’s tough, but not tougher than me”, and a homemaker poet who cautions “Don’t Mess With the Woman In the Kitchen”! While a student holds forth on “Equality Talks” through a male-female dialogue (or is it a wrangling match?!) in her poem, a doctor poet likens women to an “Aquarium”, “keeping their mystery”!

Mother and grandmother are recurring themes, as are the trials by fire that women go through to overcome a variety of barriers like patriarchy, prejudice, abuse, body-shaming etc., in their day to day life and living. Indian poets have freely invoked the various Indian goddesses like Durga, Parvati, Shakti etc, and mythological characters like Draupadi, Subhadra, Yashodhara, Gargi, etc. to make a point.

A redeeming feature in this edition is poetry of different genres e.g., Tapestry, Tanka, prose poem etc.

Questions raised are many but answers too have emerged as if by some telepathy between the poets! Some have raised issues and some have provided the solutions. Some have deconstructed feminism questioning “What is Feminism?” and some have questioned the kind of expectations placed on them that obstruct their progress and free flying!

There are countries where prostitution is rampant putting the young girls and women through untold miseries and risks, and there are countries where women struggle to find secluded places and the garb of darkness to relieve themselves for want of toilets in their homes!

It is truly an honour for me to present here a rich repertoire of poems that present women in different avatars – expressing their concerns with angst, anger, anguish, self-doubts, sorrow, satire, happiness, joy, confidence, and so on…but determined to emerge from it all and fly high! That’s the 21^st Century Woman for you – something old, something new, someone confident, someone independent – with her life, though extensively wired, connected and driven by technology, still demanding the feminine touch in all that she does!!!

Read on, dear readers and discover a whole new world of women – women poets expressing themselves freely with wit and wisdom, drawing from their life’s experiences and their surroundings, with concern and empathy for their less fortunate sisters, but clear about where they wish to be seen – flying high with wings of their own! Come, read the 312 poems of 110 women poets from 25 countries  and be enlightened, enriched and empowered!

I thank all the women poets featured here (and also those who mailed their poems but for some reason their poems couldn’t be featured here), for readily responding to my call, SETU’s call, with their excellent poems. Last but not the least, I thank the English Editor of SETU Dr. Sunil Sharma and the Editor-in-Chief Mr. Anurag Sharma, for bestowing upon me the honour to act as the Guest Editor of this ‘Women, Power & Creativity’ edition of SETU and for providing me a truly rewarding experience and great learning.  

Padmaja Iyengar-Paddy

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Poetry: Women, Power & Creativity: Authors

Alicia Minjarez Ramírez Alicja Maria Kuberska Amanita Sen Anju Kishore A. Annapurna Sharma Annie George Anuradha Bhattacharyya Aprilia Zank Aratrika Baidya Artha Perla Avril M & Shernaz W S Barathi Bharati Nayak Bina Pillai Bina Singh Chenai Boroma Chioneso Rutsito Claudia Piccinno De Vincent Miles Denisa Kondić Devi Nangrani Dorcas Wairuri Maina Eliza Segiet Elizabeth Kurian ‘Mona’ Enkelejda Pashaj Murataj Flaminia Cruciani Gauri Dixit Geethanjali Dilip Geraldine Fernandez (Dray) Gili Haimovich Gulnar Raheem Khan Hajaarh Muhammad Bashar Hema Ravi Hilal Karahan Hiranya Aditi Godavarthy hülya n. yılmaz Indira Babbellapati

Joan McNerney Joanna Kalinowska Juhi Gupte Jyoti Kanetkar Jyotirmaya Thakur Kala Ramesh *** Kalyna Temertey-Canta Kamala Wijeratne Kamani Jayasekera Ketaki Datta Latha Prem Sakhya Lopa Banerjee Madhu Sriwastav Madhumathi Magie Fauré-Vidot Vijay-Kumar Malakshmi Borthakur Malsawmi Jacob Margaret Saine Maria do Sameiro Barroso Marian Eikelhof Mary Bone Memory Zikhali Namita Laxmi Jagaddeb Nandita Bhattacarya Nandita Samanta Neelam Saxena Chandra Neha Kumari Nishi Pulugurtha Nuggehalli Pankaja Nutan Sarawagi K Pankajam Paramita Mukherjee Mullick Poonam Nigam Sahay Pramila Khadun Pratima Apte Preeta Chandran

Pushmaotee Subrun Rajwanti Mann Ranjana Sharan Sinha Reshma Ramesh Rita De Riya Hemant Roula Pollard Sabita Chakrabarty Sadhana Subramanian Sangeeta Sharma Santosh Bakaya Saranya Francis Saroj Mahobe Seena Sreevalson Shafinur Shafin Sigma G R Sinaso Mxakaza Sindhu Varghese Sosonjan A. Khan Soumya Mohanty Vilekar Srishti Sharma Sudeshna Mukherjee Sujatha Warrier Sumitra Mishra Sunanda Bhadra Sunil Kaushal Swapna Behera Tarannum Riyaz Thryaksha Ashok Garla Tulsi Bhandari Usha Sridhar Varsha Das Vasuprada Kartic Vidya Shankar Vineetha Mekkoth Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

Setu, March 2019

Virginia Jasmin Pasalo, PHILIPPINES

Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

ANTS AND FLIES IN MY COFFEE CUP

You are in my coffee again
telling me tales
of worker ants swimming
in the desert of Saudi Arabia

the last time I saw you
you were telling me
about soldier ants swimming
in a sea of sugar from Luisita

you told me
they were all women
the ones who are eager to swim
where there is no water

you have many stories
about ants being squeezed
in between fingers
stepped on by big feet
and baked by the sun

there is also one
who ran
and died famished
on the road
now being kissed
by four flies

enough of your stories
about ants

I would like to listen
to a story of one fly
that escaped her death
from the gaping mouth
of a big fish.

THIS DAY IS MINE

My life is really meant

to be lived like an Atenean

living for others, they say

but today

I will smell anything i want to smell

be it the intoxicating smell of a flower

or the smell of an armpit

cursing with acidity

I will eat anything i like

even if it is a roasted pig

trembling with fat

soft drinks swimming

in sugar

or junk food

like the words being fed

by men doing nothing

lying on soft bed

being paid on instalment

by the wife

working as a domestic helper

in Saudi Arabia

I will not think

or scrimp on the time

I will spend looking at the vast

space in the universe

waiting for stars to fall

or to watch the lizards

make love

and drop exhausted

on the floor

This day is mine.

and mine alone.

DREAMS ON MOONBEAMS

blood dripped little by little

and you, you were oblivious

as you thrust in between

the rings and the crevices

unmindful of the chaos

and the pain

again, I held your hand

roughed from chopping

pinewood for the bonfire

your lips, dry and stern

became softer by the mercy

of the moonlight

heaven was in the fire

and you, burning from all ends

smoldering with the logs

slowly turned into ashes

waiting for a resurrection

the soothsayer was right

a moment of bliss

a plunge into the abyss

never to ascend

nowhere to descend

Virginia Jasmin Pasalo is the Executive Director of the International Visitor Leadership Program-Philippines (IVLP-Phils.) Alumni Foundation. She is also a Commissioner of the Pangasinan Historical and Cultural Commission (PHCC) and founding Chairperson of the Women in Development (WID) Foundation. For her extensive and valuable engagement with women, Philippine President Gloria Arroyo appointed her as the first representative of the women sector in the Board of Trustees of the Overseas Workers Welfare Administration (OWWA). Virginia writes prose and poetry in English, Tagalog, Pangasinan and Ilocano languages, and maintains a weekly column, “G Spot” with the newspaper Sunday Punch, focusing on women and the environment. She has authored and edited books on poetry, history, culture and development and has been recognized and cited for her initiatives in fostering culture and environmental activism. She has been awarded various grants and fellowships from several countries. She is a Fellow of the Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs, Princeton University, USA.

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Women, Power & Creativity :: Setu, March 2019

Vineetha Mekkoth, INDIA

Vineetha Mekkoth

MEN MATTER

They say a man is polygamous

He is drawn to the women he sees

Around him

Drawn to them in daily situations

Blame it all on his hormones

That tough guy testosterone.

They use it for all the reasons

Why they flirt

Why the roving eye.

Well guys, we are not so different.

We too size you up

Look at you and label you.

He's fat, his cheeks are rosy

He has a paunch

Why are his eyes watery!

That one's skinny

That chap looks good

But he should keep his mouth shut

Or all he spouts is some rubbish about

Women being dumb, to be fettered.

Well, the ones who know,

Avoid such guys like plague.

Who would want to be

In the company of such a blade!

We sort out the guys

Into the good, the bad and the ugly

Sometimes the good is bad

Sometimes the good, ugly

Sometimes the good is pleasing to the eye

Sometimes the good, distasteful to the mind

And your behaviour matters a lot, gentlemen

Into which box you are slotted

How and where and when.

If your head and heart are empty

All your swagger is trashed.

Only a man with empathy

Oodles of kindness

Tender and loving

Is loved in return.

So, there are men.

And then there are jerks.

To the latter,

Go take a walk.

REASON

Why, I wonder, should I worry

If women do not enter that shrine

Or do?

But I do worry about discrimination

In the name of religion

I think about all this

Because I'm a woman.

Maybe if I were a man

I would be less bothered

I would have had unquestioned privileges.

I'm on my own journey

I search for answers

I read, I listen

I accept only that which is logical

That which appeals to reason

I cannot accept every belief

Because they have been believed in

By so many, over so many centuries

My Whys, Whats, Whens

Have to be satiated

I do not drink because everyone does

I drink if and when I need it

That holds true for the hillock shrine

That holds true for love

That holds true for everything

AMAZON

Like a snake sloughing

Off dead skin, she walked past the hushed whispers,

The knowing glances of those who molested her daily with their words,

Their imagination, as they cast stones

At her will to live, to not die in the face

Of the multitudes of lies and gossip,

Shocked at her zest for life when they

Craved for her very death.

The least,

She should have shed tears.

For the world loves a tragedy and it's easier to live with

Than any Amazon battling and surviving scarred

Vineetha Mekkoth, a poet, writer, translator, editor, works as Assistant State Tax Officer in the State GST Department. Has been translating for the Kerala Sahitya Akademi since 2014 and has also contributed articles for the Malayalam Literary Survey, a quarterly published by the Akademi. Her poems have been included in various anthologies. She has been selected for the ICOP Critics Award for March 2015. Her poem was on the list of Highly Commended poems for the months of March and October 2015 and selected as the ‘Poem of the Month’ for April 2015 by Destiny Poets, UK. Her work has also been featured in Duane’s Poetree, Learning and Creativity and Mad Swirl Magazine. She was the co-editor and a participating poet of the anthology ‘Umbilical Chords: An Anthology on Parents Remembered’ (2015). Her short stories have been published online as well as in the collection.

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Women, Power & Creativity :: Setu, March 2019

Vidya Shankar, INDIA

SCARLET RISING

The scarlet blouse beseeched her to take it home.

It was a declaration of boldness, a solid fiery red

With a splatter of silver and black sequins around the neck

And no protective arms of modesty.

All she had wanted, when she had picked it up,

Was to satisfy an unresolved fancy of several years,

A secret desire to wear something… er… well, outrageous,

For maybe a moment in time, yes, just that.

And what better occasion to fulfil her desire

Than in the confines of the trial cell

Where no one save her could see what she was dressed in

And judge her through the conditioned mirrors they bore in their hearts?

Oh, she had really meant to put it back

On the hanger, with all the other blouses in the store,

And take with her

Only the sweet minute-long memory

Of the pretty confident woman who smiled at her

In a bright scarlet sleeveless blouse.

Closing her eyes, she imbibed the image she saw of herself,

The vivid bearing of assurance that was so distinctly not brazen.

Why not? She asked herself.

It was thus that the bright scarlet sleeveless blouse

Got paid for and found its way to her wardrobe at home

Only to be delegated to a hidden nook,

Seeing the light of day and breathing in a quick breath of fresh air

On those very rare times when she would take it out

And run her fingers over it longingly,

A reminder to herself of the image that was her but not,

And with a sigh, would resign the awaiting flame

And herself to the dankness of their imposed existence.

Till one day she decided that she was going to be the Scarlet Queen.

Out came the blouse and with it, some matching accessories

That had been lying ignored.

She gave her hair a twist and settled it into a style

that she had never worn before.

Her dressing completed with matching bag and shoes

She dared out into the immediate world she was part of,

A world rooted in traditional superiority and decent values

That spat quite vehemently

At even the slightest trace of immodesty

And ruled it disgraceful any crossing of standardized thresholds.

Especially if it involved married women.

As expected, the middle-aged *mama was at his balcony

In his supposedly white **dhoti discoloured with miserliness,

Rightfully shirtless as ever, leching at passing femmes.

“Women these days seem to have lost all sense of decorum,”

He quoted.

She passed by the official gossipers of their apartment,

Three ladies who unfailingly took up their positions

Come rain or shine to indulge in world-changing conferences

Disapproving the improprieties of society.

Their bored expressions lit up when they saw her.

She had given them food for talk.

The ***mami on the ground floor who deemed it her diligent duty

To keep a mental record of where and how her neighbours were going

Called out loud to her.

She pretended not to have heard but walked on.

Mami, her saree hanging loosely about her shoulder,

Leaving uncovered one round breast kept in place by a sweaty blouse

And exposing a generous waist,

Took a quick step up to the gossipers, eager to join

The ongoing discussion about a red alert that had come

From an unexpected quarter.

The saga in scarlet marched on, unfazed by the stir she was causing.

None of it mattered to her, anymore.

For in the vulgarity she had donned, she found

The strength of her femaleness,

The beauty of liberation,

And love for herself.

She discovered she was poetry.

*mama = Uncle, ** dhoti = Indian male apparel  ***mami = Aunt

NAME ME RIGHT

When I was born —

A girl child,

The grand-elders of the family agreed upon for me,

A name as per the astrological charts confirmed.

‘Twas a wonderful name, no doubt,

A name that held serene beauty,

But what my mother wanted for her first-born

Was something beyond the aesthetics.

All through her trimesters, she had only prayed

That her daughter (yes, she knew it would be me)

Be blessed with knowledge and wisdom

Not just of the intellect but even beyond.

My mother, however, being nothing but

that breed of a daughter-in-law

conditioned to mute nodding whenever

the grand-elders pronounced an edict,

The prayer remained a silent wish

she carried into the labour room —

My mother, whose name meant 'achievement'.

So, when the unheard voice managed in a whisper

To utter the wishful name,

The grand-elders deemed it sacrilege.

“Remember, it’s a girl you have birthed,

Society expects a girl to be beautiful, not wise.”

“Remember, it’s a girl you have birthed,

who must, one day, cross our threshold to move

into her husband’s home.

A girl with brains is a girl undone.”

“Remember,” said a stern-eyed matriarch,

“Men take beauty; men don’t take intellect.”

“Remember what you are now.

For the name your parents gave you,

What have you achieved here but the kitchen!"

Thus, the cry of the 'achiever' ignored,

An absolutistic statement was made —

“Beauty, the baby’s name will be,

Beauty, she will grow up to be,

And beauty, her tool, a husband for her to find.”

What brought about the moment of catharsis

Neither of my parents can recall,

But just as the priest was about to declare

the commanded name,

My father, a shadow till then, spoke out loud and clear.

“She’s my daughter and I shall name her what I will.

I refuse to comply

With your unreasonable decree.”

People say it was my father’s audacity

To make his voice heard in a tone more solid than the elders’

that gave me my name.

But I believe ‘twas Love —

The love my father had for my mother

That triggered his voice.

And, over the hollering of generations of bias,

Came to achieve, a mother’s silent love

That dared to dream for her daughter

Not only a simple name but also a destiny

That went beyond

The acceptable.

(Vidya is an Indian name that denotes learning and wisdom)

MOTHERHOOD?

Girl,

The offspring you are carrying in your womb

Because you are taken for granted,

Because that was what completed you supposedly

as woman,

Is not just because of Nature’s bestowal upon you

a receptacle,

It is society’s imposition too, that it may be born to carry

His name!

Girl,

The wailing baby whose poopy nappy you are coping to change,

The baby of the purple crying that is his as is yours,

The baby that was conceived to carry only

His name, not yours, for,

Carrying yours is sacrilege,

Why, then why must only you be delegated

The mucky task of cleaning up the hapless baby

While he, among friends, socializes

Well-perfumed?

Girl,

The little one that feeds at your breast

Because nature so designed you to be the giver,

But when it grows up and from your breast weaned away,

The kitchen now a place in the house

And its feed any hand can give,

Any hand with care in the chest,

Yet the feeding still remains your prerogative

While he at the TV sits,

Apathetically!

Girl,

Know this, motherhood though maybe a blessing,

Motherhood though may be the paradigm of womanhood,

Motherhood is, nonetheless, a glorified title that

Society has conferred on women to aspire for,

So that the noxious breed of nonchalant fathers

May be spared the ethically due responsibilities of

Parenthood?!!

Girl,

Be aware… be aware!

Vidya Shankar is a poet, writer, blogger, motivational speaker, English language teacher, instructional designer, content developer, and yoga enthusiast. Like a bamboo taking its time to grow, so has she waited, patiently, for her time to come to live a life of purpose, having broken the invisible shackles of an outdated society. An active member of poetry circles, Vidya’s works have appeared in national and international literary magazines, literary platforms and anthologies. She had been a regular contributor for the column 'Short Take' published in 'The Gulf Today', a Sharjah-based newspaper for over five years with over 250 articles to her credit. Her first book 'The Flautist of Brindaranyam', an anthology of 12 poems, is a collaborative effort with her photographer husband, Shankar Ramakrishnan. It was published in December 2017. Vidya is currently working on her second book — a collection of some of her Short Take articles.

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Women, Power & Creativity :: Setu, March 2019