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Monologue of Bell Hook's daughter (Sub-altern Fiction)

It was a windy June Sunday. For Bell would have named the day a wuthering day but she has seen worse living in Brighton. Hence, not just yet. When Emily Bronte wrote Wuthering Heights , Bell believed that Emily Bronte or erstwhile Currer Bell was most certainly trying to draw parallels between the internal and external torrents; there is something tragic to reflect and soothing to feel when there is an external calamity in form of thunderstorm or lightning etc., that ostensibly emulates one's internal clamour. Although far from home, yet Bell holds home nearly but it may not be possible to always hold it dearly. Though things are settling down inside Bell now, this phase is always past the phase of great upheaval and torment. Women are said to be prone to hysteria; Bell's father always defined her behaviour as hysterical too. While, she understood over time, men find it impossible to justify women's behaviour, she could never bring herself to question her behaviour; there w...
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Revival

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  Our manoeuvres were unstoppable for two weeks in a row. It started in the month of April and the sun had been pouring wrath like never before. We were incessantly working with zeal while profusely sweating. Then one day, there was a burst of clouds followed by thunderstorm. The thunderstorm came as a respite right after sunset. Later, it rained unabated for hours after hours till morning. I was drenched under rain along with others that night. I could not pay attention to feelings as long as I was dealing with the work in hands. It was until we took shelter under a shanty that I realised how cold I was inside and shivering outside. I saw people running covering their heads under flickering streetlights flanked on both sides of the roads. Some felt passion for rain while others felt against it. I felt nothing but cold. The parched ends in my chest were frayed under the pattering rain and tore open. I felt as cold as though the rain was pouring only on me. I felt lonely and my ...
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Location: Park St, Kolkata, West Bengal, India
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Monologue of Bell Hook's daughter (Sub-altern Fiction)

It was a windy June Sunday. For Bell would have named the day a wuthering day but she has seen worse living in Brighton. Hence, not just yet. When Emily Bronte wrote Wuthering Heights , Bell believed that Emily Bronte or erstwhile Currer Bell was most certainly trying to draw parallels between the internal and external torrents; there is something tragic to reflect and soothing to feel when there is an external calamity in form of thunderstorm or lightning etc., that ostensibly emulates one's internal clamour. Although far from home, yet Bell holds home nearly but it may not be possible to always hold it dearly. Though things are settling down inside Bell now, this phase is always past the phase of great upheaval and torment. Women are said to be prone to hysteria; Bell's father always defined her behaviour as hysterical too. While, she understood over time, men find it impossible to justify women's behaviour, she could never bring herself to question her behaviour; there w...
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Raise the Volume

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To the guy who wears shades of blue And is so tall as to medley with the sky of springs Who carries a guitar on his back as if a knight with a sword tucked in the scabbard  Which he lifted years later Sit by my side and I shall show you what hurricanes have done to my childhood  As if it was ransacked to find this adulthood out of it  I promise however viscous your emotions and dilemma might be  I would swim us back to shore and would try not to give up this time  Come here I'll tune your strings And it will all be fine  A brew of security and insecurity,  What are you, isn't it the same how you see me too?  What a sadist I do look, seeking pleasure in breaking the walls you have groomed Where did you lose your keys, is it in the same place where my butterflies had frozen?  Against all their prayers, your fears and worldly hymns It shall only be your voice that I'll allow Said or unsaid to be hear...
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Audience and Belongingness

What gave me anxiety, such as my breathing was now palpitating soon was the question that where I belong to. When it appeared to me, it was not just a sentence in interrogative with a proper syntax that people often ask. It was huge. Huge, because it had more queries attached with it; Moreover, it was inspired by my current situations. All of a sudden, all the people with whom I had been associated were just random acquaintance to me that were by the virtue of commonness, who said 'I love you' to each other on a hysterically excited note, the common places or the ideas or so and so with whom were shared. Just acquaintance, where was my connection or the connection, was it me who was not sufficient to keep up with it and preserve it or was it something never worth having or is it great the way it is. I realized it on a divergence of a path or confluence, where the people I knew ever since seemed so strangers to me as if I never belonged among them. Suddenly, my sense of belon...
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