writing: a letter to shamir reuben

For me, in the midst of the #MeToo movement, an idol fell. Maybe the art is separate from the artist. Maybe there’s always more to brokenness than the masterpieces that come from it.

It yet doesn’t hurt less though.

Here’s an excerpt of something a little more serious I wrote that crazily enough, found its way to the archives of BuzzFeed India and ScoopWhoop India.

I hope you like it.

_____

Dear Shamir,

I hate that it’s come to this. It’s 3 a.m. on a Thursday night and I hate that I find myself, days before my board exams, watching and re-watching your videos constantly, obsessively, trying to make sense of what the world really is.

Two years ago, Mumbai was new to me; and terrifying, in most aspects. The sheer number of ambitions, within all its glitz and glamour, trying to make it big; all the hours separating me from Koregoan Park back home; and most of all, how alone I suddenly found myself in a city of 20 million;

all of it collectively (pardon my French) scared the crap out of me.

I realize heartbreak is a terrible time to be introduced to your art, but I couldn’t be more grateful either way. I cannot exactly pinpoint when it was that the desire of writing and expressing really possessed me; but throughout my 15 years of millennial Internet life, I’d never seen anything like you. I’d never found a soul so broken, but with that inherent gift of making whole.

Through watching you, I remember constantly thinking that this is what I want to do with my life: not perform in front of a large audience, or be absolutely vulnerable and pour my heart out on stage;

but to make a difference. I wanted my words to be half as pretty as yours.

Two years down the line, I think it makes me question brokenness in general. I was broken when I came to Mumbai, and your poetry, in its own marvelous way, didn’t find any way to make me whole again, but sure gave my brokenness a hand to hold. To quote Hanif Abdurraqib, you kicked in the door to our respective darknesses not to spark a light, but to sit with us for a while.
I don’t know whether I’ll ever be able to read your words the same way again; or whether I’ll be able to recreate the raw emotions that went through the head of a thirteen-year-old as you changed his life.

If writing letters really did change your life (yep; that’s how big of a fan I was, I watched your Ted talk); I think it’s oddly fitting that I confide in you via this. Your actions were pathetic; and the fact that every thirty minutes, I must see an update bringing you down from the high regard that I held you in, speaks volumes of HOW pathetic they really were.

What you did was absolutely unbearable and there is, and always will be, a void in my stomach with your name on it. A fallen idol.

I think you’re done, man; the trail to your house is set, and it’s fucking blazing.

_____

Sleaze Report:
Shamir Reuben is one of India’s leading slam poetry artists. After a career graph that was going nowhere but up and inspired many to pursue writing, some revelations surfaced.

He has been alleged to have sexually harassed several women, most of them minors, on social media platforms and in real life, too. In light of the #MeToo campaign, a poet posted her scarring experience with Shamir and was met with a tremendous response when more than 50 screenshots of accusations surfaced. Her chilling narrative was received with a lot of support, love, and of course, even more screenshots. All the power and love to her and every other victim of his shocking misdeeds.

It breaks me how much I hate that it’s come to this.