Thirteen Ways to Hold a Trishul (Forgive us, W.S.)
I
A trishul swoops down
Like a natural disaster in slo-mo
Purges this land from the unclean
Like autumn swept away with diligent hands
One green leaf at a time
II
Stare at your left hand, callused and rough
While holding a trishul with the right
It zooms into space, becomes infinite
Red and saffron are now close enough
III
Aamir, Shahrukh and Saif have married five
And divorced two Hindu women between them
“This is why we must be vigilant”
The morning microphones sibilant
Like a warring couple, bicker
“Can’t you see my trishul is bigger?”
IV
A love child, an empire and a fabulous life
Can there be another Trishul?
Nobody dare talk of a tucked-away wife
For fear of a trishul.
V
Wolverine cannot die
Except that very soon, he’s going to
The folks from Marvel pulled the switch
After watching him preen at Madison Square Garden
His trishuls blunted once and for all
VI
Don’t believe what the papers tell you
When Shiva opens his third eye
And strikes the earth with his trishul
We will witness the only real “climate change”
VII
America is now Amreeka
Which itself is Amerika
Which is a Kafka novel
This explains New York’s thousand trishuls
VIII
Bharat is not treacherous like India
In Bharat, you can be whatever you like
As long as you are also Hindu
Pilgrims from around the world
Worship the trishul’s kind cruelty
IX
Three hundred Ramayanas are
About two hundred and ninety-nine too many
Polyphony begets cacophony
Says my teacher, as he caresses his trishul
X
Sexual intercourse ended
In nineteen twenty-five
The khaki knickers descended
And ate it up alive
Not that we were doing
Much humping ourselves
But now our meagre screwing
Was banished to the shelves
Once every repressed fool
Partook of primitive porn
No sword and no trishul
Could sway the lovelorn
Now they hunt in packs
Slapping women at bars
Their loincloths are stiffened
As they speak of Mars
XI
A dagger draws blood
A sword draws blood
A trishul draws blood
The amateur trishul-bearer
Has just learned a lesson in equality
XII
Every time a woman fights back
A trishul remembers
The finer points of “Indian culture”
XIII
I found myself in three minds
Three voices straining to be heard
The left path left me in tatters
The middle of the road no longer matters
I discovered this before it was cool
The right path involves a trishul