From a devoted caregiver to one of Bangalore’s most sought-after podcasters who embarked on a new journey in her late forties, Mohua Chinappa, a fiery speaker on rebooting career and gender issues, stands as an accomplished author, poet, and an inspiration for housewives. Chinappa is back with a collection of poems that emerge to soothe the soul in If Only It Were Spring Everyday .
The collection is a heartfelt exploration of love, respect, and resilience in the face of adversity.
In this collection, love is celebrated, and pain is felt deeply, reminding us of the fragility of the human experience. Through her words, Mohua invites readers to find solace amidst the storms of life and to embrace the hope that springs eternal, even in the darkest of times.
THE DECAYING BODY WITH A WISE MIND
I write taking a cue
From life
In the waiting rooms.
I delve back
Into the memories
Of
a waiting room at the railway station.
I was 10
Ma is in her early thirties.
We had a leather suitcase,
And a water bottle,
One held all in a green coarse fabric.
I learnt to keep a sharp eye
When ma went into the loo.
She taught me these life skills.
I recall the rusty fan above
That made such a racket.
But the racket was sweeter
Than the dingy heat.
So I looked up to smile at the fan,
That never smiled back.
I was not allowed
To
move.
I sat still
With ma,
Waiting
For
the next train.
Ma said
“Don’t talk
too much, just write all that you observe.”
I was diligent and
I wrote.
I wrote
About the gorgeous hippie running away
From her home in the UK,
About the cleaner who mopped the floor
Like a chore.
Her sari above her ankles
Her hair dishevelled.
I remember
I used to lose track
Of my pen,
On
paper while writing.
My mind caught the devil’s dance
Of the swarming large black flies
In the chai shop at the station.
Milky tea in a kulhad.
The bookshelf selling Cheap
Hindi novels.
In that chaos
Was stardust magazine
With Rekha
Her red lipstick teasing
Yet hanging lifelessly
By a wooden clip.
I am waiting
Again today,
After many years.
The wait is outside
The dialysis room.
There are beds
Like the same train compartment.
Some dying,
Some want a little more life
Some are in complete denial.
I realise
All waiting rooms
Are
alike.
We are all waiting
For something in life.
But very few are succinct
About what the ardent wait is for
THE THING CALLED LIFE
Life is not easy. It is never easy.
Ask the labourer
Whose callused
Hands bleed
Holding the bricks.
His little baby,
Wife flinch
With his gentle touch.
Ask the prostitute
On the road
Who risks her life
In a car with three men
To get her child’s school fees.
Ask the little girl
In the village
Who is married
To the temple idol
The idol remains mum
When she is sent
From one rich home
To another to satisfy their lust.
Ask the drunk
Who lost his job
His mind.
Ask the ones
Languishing in jail
For no fault.
Ask the grandmothers
Of
Sunderbans in Bengal
Who are selling
Their bodies
To just live.
Their homes
All swept away.
Ask the refugees
Who have lost it all
To political fights.
Life is easy for the rich
Life will remain hard for the poor.
Spirituality suits the well-heeled
Morality is for the tamed middle class
Life is never easy, ever.
The Author
Mohua Chinappa, an accomplished author, columnist, and podcast host of The Mohua Show, shares powerful stories of displacement and gender struggles in her fearless content.
Her book Nautanki Sala and Other Stories addresses cultural-economic shifts and has been translated into Hindi as well. As a podcaster, she amplifies voices facilitating change.
Mohua, a TEDx speaker, has received numerous awards including the Change-Maker Award. Chinappa also runs an initiative called NARI: that aims to empower the unheard voices of 160 million Indian Homemakers.
(Extracted with due permission from the author and the publisher)
