Anindita Sengupta

Anindita Sengupta grew up in Bombay and now lives in Bangalore, India. Her poetry has appeared in Pratilipi, Kritya, Asian Cha, Quay Journal, Muse India, Talking Poetry, and in several anthologies. In 2008, she received the Toto Funds the Arts Award for Creative Writing. A writer, journalist and communications consultant, she has been published in The Hindu, Deccan Herald, Mid-Day, Marie Claire and Comment is Free at The Guardian. She also runs and edits Ultra Violet, India's first online community of young feminists. Her website is here.

The Codes of the Body

There is shame (I’ve heard) in things that concern the body

I try to forget its call and yet, I yearn the body

Ash is air. Water expands with light. Flowers decay.

Hold these secrets in your hand when you burn the body.

Degrees gather mold in the old, forgotten cupboards

Now, your mad dance is a bid to--what? Learn the body?

“The body is sacred”, poor fool Whitman forgot this fact:

Sanctity has a stiff price. One must earn the body.

In bedsores and in boredom, life passes by grimly

Play the radio. Remember to turn the body.

Like new leaves in rain, I turn green in your passion

I fear this love will blast the soul, even spurn the body.

When you are gone, I will wear black and roam the streets

Let them call me mad; I will not return the body