“The closest thing to being cared for is to care for someone else.”
― Carson McCullers, The Square Root of Wonderful
Time passes by so quickly. We never realize that the time we are living in right now, the moments we're having, every little smile, every little laugh, a fight with a friend, a moment with a loved one, will one day become a memory so strong, so powerful, so potent, that your every cell, every living tissue of your body, yearns to relive that memory, that moment again. Often we don't realize how lovely, how good, how important that time was, untill it passes by and all we are left with is a regret of not living it to the fullest. We bind ourselves in so many chains, in so many boundaries in our lives, we forget that the real chains we should bind ourselves in, should be one of love, of care, of loyalty, of affection, of happiness. We take so many things for granted, we think so much about other people's opinion, we try so much to please people everyday. Love of our parents, loyalty of a friend, presence of a loved one. We never realize true worth of our mothers, our best friends, our families in our lives, so that when we DO, it is too late. Most of the times we are entangled in our work, studies, tid-bits, of our lives. When all we should be doing is stop being in a hurry, take a deep breath, look around, admire the miracle of getting born and be thankful of presence of so many people in our lives.
How many times do we thank, really feel gratitude for being alive, being healthy, having good people around us? How many times do we stop to think about the sacrifice our parents made and are making for us? About the immense, unending love our parents have for us? About our own love for other people?
We think so much about how things would have been. If only I had done it different!! If only I could have done that!! So many if only's.
We spend so much of our times thinking of our past, regretting decisions. So much of our lives spent on the bad memories.
Why don't we spend more time on making relationships than more money?
On working on our relationships with people than creating fake ones on the internet?
Why don't we keep our good memories so strong and intact that it blots out every bad one?
Why don't we love people more, trust people more?
Why do we let hatred rule our lives?
Why don't we try to be happy than running after happiness?
Why don't we, for once, try to live and not survive?
P.S.: This is my first time here. Please be kind.
P.P.S.: I know I have written nothing new that hasn't been said before. Nothing that hasn't been felt by others before. But, isn't it what this place is about? Writing. What you feel, when you feel, how you feel.
Author's Note: I know this is my first post on DOV and it should be something really sweet, but I came across this today in my 8th standard rough book, and decided to post it here! :D
She's Dying.
She's tired of the lies she's heard all of them say,
She's lost, she just cannot find a way.
She's seen them all smiling when she was smiling too,
And then they spoke their mean words, turned their backs
When her life was going off the track..
She learnt the hard way, that nothing and nobody are permanent.
That sometimes life gives you a rude shock,
It calls for your tears, your pain, it drives you insane.
But now she knows who will be there for her, and who all wont.
Now she's aware of the sink holes in her life.
Her mood is down in the trash, in the bin,
She's sick of feeling that way within.
She's this close to giving in.
If you know what to do, help her.
Because she is trying, but she knows she is failing.
She's broken on the inside, and she is dying!
Grammar sucks, but understand the meaning! :P
So yeah, this was what I'd written once upon a time in 13-years-ville. :P
Yes, I still call you that Papa, haven't you noticed? I remember I was 6 when you'd said you hated the word "Papa" and wanted me to call you Bauji. And so I did, to make you happy. Now I am grown up, but there were times, when I used to get scared if I called you Papa.
How are you? I know you are stressed but I also know you wouldn't share why? Do you know how old I am? No? Umm, do you know I want to become a writer?
You asked me to jump off the building, cause I wasted my time.
It’s
been so long that we have spoken like civilized human beings that I don’t
remember what it felt like listening to you speak softly. Do you know how it
felt when you said I was mentally unfit and I must be thrown out? I remember that was the
first time I screamed at you, because you put me through emotional stress, so much so that my teachers begged you to let me off. I am still
struggling to think whether I am normal.
Image Source:
luckymonsters.piczo.com
It’s been a week that you’ve spoken to
me. Why? Because I answered back to you? Because I keep doing that quite often?
Because I’ve had to take up the responsibility of speaking for everyone and now
I’ve no control on what I say? Was it my mistake that I am fat? I know you are
concerned, but you see me work hard towards losing it, does it make no
difference to you?
Was
it my mistake that I blacked out? I was hungry for more than 24 hours! Did you
see that? You were concerned? That’s not how I have heard anyone else’s father talk when
their daughters are unwell. I’ve come to accept that you are not expressive,
but is it an excuse enough to stop talking to me?
You
know, it hurts real bad to be in an abusive relationship. Yes, emotionally
abusive. You hurl insults at me without bothering what they do to me. Have you
wondered why I don’t make friends or don’t stick together? Because I let them
control me. I let them bully me, just for approval. Because I am deprived of
love – love which only a father could give. Why do you think, I let guys fall
for me?? Because, somewhere deep down in my heart, I expect them to respect and
love me, the way you should. Which father treats his daughter the way you do?
Why when everyone has faith in me, you don’t? Why have I never heard you say –
I am so proud of you! Why do I always see that underlying suspicion in your
eyes – You wasted my money. Why, why
don’t you listen to me when I say I am scared of people, of situations and my
insecurities? Why don’t you believe in me, that I will get a job which will
keep your nose in the society? Why is it so hard for you to bear me around you,
when it’s not been even a month?
Image Source:
guardian.co.uk
Papa, I’ve always done what you’ve asked me
to. I gave up on my dream to be a designer for something you approved of. You didn’t
talk to me for three days then. Remember? I never went out to meet my friends
because you didn’t like it. Because you wanted them to come to our place, every
time. Friendship is reciprocating – but how will you understand? You say you
cannot be my friend – I don’t ask you to be – but dad, sometimes, there are
things, which I cannot discuss with Maa, like my job or career and I would need
confidence to take a step. You say, I will only be planning. But do you realize
you don’t let me make mistakes. You make it hell for me for a single slip up. I
know I didn’t score well, but you forgot how this year had been? You forgot how
I battled with college, detentions, maa’s health and house work and yet,
managed to write an exam which would decide my fate? Are you not a bit happy
that at least I cleared?
You
say things which people say you don’t mean. I have believed that for past 24 years.
That someday, someday, I will get your approval. What do you have in mind, dad? That I earn 50,000/- bucks so that you can tell everyone? But dad, are you not happy with the way I am?Dad, did you know I write? Do
you know I sketch really well? Have you noticed the things I write? I remember you read my poem once without asking. You didn't notice it was for you, but you said I
was dark and a loner. Ever thought why? You never fail to remind me how my friends are better looking than I am or how they are already earning. Have you not noticed the appreciation or prizes I win for sketching? Or may be, they are as useless as you say they are.
Image Source:
secret.extrarisk.com
Remember, when I had to take
counseling? For emotional sustenance? My counselor said I was mature and had seen things throughout childhood and hence, it is all right to be insecure. But do you realize, how worthless I feel when you say - Oh, whatever. You don't understand what an insecurity is, do you? Ever after I told you, it made no
difference. I gave you a letter, a card appreciating you – I was delusional
that things between us, after 13 years, were all right. How wrong you’ve proved
me! You scold me for things which I don’t do and you know that. It’s painful to be at home where you don’t feel at home at all.
Mom has asked me to leave for my own good – and I hope I do that. Do you notice my lack of sleep in the nights or that I keep trying to make peace? Do you notice how much I struggle to see you smile? You say you cannot change the way you are. But are you really this way? Do you really don't like what I say or do?
You know how I wish to die every day, because I cannot bear to see you like this? How did I become so Love-Deprived Papa? Why am I not satisfied even though there are people who love me? Why do I seek to be an Adrenaline Junkie, when I could just talk to you and let out my frustration? Why am I reminded of how much you spent on me when I was born? I would have died if you wouldn't have. And if you wouldn't have, how would that make you my father? Once okay, twice I ignored and thrice? Is it really such a set back? You know I spoke to Maa and cried. She said I was strong and shouldn't cry. Now, where should I go Dad? I am "strong", "mature" I talk too much, I am arrogant, I am useless, I am fat and I am nothing that you want me to be - yet, are you not my father? Are you not someone, who is so much like me and yet, nothing like me. I yearn for a life Papa, which would be happy.
Image Source:
drkarendunn.wordpress.com
Ask people who know me, how sad I am - loner and desperate for attention. Why Papa? Why am I like this? And if you can't bear me, so much, why would anyone else take the pain to understand and listen to me everyday? People tell me I am wayyy too serious in life - because I didn't learn to be not serious. You never let me make a mistake. You expect me to be perfect. My teachers knew me better than you did and you - you never cared to ask why I was so timid in school.
I hear you speak when your lips don't move, but you don't even listen to me when I speak out loud.
I don't want to say it, but I am depressed. I told you I was but you rubbished it. Your lack of confidence in me is heart breaking. You don't see how it hurts when you mention bro's stellar academic record and skill fully skip mine. I embarrass you dad, don't I? Yet, I hope that someday, someday soon - you will find a way to accept me the way I am. But you know Papa, sometimes, this hope fades away. Like now... Yet, I write this, in hope to put across what I feel.
Do you love me Papa? Do you hate me? Am I anything you wanted?
Someday, I will be.
I still love you,
The Most Imperfect Daughter
PS: I don't intend to make anyone sad through this post. If I might have, please bear with me. PPS: I had come across emotional abuse mostly between partners and this is an attempt to understand how a child in parent-child relationship gets affected when subject to emotional abuse.
She was walking along the lane admiring the climate. There was a skip in her step and a smile on her face. She had a couple of daisies in her hand. They were so beautiful and she was handling them so carefully and tenderly. As she walked by, the passers-by could not help looking at the daisies in her hand. Every one's eyes would follow the smile on her face to the flowers in her hands. And they thought, "I can recognize and place that smile.Her guy has given her the flowers!" :) Everyone who had the time to look at her had the same thought. Little did they know the truth.
She reached the place where she was supposed to meet her guy. She partially hid her so that she can see her guy arriving on the spot before he sees her. It's a habit, she smiles to herself. Her guy arrives and she pulls out the flowers from behind her back and handed them to him. He took one look at them and gave her a wide smile. That was all she wanted. :) And that was all that was worth it. She had gotten these flowers on pure impulse since they looked so good deciding to give them to her guy when they are meeting. But then, the prejudiced mind started scaring her thinking "What girl will present flowers to her guy? Isn't it supposed to be the other way round? You will be the first girl in the whole world to give flowers to a guy!"
Image Source: colorbox.com
But that smile of his drove away everything else from her mind. So what if she does something that is normally not done. So what if he cannot take the flowers home, because it was a bachelors' place and his friends will tease him. He gave them back to her and said, "Thank you so much baby! But I think these will be in better shape if they are in your soft hands". None of that mattered. That huge smile of his stuck in her mind throughout the day and much longer. Isn't that the purpose of gifts to beloved ones? To make them smile? It does not matter if the gift is different in some way. It doesn't matter what you get and how much spend on it. If it manages to make that smile of your loved ones reach their eyes, you have done it :) Nothing is wrong in love. No prejudice stands before the power of love. There is no worry and no fear. Love is the only feeling that breaks apart all rules and gives you full freedom to be yourself. Celebrate love!
Life gives us millions of chances, some are missed, others are ignored, but WHY on earth should we ever forget a chance to CELEBRATE?!!
Yes Yes!!!! As that YUMMY chocolate Rocher cake shows, it's my MEOWW'S Birthdayyyyyy!!! :D Meoww - I met her exactly 10 months before and if I was born on time, she and I could've even celebrated our birthdays together! :D
Our love has been tagged by some imbecile creatures as lesbian, too sugary, too show-off and stuff like that, but do we care? Nope! :D Meoww is someone I look forward to every single day and miss her like crazy if I don't get to hear from her even once... I know that every time I mess up bad, real bad (And that's quite often I tell you) She is there, to tell me what is as is, but doesn't judge me...and that knowledge has kept me going! She is like the light to my darkness! *Touchwood*
:D :D Sooooo my dearest dearest Meoww, here's from All the darlings of DOV to you!
A Verrrrrrrrrrrrrrry Happy Birthday!!!!!
And my dearest Witch - an Ode to you!
Fresh and Beautiful, like the life ahead, Air I pray to thee,
Bright and savior from the demons we fear, Fire I pray to thee,
Pure and flowing, you vanish the darkness with in us, Water I pray to thee,
Strength and Calmness, to help us endure, Earth I pray to thee,
Spirit of woman, undying and sacred, I pray to thee,
Goddess of the Night and World, I pray,
Shower your best blessing on my Sister, I pray
Blessed Be! So I mote it be!
I hope you get the best of things you've always wanted. Love you. Always have. Always will.
“Heyyyy look, a shooting star!!” Jenny exclaims like an adorable kid
as I sit on the reclining chair, staring at nothing in particular in our
balcony.
“Hmmm” I answer. Well, in my
mind it sounded like an affirmation to me, but Jenny is suddenly looking at me.
Oh Sigh!
“What? I heard you. Made a wish?” I say amicably. I am in no mood
for a nag session. What’s with women and stars anyway? I squelch this thought,
thinking, if Jen comes to know, she’ll lecture me about stereotyping.
Image Source: the-shooting-star.com
“What would I ask for? I’ve you.” She grins. Jen is so much in love
with me that sometimes I am just afraid about the end. There is no such reason
as such, but because of Jen’s health and the circumstances in which we got
legally married, I am scared that everything will end too soon.
Jenny is a patient of mild to
severe lunacy…and a lot of things. Well, I won’t call her a lunatic because I
love her, but she has these phases when it becomes almost impossible to be with
her, to control her. I had met her at Delhi University, when she was doing a
PhD in Mathematics. Of all the things, Jen is extremely good with numbers. She
will not watch television, will not read books but ask her to tally my Profit
and Loss A/c and correct my Balance Sheet; she would take less the 20 minutes
to make everything perfect. I feel proud of her. I still remember, when she was
telling me about how lonely she felt and how painful it was for her, when she
was not lucid, to control herself. Yes, I married her out of choice. No, it
wasn’t pity. My folks have severed ties with me for marrying a “Mad” woman. What they do not understand
is that Jen is not incapable or disabled in any manner. She is PHD in
Mathematics for crying out loud! She is just unwell. With patience and
medicines and most importantly, love – Jen will
recover.
“What are you thinking?” Jen sits on my lap, her arms around my neck
as I feel sudden tears in my eyes. I do love her. No matter how unwell she is,
I won’t be able to let her go.
“You are crying Karan?” Eyes widening, she takes my face in her
palms and asks, like a girl talking to her favorite doll.
“I missed the shooting star or I could’ve wished something too.” I
give her a smile and hug her tight. Dr. Bhatia is only lying. Has anyone ever
died before, because of a mental illness? He cannot be so sure.
“Karan, Jenny appears to be normal physically but her motor nerves are
slowing down. In a week or so, her sensory organs will stop functioning. I’ve….”
The man has the nerves to look concerned. Sigh. I know he was. “There is also a tiny lump in her cranial
membrane. I know it is too sudden for you to grasp, but apart from the
medicines she takes for lucidity, she also has a weak liver and these medicines
have damaged it considerably. Her other vital organs are inching towards
critical stage. You might have to admit her in two days.”
“Mr. Bhatia, You must have known about this – this liver and vital
organs issue, before. You are telling me now? When I have less than a week?”
I am almost screaming. Was this man waiting?
I instantaneously decide that I will take a second opinion. I don’t care if Mr.
Bhatia has dealt with Jen’s case from the beginning. I give him a good glare –
a good unreasonable fuming look.
“Mr. Karan! We all have known that not much can be done about Jen’s
health. I care about her like my own daughter! I understand that this is tough
for you. Believe me it is for me as well. But I am unfortunately, sure of what
I am saying. She has been under observation and I was hoping against hope that
she will be all right. But since last few sessions I’ve noticed a declining
pattern and today’s tests have confirmed of what we were apprehensive about. She
will not be able to make it through.”
I stand up suddenly. “Do you think I would have married Jen to let
her die? No Doctor! Just because you
are saying she will die, are you implying that I should leave her like this? I
will take her to the best hospitals and I will prove that youare wrong!!”
I know I’m being irrational
but…Jen cannot die. She cannot. I’ve been so particular with her meds, her
exercises and her needs – everything, She cannot just die!
“Son, please calm down. Please understand. She needs your strength. I
will give all my knowledge and skill to treat her. I wouldn’t mind, if a second
opinion feels like a good option to you.” Mr. Bhatia holds my shoulders as
I let this knowledge sink in, that Jen’s vital organs will soon betray her and
she, will betray me. That her ingenious brain will give up. No, it is not
possible. I know love has the power to heal. I walk out of the clinic and go
ahead to take a second opinion from a friend, who is a qualified neuro-surgeon
and a neurologist. Raghav just softened the blow by not using the word “dead” but said the same things as Dr.
Bhatia. My hopes have crashed and I suddenly feel that if love could save her,
I would give her all the love I could.
One thing everyone is sure about. Jen will be in pain. In so much pain. I
wish at least, God would let her go in peace.
This was yesterday and may be I
am imagining things, but Jen’s face resembles a skull now. I close my eyes as
Jenny puts her head on my shoulders. I will be admitting her tomorrow. Her belongings
are packed, her parents would arrive anytime tomorrow and I hope, just hope,
that she recovers seeing them. Suddenly, I notice that Jen has fallen asleep on
my shoulders.
I lift her up slowly and walk
to our room. A thought occurs in my head, ‘Will
it feel this way, when Jen dies…in my arms.’ Oh God! What am I thinking! I
cringe in horror at my own vile thinking and put Jenny to bed, tucking her inside
the quilt.
I watch her breathe softly,
feeling relieved. Death can be so horrifying. Even though we know that is the
ultimate journey, I never understood how it makes things easier in any way. I
walk out with a peg of whisky and stand in the balcony. Cold breeze soothes my
frazzled nerves as I think of how I had fallen in love with Jen. We have been
married for two years. She wanted my child, but doctor had strictly warned me
against it. It would be too much for her fragile body to bear. I complied. Her
life is more important to me. I take out my cell phone and absently dial my
mother’s number. I need her tonight.
“Karan?” I hear my mother’s voice.
“Maa….” There is a lump in my throat. I am speaking to the love I’d
lost about the love I will lose. My mother senses the hesitation and instead of
reminding me of the mistake I made, she whispers in a worried tone,
“Kya hua? Tu theek toh hai na?” (Trans.:What happened? Are you all right?)
“Maa, Jenny is going to die.” I finally say it – making it all too
real for me.
“What are you saying?” My mother sounds shocked and somewhere, I
feel better. Atleast, she has no reason to hate Jen now.
“I am admitting her tomorrow. Doctor says in two-three days, she will
suffer a multiple organ failure and it is not possible to save her for more
than a week – even on dialysis. Will…will you please come?” I realize that
I am crying like a boy who has lost his favorite possession.
“Karan… which hospital? I will leave tomorrow. Beta, I know you love
her… and I also know that I’ve hated her for no apparent reason, but I am your
mother. I am so sorry. I know you need me. I will be with you.” Unbelievably, but true, that my mother has a change of heart.
It is absurd how
the knowledge of death or may be fear of dying, makes people change their ways.
How we wait for something, to push us hard on the ground, to make us realize
the value of certain things. Mundane fights about right and wrong seem of no
importance when it comes to life and love. I give her the details and hang up,
feeling much better after letting my emotions out.
I sit on the chair and close my
eyes.
As I
relax, I feel something snap inside me. Jen
has closed her eyes too. I feel the sudden hush and the omnious silence ensnaring
me. I run up to the room, to find blood trickling out of her ears and nose. I
scream and scream. She doesn’t move. I call up Dr. Bhatia as I lift Jen up in
my arms and run across the living room to the front door.
It is 10 AM now. My mother is
consoling me and so is Jen’s family. But no one is crying. No one.
I go to our bedroom and lock
myself in…..silencing everyone with a look. I sit on the bed, where Jen lay
last night. I inhale a lingering scent of hers and go through Jen’s diaries and
work sheets, opening the drawers at random. I feel fresh tears leak out of my
eyes and find myself on my knees sobbing as a gaping hollow opens up inside me.
It feels like eternity when I get up and see a pink paper under Jen’s pillow. It
has her curly handwriting.
Dearest
dearest Karan,
I
know the world thinks I am crazy. Heck, even Ithink I am mad…but you know, I wish I had some control, any control on
what my brain does. You know the worst thing is that I don’t remember what
I have done. I have always gathered
from the cautious behavior of people around me that there is indeed something
wrong with me.At DU, Math was my
best friend. It still is. It always will be. I seemingly don’t register
anything else. Actually, I really don’t find anything else interesting. I may
have been unwell…but you know when I met you, it was the best thing that had
happened to me. You, you were the first person who did not pity me or look at
me with strange eyes that I might erupt any second.
You
loved me, even though you knew, I was flawed through and through. Even though,
you knew that you can turn your back on me, even though, you had all the power
to break me into pieces. It must have been a massive leap of faith from your
side, to marry me and take me as your life partner. J Remember Karan? When we had gone to Simla
and you had asked me if I was afraid what will happen tomorrow and I had not
answered? You must have thought I have not heard you. Sometimes, I’ve pretended
to not listen or understand, just to tease you, I am sorry *Holds ears*. But
you know, I will answer you now – I am afraid, especially these days. You know,
there is a weird frown on Bhatia Uncle’s face every time he makes me go through
MRI and all those tests. I don’t want to say this, but I feel I am going to
die. You know, suddenly colors are too bright and music is too loud. I cannot
even correct my sheets of formulas, the numbers keep disappearing. I know, I
sound crazy, but I am not lying.
So,
tonight I am writing this as a proof of how much I love you. I have not felt a
single moment of pain with you in these two years – even when Uncle said no for
a baby. I felt like your
child, the way you made me feel comfortable and stashed away your feelings,
taking me out and doing all the funny things, I will never forget. Now, promise
me one thing – okay? I am not saying I am leaving you, but if I do and believe
me, I will return. J
Karan….will you marry again? Please? For my sake? Take your time, see…I know,
you are just 28 and believe me, you are so handsome, that if I was all right, I
would have remarried you. Please? Don’t break your heart over me, for I know
you love me and I love you too…so much! You made me believe in my existence. Oh, and the guitar you asked me to sell? I've repaired it and kept it in my cupboard, in the down shelf. It's gift wrapped. Start playing again! :D
Karan,
memories are the best things we can have and I don’t want you to shed a tear
for me… I won’t be happy then. I want you to remember me as someone you loved
and made happy. You’ve made too many sacrifices for me…and now, you have to
live again. All right?
So all of you would have probably see/heard/read about the GUWAHATI case by now?
Yes. The very same one...where a teenage girl was molested by an unruly mob of around 40-50.
So obviously you all would have spat your outrage in disgust and frustration at the current miserable condition of affairs in our country.
There might have been many who would have gone and seen the video,felt even more horrified looking at the animals apparently depicted in it trying to enjoy a piece of flesh and getting a kick out of doing something so derogatory. (NO, i couldn't get myself to view the video.)
If you have been following the case as being shouted out in the media, you would know the happenings by now.
A class eleventh girl was molested by a MOB..a whole fucking MOB outside a night club in guwahati.
I know there might be many out there who would say, why in the heavens was an under-age girl drinking and out with guys so late in the night.There would be some pricks who would obviously point out the character of the girl saying, it was her fault. She shouldn't have gone out in the first place.
(I had read the comments of a few readers on a news article on the same. There was a man who actually had the goddamn audacity to write.."I would never allow my daughters out so late..this incident raises questions on her character" )
Its indeed sad that, even today we have people who will blame the girl for anything she does.All this ,when the entire incident was being shown live across all the news channels in the country, and it was all out there for the people to see such a young girl being harassed by so many.
What will happen next is something that has always been happening with a zillion other things in this country when it comes to law and order. The case will drag itself on the handicapped legs of the justice providers and it will take ages to bring the perpetrators to book.
I may be wrong here...the process might even be sped up and and the animals might be punished as soon as possible.
But the way it is going everyday, i hardly see justice happening in the near future.
When we try to observe the on goings in this case.
The reporter of News Live resigning from his position.
The head of the news channel proclaiming that he will resign too.
The insensitive chief minister bumbling out the name of the hapless victim in a press release and then apologizing for the blunder.
The inability of the police to arrest the main culprit as he is being pointed out to be.
and so many more...we realize..what a bunch of loons we are surrounded with.
But then i guess..if a KASAB can still be alive in our country. anybody can be.
Justice will come when it will. delayed or hastened.
A new SSP will come in place of the transferred guy.
The news channel will issue a public apology and somebody else will replace the resigned reporter.
Or probably he himself will join in some time.
But anything happens, whoever comes and goes.. nothing..i mean NOTHING will erase the scalding, killing memory of those minutes from that girl's mind. Every single day she would still feel the disgust at being touched by those dirty hands and it will always remind her of the death of humanity in this world.
Whether it was her fault that she was in an inebriated state or that she was out that late are nothing but a very weak argument against what she went through in those moments.
Even now when i step out of home, I have a mother who says "please be careful..don't answer anyone who tries to get fresh with you.Don't be over-smart and retort or fight against anyone...what if they follow you and cause harm later." I have a father who says stay safe.
I realize deep down, i don't really have to do anything to invite any kind of trouble from the opposite sex. Whether i am wearing a saree or a burkha or a pair of jeans or a salwar suit...the fact that i have a pair of blobs sticking out right in front of my chest is enough to bring down the male vision right below my face.
So you see it doesn't really require them to touch you to realize that you are being molested for their satisfaction. A pair of eyes is all it takes to feel naked in public.
We take pride in calling ourselves a TOLERANT nation.
But i am afraid, we have become so bloody tolerant, that it borders on
"as-long-as-its-not-in-my-backyard-i-don't-really-care" approach.
And all this includes me as well. What am i actually doing about this other than blogging about it. Cos i don't really know how i being a woman, a citizen can help.
So will we always keep running away? or be ready to face the demons?
Why did i write this post?
This is the least i could do to give a voice to the thoughts of that girl.
Humanity has been raped..and it will be time and again.
The victim would have been dying a thousand deaths since that fateful night.
& I honestly don't know whether i will be the next.
Be Safe.
PS-i know i have been MIA for time immemorial. But then sometimes..randomness does happen.
George wrapped the potatoes in foil and put it in the microwave. He set the timer and waited for Susanne to return home. It was Tuesday and he had his day off at work. Susanne on the other hand would be running late today.
George decided to prepare dinner as he waited for his wife.
It was Susanne who had taught him to cook. The first time he tried cooking, he had nearly blown off the kitchen. She had to clean all the mess.
The second time the kitchen was fine. But the food wasn’t. Still when he gave it to her to taste, she didn’t complain. She had a bite and said it was the best food she ever had.
When George tasted his own food, he found out how miserable a cook he was. When he asked her how could she find it tasty, Susanne said-
“Because it’s filled with your love. It has you hard work in it. How can it not be tasty for me?”
George couldn’t say anything.
He had been both a terrible cook and a terrible student. But Susanne never complained.
He strolled around the house while waiting for the timer to beep. While looking around he found the corners of the house needed some cleaning. There was a snapshot of their graduation on the wall just opposite the kitchen. “She’s the most perfect woman I have ever met in my life”, he thought.
They first met during an academic conference in college. And the first time he saw her he was dumbstruck by her beauty. She was blonde with shiny golden brown hair cut short. The sky blue sweater vest and black skirt she wore defined her curves well. Her black silhouettes made her more graceful. George couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Hi I am George Williams”, he stretched out his hand.
“Susanne, Susanne Arquette”, she took his hand.
At that moment, somewhere in his heart, George knew this was the woman he was meant to be with. There was a pleasant smile on her face, one that would take all your tensions and worries away. Her voice was filled with melody.
Within a month they started dating. On their first date, George was late by an hour. When he reached, there she was waiting with a smile on her face. George was surprised. He was scared that when he reached she would freak out and start shouting at him. But Susanne didn’t complain.
As days passed, George knew that she was a good listener, compassionate about her work, and the perfect woman he had ever met.
At work also, she had the best ideas, made the best presentation, met the deadlines on time and within six months of joining, she was promoted to the post of vice president of the house.
Within a year they were married.
The timer beeped. George went to take out the potatoes. He decided to make some salad. The doctor had told Susanne to have more vegetables after the accident. He knew it was his fault. It was his fault that even after six years of their marriage they are childless. It was his fault that there was no one to throw light in the house that both of them had decorated with so much love. But Susanne never complained about that.
They had been trying to conceive from the second year of their marriage. After a year, the fertility test had showed that his sperms had low motility. It was all his fault, George knew.
Two years after the fertility test, he got Susanne pregnant. Their happiness knew no bounds. He still remembers Susanne’s face that night. That was the first time he saw true happiness in her eyes. There it was, something more than that simple pleasant smile. George just stared at her face in awe.
Last September, it was Kelvin and Kathy’s marriage- their best friends from college. Susanne found it hard to find a dress that would go with her bulging stomach. She was eight months pregnant. But she was the perfect woman. She found out a blue satin dress which made her look thinner and put on her best make-up. George looked at her with pleasure. She was looking as beautiful as she looked on the first day he met her. They had a lot of fun that evening. Susanne had also proposed a toast to the happily married couple.
While returning back home, Susanne had proposed to drive as he was a bit drunk. But George assured her that it would be okay. He can take care of his wife and child. She believed him.
The next morning, at the hospital, George knew that it was all over. He had lost his child. The doctor also told him that the accident had a terrible impact on her and so she can never conceive again.
George broke down in tears and cursed himself. Susanne was lying on a bed, asleep and calm, in a private room with barely enough space to stand beside her in a secluded wing of the hospital where they don’t visit for expectant patients.
Before the ultra-scan Susanne told the doctor that they didn’t want to know the sex of the child. But now George knew it was a boy. He had held his son close to his heart long enough before the nurse came and took it from him. He wasn’t sure whether to tell that to her or not.
When Susanne woke up she sat with her eyes closed, her head in his arms. She never said anything to him. But George knew that she will never be able to forgive him.
George found there was nothing left except for a few carrots. “Strange!” he thought.
There refrigerator was always stuffed with food. Whenever she went for shopping, she bought extra bottles of oil, milk, juices, beer and wine; zippered bags of pasta, vegetables, fruits and yam. Whenever he looked at the refrigerator, he was both surprised and satisfied.
It never went waste. When friends dropped by, Susanne would prepare the best meals. She would go through different cookbooks and serve George a new dish every Sunday evening. The date when they first had a new dish would be marked by the recipe in the book.
After their marriage, George knew Susanne was the perfect wife. Their house was always clean. She would keep the shoes in the closet, coats on the hanger by the door. She would pay the bills as soon as they came.
Every morning Susanne would wake up early, go out for jogging, come back and prepare breakfast for herself and her husband, run her errands and then go to work. She was never late.
But now it no longer mattered her. She would keep her sneakers by the door when she got home, her coat on the sofa. She no longer seemed to be disturbed by the fact that the sofa didn’t go with the new Turkish carpet they got last summer.
George no longer looked forward to the weekends when they would sit together in the morning solving crossword puzzles or mow the lawn together.
He decided to put some candles on the table. He began to open the drawers one by one. He tried to locate a candle among the scissors, the eggbeaters and whisks, spoons and forks. He found a packet of left-over birthday candles in the cabinet above the sink.
On his last birthday, Susanne had thrown him a big surprise party. One hundred guests had come- neighbours, family, his friends from school, college and work. She had prepared him a heart shaped pine-apple cake to show how much she loved him. It was his favourite. The room was decorated with white and pink balloons and there was wine kept in a tumbler full of ice. She had done this all herself alone.
Since last September, they only had Susanne’s mother as their guest. The home had become lifeless. Felicia came and lived for two months with them after Susanne returned from the hospital. She cooked dinner every evening, did the cleaning and laundry and drove herself to the market every Saturday. She was a religious woman. She took care of all the household chores. She was polite to George without being friendly. She knitted sweaters for him but gave them to him in the most unceremonious manner. Though she never said anything, her eyes always accused her, “you are the reason behind her misery.”
It has been three months since that all stopped. Susanne has become more silent. She now didn’t care about how she looked or the surrounding. Mostly they would have their breakfast and dinner in silence.
She now took up more assignments, worked overtime to run away from the pain her home gave her.
It had started raining outside.
“She didn’t get a raincoat”, George suddenly remembered.
George decided to grate the carrots and make some macaroni. He started washing the carrots.
The doorbell rang.
It was Susanne. The rain had nearly washed all her make-up. There was a thin line of lipstick on the outer edges of her lips. The eyeliner she wore left patches of charcoal beneath her eyes. She looked like this on mornings after late parties when she had been too lazy to wash her face, too eager to drop in his arms.
She was standing there, in a grey coat and blue denim over her white sneakers. There was a calm smile on her face.
