If only, she would abort her girl child to protect her from rape..

Unwanted as a baby, insulted as a girl, raped as a woman and silenced as a lady. When did our definition of a woman undergo such a sea of changes ?  Expected to give up her career to raise a family and complete all her chores on time, never asked for an opinion, not allowed to enter the temple in her periods as if it is something she does against God's wishes, dutifully provide the family with healthy sons that grow up to be as insensitive as the others, beaten, burnt and raped. When did we lose our humanity and fell so low that we stopped respecting and started raping the womb that gave us birth ? Many of you might be offended by the title of this post, but I stand by it with all my courage. I would be least surprised if a pregnant woman decides not to have a girl child for the fear of what happened to a 23-year old student in Delhi. Being her age, I can't imagine the trauma that she must be going through.

The media is hungry for that one sensational byte, one statement from the family, one more picture! They manage to ignite a protest, start support groups online, abuse the accused on social networks. But what good does it bring to the victim ? She has become the talk of the nation, but how is it helping her ? Not long ago, a girl from North East India was publicly molested and beaten. The case became viral on Youtube overnight. Banners were hanged, posters were painted. What good came out of it, still manages to stay a mystery. A german woman was raped and murdered in Goa last year and instead of justice, advice was served. Tourists were asked to dress and behave according to the Indian customs while they were in India.

"Protest infront of India Gate, 22nd Dec, show your support". I received this text a few days back, asking me to show my support for the gangrape victim. Many of my friends swore that they wouldn't miss it for the world. Although it did make me think, were they excited because they thought it was cool that they were protesting for a cause for the first time ? or were they angry because an innocent 23-year old was gangraped and thrown out of a moving bus ? 'All the female politicians must be raped', this filth also made it to every youngster's phone, as if the recent happenings weren't disgusting enough. Just this morning, I was informed that the punjabi rockstar Honey Singh has composed a song on the victim, depicting his rage and suppressed anger. All I felt upon hearing it, was humiliation and shame. An obnoxious Bollywood star saw this as an opportunity of promoting his latest movie. The opposition sees it as a means of initiating a political riot. 

What fears me the most is that have we started taking pleasure in the victim's misery or do we enjoy the blame-game ? Some blame the accused, others blame the city altogether.

The main accused, Ram Singh, the bus driver, said that he only did this because his friends thought he was not man enough to have sex with a woman. How does forcing yourself on a woman prove your manhood ? How does that third leg give them the advantage of being superior over women ? Of all the rape case accused that are arrested, almost 70% accept that they did this to show her "her real place". But then, how does forcefully inserting your penis into a vulnerable woman's vagina do that ?

The body, the scars, they all might heal, but will the soul ever heal ? I myself live in a conservative North Indian Punjabi family. I'm not allowed to leave my house alone after 6 in the evening. Even if I have to got to the nearby chemist, I take my brother along. It never makes sense to me, but I do the needful to ease out my parents' worry. But what if a gang of six decide they want to rape me, will my brother be able to protect me ? You see ? right there, something is wrong at the bottom of it all.  

The current maximum penalty in rape cases in India is life imprisonment. Officials say that death sentence has been put on the table and it might be served in extreme rape cases. What I want to know is that, what will be the criteria of deciding which case is an extreme and which isn't.

Is a woman raped by one man for ten minutes any less haunted than a woman gangraped by 6 men for an hour ?

This post is my not-so-poignant ode to the dying human spirit.

Once Again.

Empty.

Serene.

Calm.

The message, that your eyes convey.

Once again,

We met, we talked

You held my hand,

for I feared getting lost,

Again.

A gesture so little,

carried meanings so deep,

Yes, in plenty.

Seasons came,

Seasons went.

But You and I,

Stayed aloof.

I see the inky sky,

I feel the grass,

And I know that bird,

who mocks my love.

I have, no qualms,

no regret,

for I realize, you're not the soul I loved,

But I know pain,

excruciating raw pain.

And,

Once again,

I slip into sweet oblivion,

As we grew apart.

I am She.

This post has won the second prize in the Stayfree's 'Time to Change' contest.

Note : Every word written in this article is close to my heart because I, like every other girl, have been a victim myself. Forgive me if my views hurt you in any way.

She was groped in a train when she was 11. A middle aged man pushed her aside while entering the toilet and squeezed her butt. She ran to her mother and never left her side for the rest of the journey. The pain vanished in a couple of minutes but the after-effects did not.

The bus was crowded, little could she do about it. She got in somehow, amidst the valiant touching and staring of the five men standing on the footsteps. A round of hi fives is heard. The old man couldn't keep his itchy hands in his pocket and made sure he pressed himself onto her whenever the driver applied the brakes. She got out at the very next stop. She bathed thrice and felt like she'll never feel clean again.

She was walking her way to the gym and two boys in their late teens brushed by her side on their bike. One of them even took the liberty of touching her breasts inappropriately and then smirked in the delight of the new found information about how 'cool' he is. Before she could understand what just happened, they were out of sight. She turned around and silently headed home, her body felt violated.

She was felt up her school skirt in lure of the conductor pretending to help her get down the bus. Not a word of this was ever spoken to anybody.

In the close confinements of the auto rickshaw, he manages to get a hold and starts masturbating while shamelessly staring at her skirt. Her whole being seethes with anger and she shouts at the driver to stop. She wants to yell 'my dress is not a yes', but follows the road that is always taken and walks away. He smiles and counts upon doing the same to the next passenger. He won. And she lost. Again.

Sometimes I am cruelly put to death as a foetus and when I do get to live, I am expected to tolerate such filth without uttering a word of it to anybody. I have the qualification to earn for myself, I am raped and I am burnt. I am a woman of independent India.

I am She.

She burns with rage when the authorities refuse to walk that extra mile to help her and blame her assumed provocative clothing. She becomes the talk of the town, is discussed over kitty parties by wealthy socialites while sipping their tea, the paparazzi sleeps outside her home for days only to get a statement that can be blown off in the next morning's newspaper.

No man ever marries her and she is served the bitter taste of brutal injustice.

Call me a feminist or a sexist if you must, but being a girl in her early twenties who is not allowed to go to the nearby chemist shop all by her self for the fear of getting marred or molested by a stranger, I don't have a better argument for you. A man once waved a 500Rs note and signaled me to get into his car when I was around sixteen, I felt utterly humiliated and started walking faster towards home. Even if I step out in a burqa covering every inch of my exposed skin, I would be humiliated if those perverts catch a glimpse. None of the incidents mentioned above have been created by my mind, they are well read and make me feel ashamed of being a citizen of such a country. Complaints are written, signed, investigated and then filed away to bite dust. In severe cases, the victim is blamed and boycotted off the society. Nothing that I write here would make a change, until we get out there and try to raise a voice against it. Their temptation exceeds their sanity, but we have to provide proof that ours doesn't. Eve teasing has become a frivolous term now, it is more of sexual harassment, filthy remarks, lewd comments and obscene gestures, be it verbal or physical. Any woman who steps out of her private sphere does not invite this upon herself, as it is quoted. It is not common anymore.

Keenan Santos and Reuben Fernandes are my heroes. Despite the apparent quiet of our youth, they fought against this evil act in Mumbai and were stabbed to death by the monsters. At least they had the heart to stand up and put up a fight. But it also plays with a lot of minds when they wonder will we also meet the same fate if we raise our voices ? After the recent twin rapes in Gurgaon, the police issued a notice telling women to stay indoors after 8pm if they don't want to get raped. It sure drew protests from across Delhi-NCR (or should I say National Capital of Rape ?) but to no avail.

If I could be the change I want to see in the world around me, it would be getting rid of this menace called eve teasing. As and how I'm growing up, I realize and understand why my father over-protects me. But I really wonder if that is the only solution ?

I very well know that a lot has been written and spoken about eve-teasing and sexual abuse, and a lot will still pop up on this contest as well, but since this contest came up at the eve of women's day, I wrote about the issue that is closest to my heart. I can never forget the humiliation that I felt when that note was waved at my face.

All the best to all those who are participating in this contest.

This post is an Official entry for Stayfree's Time To Change hosted by IndiBlogger.

Visit the Facebook page for further indulgence into Stayfree's campaign to bring about a change.

http://www.facebook.com/sftimetochange

Closure

She could not operate machines. Not then. Not now. She always alleged Technology eats away the little joys that make me happy. Squinting into the wide screen with eye brows meeting in the middle and typing around the haphazard arrangement of alphabets gave her liquid pain across her cheeks and an acute sting in her skull.  She preferred pens, ink pens, for their sheer simplicity and beauty. She loved filling them with ink when they ran out of it.

She took out her aged diary, dotted with tiny speckles of her daughter's mischief, picked up her pen and started doodling little hearts in red ink at the torn corners of the page. It brought back memories. Memories of happier times. Memories of innocent smiles. Memories of him, and them. One abstract thought, and she tore the page off. That painting hung in her living room for a very long time now but ironically it was a metaphor today. The sky had stopped pouring. The dew drops wanted to fall off the frail stem, demanded closure, but something kept them desperately dangling.

A tear fell, hot as acid, and scarred the flimsy white.

Nostalgia won. Again.

She wrote. And then, some more.

She could not find it in her heart to forgive him for dying on her. She felt cheated. He promised to grow old with her and watch bad TV throughout the day's length. Why did he have to break it ? Time moved too fast for her to keep up with its pace. They said it'll be painful for a few months and then her life would adapt itself to this subtle change. Why hadn't her pain subsided ? Four long, wistful years had rolled by. Hadn't she suffered enough ? These questions itched her fate and she couldn't scratch it. Once again, there were no answers. She didn't know what to feel anymore. It was a tiring task. Right and wrong agreed with each other. Her face broke into infrequent tremors of grief, pain and wishful longing.

She too needed closure and somehow it hid itself well.

A sudden squeak of wood against the floorboards and a barely audible thud. Her husband was home. She could hear him hang his trench coat behind the door. She had been a faithful, loving wife to her husband all these years yet somehow she cursed herself for betrayal, a part of her cried for a different destiny, mourned the irreparable loss, everyday.

She got up and hid the brown diary back into its place.  

The Forbidden Fruit [55Fiction #2]

He stumbles in, every friday, makes passionate love to me, lusts my body, and then leaves his money staring at my bare essence.

Love they say, is a happy emotion, takes you high on beatitude. Supreme Blessedness.

Just the sight of him sets my heart racing inside my chest. Then why is my love illegitimate ? 

.. I Love You But I Love Myself More

I'd be lying if I'd say I've forgotten you.

I'd be lying if I'd say tears don't brim up my eyes when I think of you.

I'd be lying if I'd say I don't love you.

I became permeable when I let you in my heart.

And you consumed me,

much more than what I was willing to relinquish,

There is more of you, than me, in myself now,

You made me grow out of it.

I've fallen out of love.

Those wounds would never heal,

You've left me with one little souvenir,

The one thing, I'll cherish forever,

That still keeps me going,

is Strength.

That cage isn't my home now,

I feel liberated,

I love you

But I love myself more,

And am not ashamed to say so.

These lines have no business in my life. These have been written for those people who let their better half suck all the happiness out of their life, just because they once thought they were meant to be together for eternity. When two people are deeply in love, they promise each other the moon and the sun, but once the veil of adoration starts to lift itself, this love can become a sad,toxic version of itself.

Have the heart to speak up for what you think makes sense and see how the world becomes a beautiful place to live in once again. Love yourself first. Breathe. Make decisions. Love is not supposed to make you miserable.

When I heard Samantha say 'I love You but I love Myself more' in 'The Sex and the City' for the first time, I fell for her all the more.

Best Friends Are NOT Forever

That one friend you loved the most, that one friend you shared your most dirty secrets and fantasies with, that one friend who ripped you apart like a heartless butcher, that one friend will always matter the most.

I clicked on the'New Post' button as soon as I logged in today thinking I'd just write about it and get it over with. But here I am, staring at the blank screen from the past 3 minutes wondering why do I even want to write about her. She broke me, she made me cry my eyes out, reached heights of misunderstanding me and still, there is that little corner of my heart that wishes her the best of all worlds.

She was my best friend for as long as I remember. We were joint-at -the-hip twins. I had more in common with her than I had with myself. People used to call us the alpha-beta couple. Perhaps because my name starts with an 'A' and hers with a 'B'. And we always took pride in it's lameness :D, because we thought they both can't exist without each other. Well, apparently they can. I've spent the most beautiful years of my teen age with her. Technically, she was my better half. We've played, yes played, laughed, cried, and even had pimples together. More so, we even started PMSing in the same time frame. I promised her that I'd be that crazy aunt who'll spoil her kids. We literally took an oath that we'd tell each other everything about our first nights. No, that isn't cheesy, that was two little 17 years old giggling and promising to be bffs forever.

Laughing like maniacs over something as petite as a tongue slip was routine. I haven't laughed like that since the day we've stopped talking. I miss that. I want my stomach to hurt when I laugh. It just doesn't happen now. I wish we'd never played the 'You've changed, a lot' game. We both lost. Each other. I don't miss her, I don't want her back, but my mind and heart refuse to shut down her memories. We've broken up hundreds of times, called each other names, but it never got this nasty. It has almost been an year since I've seen her now.

She left a void. I have many beautiful people in my life right now. Everything is stable and lovely. But the void still exists. They love me, I love them. They care. I care. It still doesn't feel the same. I know it never will. This void has crept beneath my skin. Looks like you're only allotted a certain amount of tears per person and I've used up mine. Her absence doesn't make my eyes moist now. It feels like autumn. Dry autumn.

I love you B, I always do, even while I hate you.

Feel Blessed !

3 days back, I woke up to find that my eyes were not their regular classic blend of black and white, they were in fact a much more legendary amalgamation of red, black and white. My pupil looked like the sun of the solar eclipse hurling out red rays.

I rushed towards mom in a haste never known before, for I had the last exam of my B.Tech odyssey, 2 days later, that would qualify me as a software engineer.

I was noways going to let my eyes, ruin it for me. We reached the ophthalmologist in no time, giving in to the exigency of the situation. 

I witnessed something there, that made my heart weep. While I was impatiently waiting for my turn, a young couple entered with their little 4-5 months old daughter.

My own eyes were such a stupid mess that I did not give them any second look. But to my horror, they had not come to get their own eyes treated, they had come for their daughter.

Upon listening this, I took as close a look as I could permit myself staying stuck to my seat. That baby's left pupil was grayish-white. The doctor checked her before me (although they came after me. I wouldn't have appreciated this for anybody else if it wasn't for this baby's eye) and unfortunately I was forced to listen to that conversation. 

Doctor - It's better now.

Mother (her face lit with hope) - will she be alright ?

Doctor - I cant say that right away. As of now, carry on with the same medicines. 

Mother - Can she see from this eye ?

Doctor - No, not yet. But I can assure you, she will, someday. And this mark will stay forever.

Mother (bombed by the news) - Is there nothing we can do to remove the mark ? No surgery ? No operation ?

Doctor - No. No ophthalmologist in this world can cure this. Its like you get a bruise on some part of your body, get it treated well, but still, the mark never leaves. 

Mother (almost in tears) - when should we come next ?

Doctor (With the same straight face throughout) - Come next Friday and increase the dosage of these drops to 3 times a day.

I almost had a tear or two flooding my eyes, thanks to that little infection I had bored, nobody noticed.

Neither did they choose their poverty, nor did you choose your castle.

Help people in all possible ways. It will be your Moment of Bliss.

We complain about broken nails, ill-fitted dresses, bad exams, being over-weight, fat asses, love life trouble and what not but that day, I realized people have problems of a much serious scale and a much bigger magnitude.

My eye infection would have been okay the next morning had I washed them with cold refrigerated water 4-5 times a day but still I visited the doctor.

God divided this world into two concepts- the privileged and the unprivileged.

Most of you reading this fall in the former category and still moan about those petty non-existent things.

My purpose of sharing this incident with you is to tell you to feel privileged and blessed. Help, Pray and be Thankful. God has been very grateful to you, you owe him this lovely life of yours.

I pray for that little baby and expect you also to take some time out for her and talk God into curing her completely.

This post was written somewhere in June 2011 and I had just begun to write back then. My eyes were a little bad this morning and I got reminded of that baby. And because I have a decent sweet number of readers now, I'm re-posting it. I want more people to realize life's fair to us and its just a matter of realization.


Have a good day :)

Painful Escape

This is the diary entry of a 41 year old woman who wants to walk out of her marriage of 20 years, away from Tanuj, the man who never loved her, and into the arms of Akash, the man who acquainted her with true love. Her twin daughters have made it clear that if she does so, she will be a childless woman for the rest of her life.


Dear Diary,

I haven't written you in a long while now. and I've truly missed you. Its time, its time for me to make a decision. My stomach is clenching even as I am writing this, its like somebody is rolling a dough inside it. Its a hard dough. My girls, they are merely 19. Would it be the right thing to do at this time ? I can't afford to lose their love, their warmth, if at all they have some for me. It all feels wrong, and right, both at the same time. I have never been this confused in my entire life. And if I don't make a choice now, my heart will grieve till eternity. Akash has given me all the support and love I was expecting from Tanuj, I had rented my heart and soul to this marriage, but it just isn't working. You are such a patient listener. I wish you could drop a word of advice in desperate times like these.

Silence is engulfing me from all sides, its making me nauseous, its becoming hrad hard to write. See there, I made my first spelling mistake in you. Is this pen trying to humor me ? But I can't stop. It all has to escape my system and pouring it down into the depths of your diaphanous pools of white paper is my only rescue plan.


Last night Tanuj came to my bedroom around 1am. I was wide awake. I sat upright and he sat next to me cupping my hands in his. I thought he was going to lure me into staying or beat me into the argument 'How did you even think of such a thing' but his words were the last things I was expecting out of him at that hour.


He said 'When you first told me about Akash, I was writhing with pure rage. The man in me felt defeated, as if his manhood was being raped off and he could do nothing about it. My wife was falling for another man and I was just a spectator watching the proceedings. But I've been thinking about it since past one week and your facts still hold their truth firmly in place. Why did we never realize that we were falling out of love ? When did it happen ? We have been sleeping in different bedrooms since a decade now. I dismissed this earlier using the excuse 'Everybody needs their own space'. I was such a fool. Anyway, I came today to tell you that you shouldn't stay because of the fear of this society or our girls. They seem to have taken more from me, they will live. I have never given you the love,the care and the support a woman deserves from her better half. I've failed you miserably but now, when somebody else is making you happy, I will support your decision. I owe you that much.'


He said the last words slowly, meaning every syllable of it. He didn't wait for my reply and strode out of the room. I was left dazed. These words were as close as Tanuj had ever got to my heart in these 20 years of our marriage.


But as I'm writing you right now, Tanuj's words are making more and more sense. Why should I worry about this hypocrite society when they don't care one bit for me ? They don't know what I've been through. I dare them to walk a mile in my shoes and then return to have a balanced argument. I have lived 20 years succumbing to my parent's will and 21 years to the man who never loved me. If I have to make a decision it has to be now. Or never.


I'm leaving you unfinished today. The next time I write you, I will be a happy woman.
And by the way, my first wrinkle started to surface today.


Love.

Can't I be in love with both of you?

***

02 September 2011


That question, those words, rang in his head like a church bell for days. Loud. Demanding. His heart was cicatrized, she'd bruised it with scars for the rest of his meaningless life.

He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when he first saw that same tenderness in her eyes, but for another man. She had shone like the brightest star in the galaxy at the mere mention of his name. Their brilliance back then hurt his liquid eyes now. He should have got the hint right there. How could he be so ignorant ? How could he do this to himself ? How could he do this to them ?

NO.

  

how could she do this to them ?


27 December 2009

She had those perfect amber eyes, eyes so deep, only a thick band of amber around the pupils, he'd wanted to fall into them and then keep falling forever. Hair so lustrous he'd wanted to entangle his fingers in them. Those swells of feminism across her breasts, her hour glass sculpted waistline always made him wonder 'Is she for real ?'. He held her like a gorgeous fragile creation of an artist, like a painter's muse, as if he might break her in his arms.

Her melodic voice brought him back to the surface.

She'd said ' where are you lost Arin, the movie is about to start, Let's hurry up'.

And all he could manage to mumble was 'Aria, tell me something, Did you bribe God into customizing those gems for your eyes ?'.

She gave a low seductive chuckle and hurried them into the movie theatre.
Aria had dug her nails into his flesh, he'd warned her about the ghost part of the movie but she was determined to watch it. And just when the squeaky door started to open on its own, Aria stood up and screamed at the highest pitch of her voice.

02 September 2011

That scream brought Arin back to the present. His ears could hear the sound of a glass shattering somewhere in the near vicinity and for an instant he thought he'd imagined it. His family was waiting for him downstairs but he could not make his legs cover the distance.

How could it be so easy for her to send a question like that across my face ? Arin asked himself. And what was my answer supposed to be ?.

It was 13 months since he'd last seen her but her memories were still haunting him, occupying a large room in his head. Even that little black mole on the nape of her neck hadn't escaped his thoughts. Grief threatened to overcome. Tears began to swell in his eyes but he fought to send them back to where they came from. He threw a humorless laugh around his room as he remembered what his dad had told him when he was six and was crying because he had a wounded knee 'Big boys don't cry my boy'.

He wanted the time spent with her to become a tale from his distant childhood, something he could scarcely remember even if he wanted to. No matter how hard he tried, he only wanted to catch glimpses, and if possible, not even them.

He shoved away her thoughts and started looking for the better half of the brown sock he was wearing in his left foot, Why do I always find my socks without their pair ?, opening the last drawer of the wooden rack, he was face to face with a picture, I told Meher not to click this picture, when will she ever learn to listen ? It was Aria leaning over his right shoulder and his palm covering half of the picture signalling Meher not to click it.

16 November 2009

He picked it up and remembered that playful night, It was their common friend Meher's birthday. Aria had never touched alcohol before, but upon insistence she did some shots and they really got the worst of her.

The only good thing about that night was that while Aria was drunk, she clutched onto Arin's shirt like a little baby clutching onto the only piece of clothing within its reach. She hung on to him in a way that said You're all mine and Arin rained back all of his love supporting her, hiding her into his warm embrace.

That was their first affectionate embrace. Arin could never forget that day.

02 September 2011

Arin, Arin, Where are you lost son ? He could suddenly hear the motherly voice of his aunt standing right in front of him, shaking his shoulders. He came back to life, Nothing Umm Nothing, I can't find my right sock, Let me put the black pair on, You will see me downstairs in 5 short minutes. A forced smile punctuated his otherwise lifeless words.

I have to let go of these thoughts, let go of her and her betayal.

I will, I will, soon, I have to.

But how could she ask me a question like 'Can't I be in love with both of you ?'

The question had stung his heart then and it had the power to do it now.


He wiped the warm tears trickling down his eyes and rushed downstairs.

***

I will name my daughter Aria if God ever blesses me with one :) Short melodic names starting with the alphabet 'A' sweep me off my feet :)
This was a different genre I tried, Be nice enough to tell me how it went ? even if it didn't touch your heart :) Your criticism is also welcome :)