Vidha Saumya is a drawer, cook, and a bookmaker. She seeks visual interest in the idea of congregating bodies, popular culture and the notion of deformity. She has held solo exhibitions and participated in group exhibitions in Lahore, Mumbai, Helsinki, and Tampere. She is currently pursuing a Master’s Degree in Visual Culture and Contemporary Art at Aalto University, Helsinki and is a member of Museum of Impossible Forms, Helsinki. These poems are part of the project Monumentless Moments – The Utopia of Figureless Plinths, supported by Kone Foundation.  
THEM A group of international classmates stayed once in a house together At one time there were 10 of them Divided in rooms under one roof On the beautiful island of Guidecca It was such an international group All had blonde hair Except those two Who didn’t even have light skin And good lord when they left Using the shower The beige bathroom floor looked like a mosaic With their jet hair Now dog hair is fine one’s sofa Ones clothes, guest’s clothes, Dining table, Chairs, Bed, Bathroom, Wherever… That’s how it should be It’s really rude to treat a dog like an animal You must accept it with all grace Feed it well, Give it a human name Those two? Them you can call Indians …   MY HUSBAND My husband has a peculiar face He has kind eyes, sincere too Beautifully shaped eyebrows His lips are not so visible, You see he has a full-grown beard I like it very much, I don’t let him shave Is that why he is picked out for a random check? He now has a breathing machine Which looks like just about anything Is that why he has to open it and show? Assure? His laptop, poor Steve, on the desktop of this minimalist machine is a plethora of screen shots and grant applications Final, final 1, last and final, ready to send Is that why, it has to be logged in and checked And his laptop bag, you know the best I could find before he left for the West From an international brand nevertheless All of fourteen thousand But the bag doesn’t display its price tag, nor its function, it displays the man who just had it on his shoulders and had emptied it put and placed it carefully on the conveyor belt Hoping he had not left in by error A cutter, a pair of scissors or a matchbox Because no bearded brown man, with a name that rhymes with Allah Hu Akbar Could have ever used a cutter to cut paper, scissors to cut cloth or a matchbox to light a fireplace Every time we travel, I think of multiple Hindu names he could be given in case of emergency I think of what will he do by himself if at all he’s detained I think and think and think of various consequences Submitting my thesis or becoming an influential artist is the least of my worries