Vultures by Dilip Mohapatra

I am the new age Indian woman

the daughter of a father who

calls me Angel

and the sister of my brothers

who think I am a fairy

who has descended from the heavens.

I have the wings

that could take me to the highest of the skies

beyond the clouds and beyond the stars

but the vultures hover above

their ravenous and watchful eyes focused on me

and their talons and beaks

in perpetual readiness to pounce on me.

I get diktats issued from time to time

from the guardians of the great Indian culture

from the moral police and the custodians of values,

that my skirts should touch my ankles

that my neckline should stay just around my larynx

and I can't shake a leg in the disco

nor can I say cheers in a pub.

But how can you stop the vultures

with a sight that pierces through

the layers of my prescribed opaque clothes

to see through and sense the fig leaf underneath

and always ready to plunge and peck at

the offensive and evil protrusions on me

that entice them to no end

and that fans the lecherous fire in them?

I may hide my body in an iron armour

and even may go for a mastectomy

but the vultures will still hover over me

for vultures will always be vultures

even though they may have their own

daughters sisters and mothers.

And again I must continue to remind myself

I am a woman and

it's all my fault.