Forgive me.

“Mumma?” a small voice piped from behind my newspaper. I brought down my hands, and looked at my tiny little 7 year old from over my glasses. She was fiddling with her hair, and making that face. That face she makes when she was going to ask me something, and not let go till she had done her thesis. I smiled at her, and my smile immediately replicated on her beautiful face. Her brown eyes were sparkling with curiosity. I put down my newspaper, took a sip of coffee, and raised my eyebrows. “Can I ask you something?” I sighed, “Yes, my love, what is it?” She was still fiddling with her hair. The sunlight from the window highlighted the nutty brown gloss of her hair. Her curls were untamable.  As was she. “Come here”, I signaled to my lap. She jumped off her sofa, and came trotting to me. I pulled her onto my lap, and asked her again. “What did you want to know?” She looked at me, looked me in the eye, and asked, “What is rape?”

I blinked. She blinked right back at me. Her eyes wouldn’t move from my face. And I couldn’t help but look at her. I think I heard an entire minute tick by. I could hear the pulse near my ears. My heart was beating incessantly. I took a deep breath, “Where did you hear this word, Honey?” She pointed at the table. I was confused. She understood. How a 7 year old can read my face, is still beyond me. She put her hands on my face, and turned my head for me. Then I followed her petite index finger to look at what exactly it was that she was pointing to: The newspaper. “I have seen it in there a lot of times. I didn’t understand what it means. So I thought I’ll just ask. ” I kissed her on the head, and held her for a minute. I had decided to never hide things from her, right from the first time that I had held her in my arms. She knew there was no Santa Claus. She knew how babies were born. She also knew why a chapati fluffs up. I closed my eyes, and tried stringing words together to form a sentence.

                The sound of the rain drops beating on the window sill; Loud music; A lightning strikes; The roar of the clouds. Laughter. Uninhibited, hearty laughter. Glasses clinking. More laughter. A room full of merry people.

“Mumma?”

“Yes.” I snapped back to reality. “Do you remember what I told you about sex?”

“Ya!” Of course she did. “When 2 people really like each other, and they get close to one another…”

“Well, yes.” I interrupted. “Well, sometimes it happens, that one person does not want to be a part of the act of sex. And the other person forces that person to have sex, without their consent. That is called rape.”

“That doesn’t sound nice.” She frowned, and pulled her knees to her chin. “Why would they do that? I mean, you said sex makes both the people happy. If one person doesn’t want to do it, then why would the other person force them to do it?”

                Door closing. Lots of goodbyes. Some thanks. Laughter. Engines starting in the driveway. The screeching of wheels on the concrete. Sounds of stumbling across the hallway.

“Some people are selfish, honey. They don’t think of others. They just want whatever it is that they want, and they don’t care about hurting others to get it.” I didn’t know if I was making sense.  “Rape is a horrible thing to do.”

“Do these people who do rape…” “Rapists.” “Okay. Do these rapists get punished, Mumma?” There was no sparkle in her eye anymore.

“Sometimes, they do. Sometimes they get away with it.”

 “They shouldn’t.”

“What?”

“Get away with it. They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.”

“Yes. They shouldn’t. It is one of the most horrendous- I mean, terrible- crimes.”

“I know what horrendous means.” Of course she does. “Mumma?”

I could hear my heart beat. Could she? I knew her next question. She had asked when I had explained about sex. She had asked when I had explained about pregnancy.

“Have you ever been raped?”

Of course she’d ask. But I didn’t know if I could answer. 

                

“No!” “Stop being such a bitch!” The string broke. The carpet muffled the sound of pearls pattering on floor. His hand muffled the sounds from her mouth. The ripping of the satin. The stench of whiskey on his breath. White, hot, searing pain. That tight grip on her wrist. Nails digging into the hot, sweaty skin. Shivers. Anger. Loathing. Helplessness. Disgust. Anger. Fury. Tears. Hot, angry tears flushing down her face.

“Yes.” I gulped. I could feel my face heat up. My eyes were burning. So I blinked. She did too.

“Did he get punished?”

“Sort of.”

“Who punished him?”

“Your Daddy.”

“Oh. Is that why Daddy left? To punish that man?”

“I am leaving; do not try to stop me. Not right now.” “Baby, I am sorry. I am really sorry. I can’t live without you. Please, don’t leave me.” “I can’t stay here. I can’t stay with you. Not after what happened. I can’t. How could you?” “It will never happen again. It wasn’t me. I am sorry.” “I need some time to think. Let go of my arm.” The purple-black bruises on her arm reminded them both of what had happened. “But, I love you baby!” “I love you too. You know that. But I am not strong enough to forget this.” “Will you come back?” “I don’t know.” “I won’t be able to live without you. I am sorry, darling!” “I know you are. I am too.”

“Yes. That was the only way he knew he could punish that man.”

“Do they get forgiven, Mumma, those people?” She looked tired. Or was her face reflecting mine, again?

                

The sound of the phone hitting the ground- she hadn't realized when it slid out of her hand. Even today she woke up in a heavy sweat- to that sound. It had been 8 years, now. The green nylon rope they used as their cloth-line, the stool he used to sit on while he played the guitar. In their own bedroom. She made sure nothing in her new house resembled the old one. But that image never left her head. The police explained that they were sure it was a suicide. They had even found a note.

              

  ‘Forgive me.’

“Yes, they do, love. Sometimes, they do.”

Hozier- Take me to Church EP- Review.

For those of you craving some intelligent, soulful, beautiful music- Hozier is the one for you. Hozier is the stage name adopted by Andrew Hozier-Byrne, an Irish musician. His songs are evocative and meaningful; the music that supports those beautiful, deep lyrics is equally enchanting. You will find influences of Blues, Folk, Community Chorals, Soul Music, R&B and Gospel in his work. His voice is magnificent, it is vivacious and poignant- it is the kind of voice that haunts you- you can NOT forget it; you wouldn’t ever want to. His voice resonates the gravity, the depth of his lyrics. His voice is robust, it is striking- it is filling.

Each song of his is a story- and Hozier is a master story-teller. His words draw you in; the music keeps you still, while his voice entangles you in those beautiful, divine notes- and you don’t know if you are freer or more caught up in all that he has to convey. The lyrics will leave you wondering as to why they hit you so hard- you couldn’t truly relate to all of them? Maybe you could- you do. You relate to the blatant honesty, the alluring mysticism- to the stranger who is telling you things you didn’t know you knew. 

As of now, Hozier doesn’t have any albums to his name. He has, though, 2 EPs (Take me to Church, and From Eden), and quite a few singles.

Take me to Church.

Hozier’s first EP. 16 minutes long. Breathtaking.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYSVMgRr6pw&index=1&list=PL8KVn2EQ_jy2DnkLqjKNQYH3FYfl-1T0C

·         Take me to Church.

‘Take me to church
I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good god, let me give you my life’

The title track of his first EP- the song is all about love- what it is like to love someone, to the point of worship- pure, true, unadulterated love. The song tells us that love is real, it is forgiving, it guides, it is gentle, it is concrete, it is demanding - love is worship-worthy.  The song is deeper (yes, more than this), though. It deals with the discrimination against those who indulge in love which is any manner different from the one that Church (and many other chauvinistic institutions) proclaims. The singer is talking about how his love is considered a sin- how he is considered a sinner. But how only love, and nothing else, has made him feel human- feel clean. The song deals with sexuality, with love, and with the act of love. There are no words that can do justice to the impeccably brilliant songwriting that Hozier displays.

And the music- the American Gospel type layering in the song will entrap you in its purity. The video of the song went viral about a year ago- and has crossed 2 million views- and why not? It is art. It adds to the depth of the song, and shows us the homophobia and the attacks on the LGBT community (through the story of 2 homosexual men) in Russia. The video complements the lyrics, adding many more layers of meaning to a song that has already blown away the mind of the listener.

It might seem as if I am exaggerating. I am not. Give it a listen. You will have a different take on the meaning of the song- of each line- I do, so I know. But will you absolutely love it? I surely do.

·         Like Real People Do

When in a relationship, it ever-so-often happens that one is curious, to say the least, about their partner’s past. This song talks about this curiosity, about this fear.

‘I had a thought, dear
However scary,
About that night,
The bugs and the dirt
Why were you digging?
What did you bury,
Before those hands pulled me
From the earth?

I will not ask you where you came from,
I will not ask you and neither should you.’

The singer shows an interest in his lover’s past, he is worried about what it held and how it will affect them- but he realizes that he himself has a past, and thus he says to his lover, that they both need to let go of the past- to forget the past- and be together- be one, now. Like real people do.

The song is soft, easy on the ears, and has you humming to its simple, yet exquisite tune soon enough. The choral elements of the song make it compellingly more stunning, and Hozier’s deep, layered voice adds soul to the song.

·         Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene

The humming in the beginning of the song, the light strumming of his electric guitar, and those intense, excellent lyrics- this song has you captivated even before you reach the tapping-your-foot-because-it-makes-you-do-so-involuntarily chorus. What this one is about? Small death, or as the French call it- ‘petit mort’- basically, he is talking about orgasms. And what a brilliant way to illustrate the passion, the irresistible, over-powering fervor of this woman he calls the angel of small death, and the codeine scene.

‘With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean,
She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene,
With her straw-blonde hair, her arms hard and lean,
She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene.’

The imagery, the pictures he draws with his words, and that voice, mystic and yet, so believable- it is incredible.

·         Cherry Wine

The video of the song was recorded on the roof of the abandoned remains of a hotel. Early morning, the light, the chirping of the birds- it adds to the soft, delicacy of the song. The lyrics are fairly simple, and yet, the song conveys much more than you would expect at the first go. Hozier’s voice is many, many things. It is rustic, and genuine. His singing is masterly; his voice addictive. The song is soothing, it calms you. When you listen to the lyrics closely, you will find yourself getting slightly uneasy- after all, what he talks about is a lover that hurts him- a love that hurts him. And how he doesn’t care.

‘The way she shows me I'm hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist would be fine
Blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.’

The song deals with a love which is cruel, and mean, and hurtful, and yet, how it is clean and pure to him.

Hozier is a breath of fresh air, a delight to listen to- a melodious, inventive genius, given his songwriting, and that voice- that unforgettable, moving voice- Hozier, is a must-listen-to. I urge you to drop whatever it is that you are doing, and give this mastermind a try. You will not regret it.

They Said.

The scintillating sun, 

A girl, blithe and serene.

They said, a delightful scene. 

Dancing, frolicking, pirouetting.

A sweet summer child, they said,

Swaying in her yellow summer dress. 

Orange, red, pink, and bright,

Flowers adorned her braid,

Nut brown, sheeny, thick,they said.

Eyes glimmer with hope and fancy, 

A smile, they said,as enchanting as can be. 

Pink and glowing, happy.

A white puff moved in the sky,

Unnoticed, tight lipped. 

As also, a shadow, did.

Drab and dreary, dark and grim,

The shadow crept.

Treacherously, they said, he took his place.

She didn't see the dark clouds

That overpowered her dear friend.

The summer child,they said, now bereft of her guard.

From within the shadows of that corner

The shadow moved out.

They said, a lurid being overshadowed her.

They said, someone walked by the corner,

And saw petals,bleak and sombre.

Once orange, red, pink;now without color.

The summer child, they said, unsmiling,  

Walked, stone-faced, solemn. 

A yellow dress, torn, and bloodied.

A scream echoed in the background.

The summer child, didn't flinch.

Walked straight on, along with her vengeful sun.

They said a shadow was found, 

Bloodied, stabbed, and grey.

At the corner down the street.

Nobody knew what went down,

The corner was deemed an unholy place.

They said their prayers, drew their crosses, and left.

Some, they said, had seen the summer child,

Pirouette until the corner, in her red dress,

Just a flicker of a shadow, under her eyes.

I wish.

I wish I wouldn't forget.
But I do.I Always do.
Make a beautiful memory.
Or steal a couple from you.

It's always those I cherish the most.
Is this fate? I wouldn't know.
Are memories made so one day we forget?
Like fireflies-Incomplete and aglow.

It wasn't just a wintry night,
It wasn't a confession nor acceptance of defeat,
At the hands of this world, this big bad world,
In which we live, of which we breathe.

There are some days I reminisce,
There are sometimes I wish I'd known.
That like flames of fire, that glaze and die,
Out of my head memories'll be thrown.

I try to memorize, every cut and every line,
When there is nothing else, this is on my mind.
While I may believe, there is life to live,
My mind is in the past, searching, writhing.

I remember

I remember not how we ended up in that spot
Nor how there were such scintillations in the darkness opaque
I remember turning and finding your eyes,
Then turning away, such revelations at stake.

I remember your finger under my chin
I remember my eyes peering into yours
The careful brush against my lips
The twinkle in your eyes before mine closed.

I remember the tightening grip
As your arm moved on my waist
I remember the tingles, and all the chills
I remember putting my hand on your face.

I remember not how my hands reached your hair
Nor how your hands were on my back,bare,
I remember though, the smile on your lips,
I remember the intimacy we shared.

I remember my heart beating
I remember hearing yours too
Not a single beat together
Not a single beat out of tune.

I remember a beautiful dream,
I remember the halcyon and peace
I remember your knowing smile.
I remember not you being such a tease.

You left in the morning.
And I did too.
I remember the last look you gave.
Nothing else I wish to remember, nothing else I do.

Games

Life was a puzzle, I declared solved.
You made my heart the missing piece.
Oh, you beautiful thief.

You stand at the finish line
Having made my heart rush and race.
For it to stop you wait. 

Without exchanging a word,
Our eyes talk.
In a crowd of people long forgotten or never talked of.

In a game of chase, we remain stuck
Forever in a loop,
Who chases who?

We reach out for each other
In a room clandestine.
Both hiding, both fighting.

We are so good at faking indifference,
There is no point in keeping score
I can't bear to, anyway,any more.

Invested in hide and seek,forever.
We both could hide, and neither would look,
One is the sea, the other a brook.

Each plays the pawn, while each is the king.
Each makes moves the other anticipates,
Neither can lose, neither elates.

These games our hearts play,
Leave my brain bewildered.
And,now, it has surrendered.

How?

How can this be friendship?
How can this be love?
How can this be anything
Not written in Heavens above?

How can there be such anger
Doused with that much lust?
How can there be magnanimous desire
In a land of adulterated rust?

How can someone contain
In their eyes the fires of hell,
And have the placid serendipity
Of Shangri-La as well?

How is it that someone
Can bring in so much color,
In a life made grey by everything
They represent,they do,they savour?

How can the infallible so easily fall,
When dependable is all they'd ever been?
How can there be such exuberance
In things that aren't supposed to have been?

How can your presence burn me up
And make me pine for more?
How can water both quench your thirst,
And leave you as parched as before?

How can I wish to hold your hand,
When my heart will never be yours?
When I know you need me right by your side,
How can I not plunge into these wars?

How could I think that fanning a spark,
Won't lead to a damn firestorm?
How can I still not wish to put it out?
After all, I know that its wrong.