The Games

As little girls, we loved games

Doll houses and tea sets and hula hoops

Innocence spilling out of our bouncing pigtails

Building sandcastles and forts under the scorching sun

But the other games happened at night

When hands slipped under the sheets, under our pretty little frocks

As our uncles smiled charmingly down at us

Assuring us that the pain was a part of the game

That we were good girls for playing and keeping our little secret

We flash our milk teeth at them, confused

Six-year-old brains trying to comprehend

Why the games we played left us feeling dirty, nervous

But the adults knew better, didn’t they?

We grew up with family night games as tradition

Where the winners were announced the next day

And rewarded with a doll

We own quite a huge collection of dolls today.

 

As we grew older, the games got tougher

Basketball and parties and college fests

New toys called alcohol and denial

As we tried drowning our sorrows in cheap vodka

Swaying to the deafening music

In the blurry lines between sane and twilight

We played these games with strangers

Strangers smelling of whiskey, cigarettes and dubious intent

Forbidden fingers running up our thighs, under our straps

We slur that we do not want to play

But quitting was against the rules, they say

Loosen up and enjoy the game, they say

Don’t you know that players wear little black dresses and shiny make up?

So we don’t have a choice, we play this whiskey flavoured game

Till our legs and brains can’t play anymore

Next morning, the winners are awarded with a stellar reputation

The losers are left with labels and blame

Sour losers, they say. Where’s your sportsmanship?

We didn’t want to play, we say

Why were you in the arena then?

They dragged us into the arena, we say

Sour losers, they say.

 

As we grew older, the games got tougher

We have permanent playmates called husbands

We play with real houses and kitchens and bedrooms now

We play these games with our permanent playmates

Playmates aka knight in shining armours, our protectors, our Gods

Domestic fingers undoing our blouses, slithering under our sarees

We plead that we do not want to play

But this is dutiful love, they say

Forfeiting is against the rules, they say

So, we swallow our doubts and play this grey coloured game

Where does love begin and end?

Next morning, the winners are awarded with nursed egos and chai

The losers are left without a voice and a saree drenched in trauma

Such graceful losers, they say.

It’s futile saying we didn’t want to play.

 

The games continue till we have our own daughters

With their dollhouses and tea sets and hula hoops

Innocence spilling out of their bouncing pigtails

Exhausted, after decades of playing the games,

To our little girls we say –

Games are played but only in the day,

And at night, when you’re ready

With playmates who play a fair game

And where quitting is within the rules

And there are no winners or losers

To our little girls we say –

You have a choice, you don’t have to play.