নারীবান্ধব or Legislating Rape.

নারীবান্ধব or Legislating Rape.

Hon. Meher Afroz Chumki,

 

I cannot appeal to your children.

The mind does, after all, afford compartments:

The hospitality lounge at Hazrat Shahjalal

if you pay American Express: the Madonna of credit;

the backhand pet,

the kiss flaying the ghumta for yours:

the sister; the mother; the daughter;

During the voice vote.

You do think of them.

During Mr. Imam’s protestations.

You do remember them.

But in the private house,

not just the shanty playing  L’Enfant terrible,

she is subject to eminent domain:

যেখানে ‘আমাদের দেশের মানুষ বাল্যবিবাহের কুফল সম্পর্কে জানেন’

যেখানে পুরুষ মাগি গালি দিয়ে বাসায় ফিরতে পারেন

উনি জানেন ‘কিন্তু মানেন না।’

অজ্ঞান

We must endure.

The Mollah Paribar

whose daughter goes into labor

in the middle of her SSC exams;

can we assign her to desserts,

the salish where flesh is judiciary?

No, you don’t have to.

One does not flinch at corpses after the war.

১৪ ফাল্গুন, ১৪২৩

Photograph: CJ Clarke/Save the Children-

The girl in the photo is May Yoi Ching Marma

(https://www.theguardian.com/global-development-professionals-network/gallery/2015/nov/06/escaping-child-marriage-in-bangladesh-in-pictures)

 

 

 

 

24 days in february

24 days in february

Ashwaq

Disassembling your vertebra,

Into sepulchers hooking anchors to the bed of your mismated imagines, through mute button, where you are struck by baby i am tired, or a morsel of eggs, roti, and a before you sip, you realize some metaphor about the ocean throwing up eroticisms only infrequently, and these infrequencies are the ones you tune in for, along the tracks to the west of the burial estate, where you hope you die cradling yours, and yours what the state-schools taught you a factory-line would look like, and the same party line you toe in your jackfruit for teacher contribution to throw back at you at the engineering geometry set, yours, contribution to society, yours, yours, girl as future as past-wife tugging your arm for pocket money, as you bite your teeth and become your father thinking as your son, as a caricature of change as caring-center, as heart-beat in February’s fields, whatever that means–

Sathi
A mediation on the Boyfriend.

Robi nilkhet abasik elaka,

Sedan’s Front bumper in tundra,
the ambulance limps off of terminal reds counting cyclical to 199 and back to peanuts shelling, thudding, at one with a tarmac in seige.
Your chocolate, chewing gum eyes belie your hatred of rom-coms, and the hawker pelts you a dozen, but not before your bargain reaffirms the story of men. And chivalry places herself beside you, and she is heard dislocating her execution from narrative, because the narrative is the groom as the magistrate takes off his shoes, and the synthesis of the abortion clinic sans reciept, brewing ballast, no cargo of slut or 8 weeks, or 9 weeks, or 9 months, which as sam bee pointed is a caesarian in parlance, and the narrative of ultra freedom presented with billboards dripping in supervision of basting syringes, garlanded by sanitary napkins;
Kintu, Amar chai sheratai, tai amar jonno only the means of machinery on the farmland; the antiseptic vikrampur mistir bhander can rollick in his meadows, with his ironed, dress, and the tint-sangbadics chained to a uturn with islamophobia walkie talkies, will cobble manuscripts
For minivans giving out am_rosh thumping to rokto lal, rokto lal, rokto lal

Sumaiya-r proti shagor

proud sponsor of
Onar ta birochito amar ta to shorochito.

Sama-on bollo apnar kobita chara ar kono kobita porina. Shomoy nai.

Ripon ideal college er hoye keno dhaka colleger shamne gelo. Ey shahosh niye labaid er intern-daktar ra onek gayan dilen. Oni keno eden college gelen na, jeta ekti dharmik purush er kache theke asha kora jay. Shudu mehmaner jonno noy. Cashew nut biscit birat mullo-hrash-er jonno. Jonno

Dokhin city corporation moyla wala ke 3 tar shomoy ashte boleche. Uni eshechen 10 tay, ekti shushil chakor-er kach theke ja asha kora jay, to shey ek dhok dharalo pani pan kore, bharot-er etihash shomporko boi khujte gelen.

Onar age, boro chul chilo. Uni bolen kintu boro chul rakhle biye hoy na. Meye ra pochondo kore na. To onar ekhon choto chul. Uni amader chul katte nished korlen.

Shihab-Shimul
To Dhaka, je onek kotha bolle.

In descending order, no chronology.

Tsc-ir bathroom er pechon, ek khachay cricket,
Rickshaw wallar theng-e lathi,
Marjan-er hate mic, mic e shunay dilder-er paris kabbo,
Boi melar majhe,
A police-watch-lamp clinging to a visibly irritated orchid of comms equipment. Like in the hills, where the bushes were the hotbed of checkpoints curried in chalk: SHIBIR, with pretense.

the SATV reporter who inquired the wisdom of using anti-bangla on 20th February.

First as language, then as cane

Proti shong-jogey nirapotta,
Like in aid packages,
Slingshot off aircraft carriers,
swimming with a coast guard escort,
Stamped with the longshoreman’s exemption from import duty,

And this is all assuming there is a humanitarian corridor, and the third world nation in question has not crucified the United nations In last night’s state of the union, with hashtag “foreign interests,” or worse, hashtag “foreign vested interests”

The Stall is a cowlick 

But those are pipe dreams. Power doles dissertations, with one hand tied behind it’s means of production, on the importance of hard work and that there is no such thing as entitlement–in this world, it will add.

This dissertation is not written, rather it is reproduced in the iotas where rats in television store cheese, or the breakup one can lighthouse from weeks ahead; so you will see it in the nuclear family strong-arming it’s daughter on the societal pitfalls of marrying outside the caste, and happens regardless of the amount of years in bride school; this will usually be accompanied by the claimed foreboding coercions that are gossips, and so like the prime meridian “amar mey hoyle ekta thappor ditam” or “mere feltam,” and finally consolation “thak bhabi,” and expunction, where she will be known and thought to exist, but through constant replication of the discourse of the fallen Madonna distilled through the male gaze will be extinct or at the very least archived.

Sayeed Kokhon protigha korechen je uni onar babar nam niben na.

Because, the inheritance tax is a 100%

Artwork by Rahad Mahmud

To missing riding pillion

To missing riding pillion

For who,
crowdfunders are sourcing rape
Through borders
To satiate the insatiated,

Sourcing them, penny-less from the 14th,
where foundation patina from 40s government buildings reek to reveal culture.

culture, where rapist as thirst and whore as assassination are equal reckless abandon,
culture, where tradition and science are sync, in brutalizing polls, flow charts and
Pies stating in cold, or cold as mined warm, data, where, when, the who never in question, situationally, rape has and must occur. Occur as passive ultra-natural boomerangs to wardrobes to history’s excluded suffrage.
Where all your sons are the darwan’s sons,
The dalit’s sons,
The tea worker’s sons,
The beggar’s son watching brioche buns dive in and out of LEDs.

Your comments section, your indents proclaiming sovereignty for the male breadwinner, are empty shells, for
Whores in detention, upending the dais, the desktops reading commandments, scratching the chalkboards:

No rapists. Only cultures.
No rapists. Only cultures.

Photograph: Hengameh Golestan

Bannisters2Cannisters

Bannisters2Cannisters

Kalo, ta se jotoi kalo hok/

dekhechi tar kalo horin chokh/

professional disqualification from leer lear of jatiyo pita–

Gulistan:

jekhane, ek strok-er rugi

banner fibre choking down her cheeks,

asks how can you pretend to be as thin as a rake,

acid makha natok.

acid makha natok-er clavicle roop scene-er-por-scene bodlay,

porda dakhe villain-er hashi,

mota, badha, dari,

mota, kintu khola, thakur-er board-er tali

bajhay,

bole na, je cut, ba action, ba

tin, dui, ek,

bole,

apni age sikhen kivabe bacha poida hoy, tarpor likhen,

tarpor bolen, je,

lagay dile koiben rickshaw lagay dise,

tarpor bolen, je,

part of the imperialist project was the decimation of,

–ami samrajobad-er shontan–

 –rokter mashe, apni ingreji ucharon shikhan,–

–ey bar apni korbanir mangsho bihari camp e diye ashben–

naoka bashay diben?

ar ki, naoka, oder bhashiye niye gheleo ki, ora naoka korbe ?/?

ora, naoka korbe, ar mizan, mamoon, hannan, mithu, badal o chacha,

purbo pakistaner septic tankir opor,

tader namei

rashtror, ki, duniar, jubok, juboki

der shadhin ghoshona kora hobe.

ghoshona kora hobe,

that your windows will never be tinted beyond 40 percentile points, because

the
administration knows you faster, harder, and deeper than you can stretch your hand down your vanity
bag, never mind, that you, or I, will never know why vanity bags, are vanity bags, and not modesty bags, or humility bags, or reserve, quiet, and shy bags, or

eito,
eito,
maren,
chintai. chintai.


 

 

 

সমবেদনা

সমবেদনা

I. putain–

’68, Demo Nat Convention

We, here, hear, with voice vote, trumpet
To replicate natural eco-systems,
Whereby cordage is bound to toddlers,
Safaring,
Seafaring,
Textbook dibosh,
Field trips to a dozen-1 mark-comm execs coordinating the unbolting of bottle-caps,
Simplifying as complicated, Ford’s strongholds in Detroit,
And thus,
permaculture,
And so, follows,
Autonomen, setting up,

II. salope–

Aufheben

Send Ray-Gun Home on a Cruise

Nollendorfplatz, you are walking along butter-knife arêtes,

Haig you are the import,

the Import of,

mud and dirt and spit and gush of Junction City, caroling heresies of changjin reservoir

at your 1st Infantry Division, at your X-Corps, at your godful MacArthur,

and your picnic baskets carrying chirping meat cleavers to suharto’s undesired laundry to pashtun scions’ versions of basic democracy,

and you, thanksgiving to hearth, to sons and daughter, to patricia, who donated monthly to pink-washed Iroquois settlements,

so,

your pentagon conferences name asphyxiates as tourists

Bra-less, we are

Abayas, we are

 

৩. স্ত্রীকুকুর

  • Azad Kashmir Balochistan,
  • Azad BalochistanKashmir,
  • Azad Nagaland, Parbatya Chattagram,
  • Azad, Parbaya Chattagram, Assam

traipse,

traipse,

trapeze,

totter

pond,

–an alloy of disjointed curmudgeon-slugged people who care about other people, because they care about themselves.

pancreatic emulsion,

The Surgeon General’s white paper on fetal procedure

 

Photograph: the Anti-Fas?

Oradexon^Clubfoots

Oradexon^Clubfoots

Khadija,

your phd is a leash–

your years practicing public health is the same zipper-slide strummed on repeat
chapainawabganj,
চক্রান্ত bijoy,
lance naik
sudedar,
crack platoon homesteads, when we bombed world bank missions,
We can take you to walk anytime we like,
Hanader/hanader?

Dark Circles, Wrinskles, Concealer,
Will let you spot manik miya avenue, over the fences, split the lake, toad hop, onto ministerial portfolios,
diktats re-pronouncing “wed at 18”
your visiting cards read like disaster management white-papers from god’s snore in Bhola–
a category three CMLA–
copious geometry to siphon shell crude to al-Omar proxied onto jerry can hoses strangulating,
Apaches, to dump on authentic simulated wildfires.

Yellowstone: spelled BANGLADESH REHABILITATION ASSISTANCE COMMITTEE, or father, it’s your birthday.

Before niazi, and tikka became boogeymen, mountbatten eulogized, curzon edified, wreaths bolted…, tea sipped, toast dipped…in repatriated Saigon,
your vows were harbormasters warrantying their ferries will never sink,
will never engage population exchange,

Never fly heliborne sorties over Naxalbari, during culling season

Watch your spit riddle on court steps,
Strobe lights librating ping pong

dead air, closed captioning– drive time:
Chetona,
Eve teasing samiti,
Meghna in transliteration,
Jamuna in dub,
Nagorik dredgers/bondage by Babar,
Axe/anthrax,
Roofies/pilkhana dal/bhaat,
Quick rentals/pirate electricity,
3 koti sriti, koto kore?

Double finger test fable, at the coroner’s office, you read, was not yours,
It was our fists in your daughter,
Our polythene knuckles determining semen residue,
Our intuition, ruling out family,

-Advertisers union.
Banality, the chopping board,
To & fro sunbeams–civil servants who deputize, padma bridge must not madeleine khet-mozurs,
6:01, out the tweezers, out the grand-children, out the violated violators, zanu pf eschewed chuta buas,
i’ll have the you cannot find good help these days $3.98, as Promi flips patties on the grill.

It’s friday, something special?–
Schoolgirl, ponytails, wax hard, disappear, peer-pressure, discombobulate.

She’s grown up, till now just been avuncular horsy rides,
Forensic kits have expired.
Alcohol swabs for the porno mags you found in our drawers,

The louse of the Bulge were Harlem barbers, get him the fuck out of our house.
Tie her 36Ds together, they hurt when she walks,
Further implants are to be delineated by the midwife–discretion, mr. gynecologist,
Volition is 200 years of beer halls–putsch, putsch, putsch, obsolete.
–her baklava, throw food, not bombs,
auditions are on The House, pre-confessional, Post-Protestant Work Ethic–

Constants.
A Jew. A Catholic. A Sikh.
A Jew. A Catholic. A Sikh.

Variables.
How many Howitzers does it take to make Kalurghat?
Well,
How many times have I told you, I am not trying anal.

Drishti akorshon kori,
Khushi, Kajol?

Photograph: Gordon Parks

cortège

cortège

To niti–

 

Ami aye jinish ta niye chinta korchilam–

Tumi keno smellship niye chinta korchi la,

 

Amar jinish ta bujhte, kintu, ektu shomoy lege che,

Ebong hoytoba ami ekhono bujhi ni.

Tao,

Ami chinta korchilam, keno faisal ar tomar modhe kola koli ti eto odbhut bhabe landing korlo.

Tumi abar chinta korla, (mone rekho; bhoy pawar kichu ney–amra still amar mathar bhetorey–) je kola koli tar shate smellship er connection kon jogotte ache.

To, holo.

Chinta koro.

Ami tomake tota pakhi hote shikhabo na.

To.

Smellship.

Keno?

Tumi oi din holud jama porechila, still amar mathar bhitore mom,

Ekhon, amar bolar kotha, tomake khub shundor lagchilo,

Jeta shothik, oboshoi.

Kintu beshi ekta interesting bishoy na.

Ami kintu tomake bole dilam, ami ek sentence theke arek sentence lafai, khub,

abar poreo jai, khub.

Tomar, kono ekta pochondher perfume ache, jerekom amader shobari ache.

To.

Ekhon amar proshno:oi perfume ta ki dhaka lit fest e shikar  korte eshechilo?

Hae, abar, na.

Hae karon, like obviously,

Na, karon tumi shikar korte jano na,

ebong tomar flirting type kotha barta pochondo na,

ekdomi.

jetar mane tomake o keu shamajik bhabe shiker kore na,

-ar oshamajik shikar er nam to biye, oitar bepare pore kotha boli-

besides zarif, kintu oi tao khub ekta interesting bishoy na.

Amar tired lagche.

Abar.

Ekhon.

Abar,

Shob kichu ki smellship ey shuru ebong shesh hoy.

Rafir alcoholic collar,

Or chokher school bag gran,

Abar,

Keno? Karon orao chinta kore,

Kivabe potita ra almas e jay na,

Persona o wallet e chole.

Shikar.

Khacha.

Ami shob shomoy bujtam je khacha victoria secret, ba tomar jeta poshondo, diye ey rong kore,

Kintu na.

Alisha theke shiklam, je ashole sunsilk o ek jhon picasso.

I don’t like this.

Talking about things in this way.

In…terms of prey and hunter..but i can’t look away.

This is how i grew up,

And no matter how many times you say:-

“Tomra orokom bhabe chinta koro na,

ei jonnoi to ami tomader shate ghuri”

I still think like that, Niti.

And you think like you do bcoz

Because,

While i was browsing threads on reddit,

I learned that some old anglo-saxon dude in a kandura said that:

You can do whatever you want,

“But you can’t want whatever you want, and that’s the stuff that really matters,”

And even that was stolen from some anti-semite, whose name no one has a right to pronounce.

And,

Egular shate smellship er connection ki?

Honestly, i don’t know.

Maybe i didn’t want to write about smellship,

And just detoured the conversation to ami jetar bepare lekhte cheye chilam.

Or hoytoba,

You just met someone,doesn’t matter when or where, who smelt really nice, and, wellyou fell for em.

Even through the reverse wind,

You fell for em.

That’s it.

You fell for em,

And it doesn’t matter, how many times you learn to crawl, walk and run, in that order,

You will always fall,

Wiser,

More mature,

Kintu,

matir shate thot legey thake,

Ar amra boro hoi,

abar hat te chikhi

-with love


 

Photograph- From Blue Valentine, cinematography by Andrij Parekh.

Exarcheia≠Imitating Tyrants*

Exarcheia≠Imitating Tyrants*

Rape–

“I. Against her will.
II. Without her consent.
III. With her consent, when her consent has been obtained by putting her in fear of death, or of hurt.
IV. With her consent, when the man knows that he is not her husband, and that her consent is given because she believes that he is another man to whom she is or believes herself to be lawfully married.
V. With or without her consent, when she is under fourteen years of age.

Exception. Sexual intercourse by a man with his own wife, the wife not being under thirteen years of age, is not rape.”


Slavery–

I. Against her will.

II. Without her consent

III. With her consent, when her consent has been obtained by putting her in the fear of death , or of hurt.

IV. With her consent, when the firm/executive knows that they are not her current employers, and that her consent is given because she believes the firm/executive in question to be, or she has been made to believe, her current employers.

V. With or without her consent, when she is under fourteen years of age.

Exception. Work, when she claims her consent has not been obtained by the employer, and as an extension by the state, which hereby drafts this law in her name, because consent, as defined by the penal charter, is subject to Clause III of the code of ethics for work, which says that it is considered slavery “when her consent has (been) obtained by putting her in the fear of death, or of hurt”

I surmise then, that it is the indeed the fear of death which looms over me and my brethren and sistren, in so far as we do fear being the undertaker’s midnight shift, our bellies hollow husks of corn, echoing with the liberty you have bequeathed upon us– when we refuse to work for our employers, when we refuse to work for any employer, and our inner bobby sands declares that yes, we do want to be exiled from your maze, carried out by your unionist warden, and no, we will not rise from the ashes of the old world, or whatever your poets jack off to, for we will not wait for you to burn, and we will not confront the barrels of your muskets with the whites of our eyes. For we do not owe you that resistance, so that you might legitimize your parenthood. We will neither write about hasina, nor about rana plaza, to the DGFI intern who put her name on google Alert, nor speak any language you expect us to speak, neither allow ourselves to be branded as paychecks with loudspeakers, because we will drink Coke with a knife in your back, the days will pass, and our grip will loosen, but the knife will turn into wheels, and the figures of speech of today will become stale, and the snowmen of our ventilators will rain like gary powers’ v2s à la fatmen pamphlets onto beaches, to sewing machines, to whorehouses, to asylums, onto the bronx, the ones in karwanbazarbegunbari geneva-camp, like the ones in rio, where the abandoned pools surf venice beach, like the ones in the latin quarter, like indigenous similes in the Serengeti coltan meadows, like the human faces pasted across the intersections of prague, to hollywood boulevard which will throw mujahideen-grown opium tomatoes at screenings of soviet tank-men raising their fists to our pipe dreams, in your sewers.

Water your own favelas,
Bloom your own ghettos,
Larvae your metaphors,
Fuck Butterflies.

*Terms and Conditions apply.