The ATKT.in Cypher is an exclusive community of some of our favourite artists and talent across categories of artforms.
For the month of July, here’s the submission of Roshni Raheja from Symbiosis School for Liberal Arts Pune, a member from the ATKT.in (Writers) Cypher on the topic – ‘Magic’.
The Great Indian Memeries
This poem is an ode to magic the kind that multiplies itself when spread – the sparks that fly with the clicking of the re share, hitting off like a house on fire and curing insecurities everywhere
This poem is an active member of every micro blogging site, knows the who’s hot and who’s not of the local meme scene – the ins and outs of viral content
This poem don’t need no plastic surgery curves to break the internet when it’s got Baba Ramdev’s churning stomach, Rakhi Sawant’s snapchat, or even Dhinchak Pooja’s….everything.
This poem is 110% make in India – The fairy lights are diyas and its prom dress was a farewell sari – it scrolls through screengrab after screengrab of nineties movies recaptioned to maximize humour, knows that every song about iktarfa ishq was destined to be sung to old 500 and 1000 rupee notes
This poem giggles at pictures of idli and rasgullas called the white blood cells of two different states, unaware that this rapidly spreads to every sub-culture with each name mentioned in comments –
This poem is a flurry of fingernails across keyboards in the daytime, phone screens in the nighttime – sharing listicles about things all Indian mothers do, beauty hacks for melanin-tinted skin, the funniest spelling mistakes seen on hoardings, detergent ads that feature the nostalgia of stained school uniforms, bringing smiles to brown faces in every nook and cranny of the world
This poem is the beauty of shared identity, a recognition of the fact that if one indian suffers, they will not endure it alone, when armed with the internet, the whole diaspora of relatability will rise to the fight
This poem is by no means a criticism of millennials who shut out the world to align the dog filter to their foreheads, no, instead this poem has turned its lolling tongue at the actions taken against harmless mockery, it tag its friends in facebook posts – not only the cat videos, but also ones that have the courage to question illogical authorities
This poem sips its tea like Kermit the frog, but the ‘that’s none of my business’ is only a façade for the boiling liquid rage that slowly brews beneath the banging and clanging of 6am ‘jaago re’ pots and pans at roadside tapris – this poem knows not to underestimate a chaiwallah in this nation
This poem doesn’t mind the occasional misuse of their, they’re and there, but will fight you if you confuse patriotism, nationalism, or its apparent opposite.
This poem won’t hide its irritation behind light sprinklings of satire – forget salt, we’ve got haldi jeera mirchi to dish out to the bland white oppressors and tweeters who somehow believed that they could belittle the spice in the blood of one of our own, and get away with it?
This poem can call out statements for exactly what they are – Exasperating farragos of distortions, misrepresentations and outright lies being broadcast by unprincipled showmen masquerading as journalists
This poem will gather its friends and together raise their wands against He-who-must-not-be-named (according to the censor board or otherwise)
Roses are red and violets may be blue but this poem will not take any bullshit from you.
This poem transcends echo chambers and trails the fire of revolution in its wake across platforms of train stations and social media alike
It blows up hypocrites with spurts of gleeful laughter, astounds crowds with its witty repertoire and finishes legacies with a single image
This poem is not a meme
But an acknowledgement of just how powerful it could be
If it were made into one.