Pens and Pages

I bite the bitter leaves Of the tree that grows in my backyard. I pick up the yellow ones, Dying and pretending to be Beautiful, Both. I hear her speak, In that familiar accent. She laughs aloud; A shrill pitch in her voice. Deep red lipstick on her lips. A little more flare in her hair. Her eyes beam as she talks. I look at myself, Then I look at her. I was more real With the leaves I hold on to. She plucks flowers From my backyard. I feel sorry Both for the flower And her. Fake, I called her once And made her cry. He called her beautiful. I looked at her again, And that made me cry.

Below are the five questions I am tired of answering ever since I moved out of Assam :         “What’s with the fake British Accent?” or “Do people not speak Hindi in Assam?” OR “No matter what language you speak, it feels like you’re speaking Bengali” OR (The BAAP of all) “You have a Bangladeshi accent” And these comments just leave me with nothing but a jaw drop. :-/ For God’s sake,it’s not a fake accent and it’s definitely neither British nor Bangladeshi. If anything it should be, it would be Assamese or better – my own accent. And if I know Bengali, that’s an add-on; that doesn’t make me a Bengali person. And yes, in Assam most of the people do know and speak Hindi. Hmph!          Do you eat dogs?  And my dear, why did you leave snakes and cats and rats and anything that crawls or climbs? Well, the answer is a NO. I don’t eat dogs nor do most of the people I know (well, some may just do and it's ...