Baba had a habit that Maa never liked
He got these shiny looking bottles
But he hid them in these paper bags
And forbid me to take a sip
So when he started singing very loudly
And hugged Maa a little too tightly, 
I felt happy because the house wasn't always
So bright but when I asked Maa why 
Baba wasn't like this everyday, 
She said it's the whiskey talking. 
So one day I understood what she meant
When in the middle of the night
I woke up at the sound of screams
And glass shattering
When I ran to my parents' bedroom, 
I saw Maa's tearful face and Baba
Saying awful things to her, calling her
Terrible names that sounded like poison
When in the morning I asked Maa
Why she dealt with him hurting her
She simply said, it's the whiskey talking.
Maa died when I was just 14 and 
I hadn't even kissed a boy when 
Baba once walked into my room
His breath stinking of that 
Sickly sweet smell that made my 
Insides curl up and as he did things to me
That I couldn't imagine he'd do
I convinced myself that he was still my father
And that it was the whiskey talking. 
When years later, I moved out and
Got a family of my own 
I was told that Baba was dying 
And that he had asked for me
But I cold bloodedly answered that 
He didn't really care, and that
It was just the whiskey talking.
This poem won in Instagram Weekly Contest held by @delhipoetryslam on the theme 'Trauma' 


  • Muchas gracias. ?Como puedo iniciar sesion?

  • Just raw. Loved it.

  • Brutally beautiful and heart wrenching …. keep up the good work Sukanya

  • Vehement.

  • I’m in awe.

  • Brutal😲

    Pankaj Bora

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