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.

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 :)

The Symphony of Grief.

Life couldn't be more demanding,

Can't I go back to the time when my biggest jolt of fear was marking the western countries in the world map for the geography exam ?

A lump in my throat tells me my eyes are going to rain,

My senses are numb,

Grief refuses to leave my side,

fingers firmly weaved into mine,

Tears do not want to part ways,

did sadness bribe them ?

Loneliness made me sleep with himself again.

I'm screaming with no voice,

I wish someone hears it and snuggles me to the sweet bosom of happiness.

Is it just me

or

this offensive universe is plotting against you too ?