On Redemption

Motionless she wrapped herself in one corner of her cocoon. The sound of the fan comforted her. Her eyes arrested by the painting hanging on the opposite wall, painted in white, as if to contemplate the meaning, of the painting, of life. She couldnt look back to the grim details of her past life that she wished to bury, the present was all she had, slipping every moment in the blink of a second, every moment fell upon her like a burn from the molten wax, never to return. She couldnt even think of the future, all she had was false sympathies, a fake picture of future, a picture of the future painted in the fog, she was too afraid to wipe it off to get a clear picture, she found peace in ignorance and solace in denial. Around her was blood flowing in all the directions as if to mark the territory, unperturbed she continued to stare at the painting, a fractal of many colors intricately merging in one another to form a meaning that made sense only to the artists. Her bodily covers were torn showing a part of her bosoms, she, however, sat like a statue motionless, emotionless. Her pain made her stronger and the faded hope was liberating. She had risen above the miseries of her life, naked and unbound. She could no longer feel the horror or the fear, she did not care whether the society will accept her the way she is, she felt an aberrant strength girdling around her. Yes, she was raped. Her sacrosanct body was harmed, as the society she lived in, put it. For the family she lived in this was a matter of immense shame, the winters of grief never seemed to end for them. She was always locked inside her dim lit room, sitting on the floor on one corner staring at the opposite wall, lifeless. People came out in the streets crying for justice, talking about respect, about honour, about shame. She did not feel anything, a void in her mind would often fill the gaps in her head that needed answers, reasonable answers. She had muted the voices in her head, she wanted to erase it all and welcome the spring with open arms. She wanted to rise above the agony and the trauma that she went through and always will, at the back of her mind because the time seems to progress but the wounds remain fresh, the wounds casted on the mind do not heal, they’re just hidden by other things, they’re just ignored among other things. She unwrapped herself layer by layer to cleanse her soul as if getting rid of a dead organ, she strip her shame and laid her soul bare in her words that she befriended and let herself loose on the white leaves that hadn’t seen the daylight resembling her soul that was in the dark for too long now, too. One day, she came out in the sun to put an end to the endless nights and gleamed in glitter. She made peace with herself and the world and wrote several books as if she was born to do it, to make the world a better place to live. She lived the rest of her life in eternal peace as an example to the millions. She fought her battles like a lion and welcomed the arrival of golden era in her life, progressing from the cramped holes to the vast blue skies.

On Love

Recently a very dear friend gifted me this book, The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, read the lines below.

This is everything I’ve ever wanted to say, in all my posts, all my life and this dude, could say that in 10 lines straight. Epic, isn’t it? These are what writers are made of, clarity in head, thought, action and words, they don’t beat around the bush like you and I do. Coming back, if you do not understand these lines please contact me and if you do and don’t get over-whelmed, fuck you. Go back to your daily dose of Big Boss and celebrate somebody else’s screwed existence and feel good about it, also, fuck you. 

But let there be space in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other’s cup but drink not from the same cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be Joyous, but let each one of you be alone.
Even as the strings of the lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together, yet not too near together
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.

World, please end.

Dear God, if you’re listening to me, which you never do, please end the world. Yes, I had big plans of getting married to a rich bastard and spending the rest of my life in Switzerland writing my own book but there’s a slight change in the plan. I don’t really wanna live. If you have access to recent mishaps on earth, you’d know what I’m talking about.  I see everybody pointing fingers at everybody. I was indifferent to the news of yet another gang rape in Delhi, you know it’s a usual affair, apparently in our country a woman is raped every 20 minutes as per the statistics, surprising? No.  But when I got to know that Damini is battling for life, a streak of pain ran down my spine. I cannot begin to imagine the trauma the losers casted upon her. God, we are just dumb fucks ready to eat each other alive for the heck of it. I aint angry as I write this because something inside me is already long dead, every other mishap just validates the fact that we’ve failed humanity a long time ago,  our present is fogged and we’re moving towards the endless nights. Do you see the future of this race? I don’t.  I just see angry status messages on facebook and people claiming their blood boils on twitter and how rapists must be punished and law and order must be amended. But I don’t know how people will stop objectifying women, donno when will they start respecting women and their individuality. I’m told not to wear clothes that’ll encourage men to rape me, I’m told to not work after 8 pm, I’m told not to go out after 5 pm, they don’t tell men, not to rape. Is there any other solution?  It’s a funny society, aint it? I don’t know why you’re so lazy god, why can’t you reset it all and start all over again? Or else put some sense into them? What are you waiting for? If you think a miracle will happen and they’d wake up one day with enlightenment dawned upon them, you’ve gotto be kidding me.

Honestly, I’m shit scared. I’m a woman, for the records. I have seen men striping me naked with their eyes, I have been eve-teased, I have encountered men passing obscene comments on the streets, I know how it feels. The anger in the eyes of the people will eventually fade like every other thing and will be replaced by the next big thing in news. It’s all farce, and will soon be forgotten.

Are you sure you programmed us to be human beings and not wild animals? You’re not that efficient, are you? People over sell you and worship you like a god, lucky stars you have, dude.

God, you are a figment of imagination of a lot of people who like to fool themselves thinking that things will get better and talk about hope, why are you playing with them? Please tell them you don’t give a fuck.

Anyway, please let Damini live and recover her soon, if you’re remotely as awesome as much as you’re hyped, do this for humanity, recover her from the physical and the emotional wounds, tell her that it’s the ugliest place to be but good things do happen, tell her she has an entire life ahead of her and must move on with a brave heart and strong head. Tell her to be the torch bearer for all the women who’ve been raped or molested or fell prey to these diabolic shitheads and still carry that scar in their memories. Tell her that this too shall pass. 

I wish her a speedy recovery.