Space talks...

They say even if you are pulled behind, you have to “move on”. Whatever happens, you  should remain unaffected as if nothing has happened, as if you will never feel those scars on our hearts again, as if ywill never know the bleeding of its wounds. But, how can I stop feeling him when my diary yells out the words, he had spoken to me once and those crazy times of togetherness?  When the blood running through my body is screaming out the love we shared, how can I disconnect his thoughts and stay unaffected?  

 May be I can walk down those streets all alone passing through the ways which I had walked with him once holding our hands. But can I forget those long conversations and its cosiness we shared further in our life? Believe. When I see hundred couples walking their love on street, I cannot pretend that he is not with me. I cannot stop being emotional. May be I can throw away those good old photographs of us, but I cannot forget the moments we had shared so intimately posing for it. 

  

They know all this. 
And still they say, “Move on...” 
 

What are we?

Notes written on sand waiting until the waves wash it away? Or Leaves murmuring in the wind unknowing of its fall arriving in autumn? We are the characters changing roles without knowing the story we are living.

Fine...I will move on.  But  when the flash lights on my mobile ask me, where are his messages;  when  the half bitten lunches inquire me, who will steal the rest; when the other side of coffee table searches, why am I alone; when the dried roses start asking, why is he gone -  what answers should I give? 
When people leave us, the space begins to talk...

What Should I Say??

   Like any other kids of her age her little face brightened up seeing a butterfly, the smile sprung up from her dimples at the very sight of yellow chocolate wrappers. Mother has tied her pony tail with that red favourite ribbon and that was all enough for her to start the day. She would have loved fairies, she would have seen magic, and she would have listened to tales but never thought about a monster, even in those wildest dreams. She was pretty small who still swapped around her mother’s hip. 

    Wandering the day with her mother on street under the parching sun, all she wanted was a corner to rest, sometimes it was railway station while other times, it was under bridges. This time it was the verandah of a shop. Had she eaten anything to fill her stomach? Might be few grains of rice or a piece of dosa which somebody had offered...Sleep was their means to escape hunger. Her mind was most contented on those verandahs because that was the place to cuddle up inside her mother’s arms and sleep to her dreams. Her life was full of agonies yet there was lots of innocence, which had left unseen and unnoticed.

  Snuggling her mother, she was lost in her dreams playing with angels and butterflies and smiling to them. Yes, that pretty angelic smile she smiled for one last time. You can imagine it. Can’t you? ...that little bundle cuddled up beside her mother with her tiny fingers sucked and smiling to her world of fairies. 

   When darkness spread its curtain around her world, those Angels disappeared and butterflies flown away... Soon, she started to cry. Not because she was kidnapped, not because she was molested but she has been taken away from her world of butterflies and angels. She cried aloud. But he taped her mouth shut. She opened her tiny eyelids and searched for her mother’s hands around her but there was none. She cried for not seeing her mother, not seeing any of her familiar sights...

   And in the middle of an old sloppy room, there was the most frightening face of her life - that man, who relentlessly looked at her with his eyes of lust. But her innocence knew no desires, no lust. So she did not know what was happening... She wanted to reach back her verandah, back inside her mother’s arms. But there was no chance.  

   Not that he fanaticised or transcended because of drugs. Never! No drug can be as poisonous as his mind. No fantasy can be as brutal as his thoughts. It was not unknowingly but all knowingly beforehand.He knew that she was little. He knew that her organs were fragile. Still he didn’t have any second thoughts. He didn’t have a heart. What the monster wanted was all a body, which belonged to that gender. Yes, the gender which I belong to and she belongs. A female body to drink the blood...

  

   He ripped her clothes apart, the cloth which was put on her body by her mother that morning - her favourite one among those two little frocks. Tears rolled down her cracked cheeks. She didn’t resist. She cried for her mother. She cried for her frock. She cried for her ribbon. She was all alone crying out of the pain of her body. Her soul called out “amma......” But this time her mother didn’t come to save her. He pulled away her tiny little legs and clutched the little body in his hands brutally. The girl shivered in fear. She was molested, she was raped. How could that small body bear so much of pain? God knows...

   

   She was not a woman, she was not a porn star, she was only a little girl of three years old yet he got his pleasure, he fulfilled his greed, he satisfied his lust. All that was left away to throw out was her minuscule body. Next day morning the little one was found abandoned on street with high fever and ants crawling all over her body, but not dead. She was a girl, just a little girl born in the species, woman. Was it a fault? 

   That small body had undergone two surgeries already while her internal organs got badly injured. All she does now is scare; scared of doctors, scared of nurses, scared of this world itself. Cursing the fate of three year old little daughter, her mother cries in front of the hospital ICU. Her little girl who was sleeping inside her arms one night before is now on the hospital bed...Was it her fault?

   Living around a sleepy society with people who are not even ready to spare a 3 year old child for her body, what else should I do on March 8^th –  this International Women’s Day? Should I write on my facebook wall that “I am proud to be a Woman?” or should I praise my 26 years of womanhood on my blog?  Nothing is going to make any difference. This will continue more badly than ever before. With every passing day, we will hear more number of such stories and incidents and the same criminals will walk on our streets in front of us, a day after or two. Whose fault?

 

  I don’t have anything to say more but to those mothers who are going to give birth, “pray that your baby shall not be a girl...” You do not have to give away your blood for the wolves to drink. Let no daughters be born to trouble on streets, let there be no girls to desire, let there be no woman to give birth and thereby no men to rape them. The world must come to an end. When the entire womanhood perish, there will not be any man to rape your daughters..Put an end. Let the world go back to silence...deep roaring silence...

P.S: I know, I sound quite pessimistic. But there is no better way to act or react. It’s high time to boycott.Isn't it?  I don't generalize. Everyone is not bad but everyone is not good either. So here in a melancholic low voice I wish all those women who inspired me and still continues to inspire me..

."Happy Women's Day". Let us stay numb at least till that little one get recovered from the wounds of her body..

Believe it or not...

   Some disaster may happen on your street but it never reaches your tent. A Cobra may lie just beside your foot but it doesn’t stride on you. A lorry out of its brakes may approach to knock you down, but you will save your life in fraction of some seconds. Your foot may strike against a stone but you will never fall down. There may be terrors of night but you will have no fears. A thousand may fall at your side and ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.  You may think everything is slipping out of your hands but miraculously it stays more secure than ever. 

    Yes, those lucky escapes which all of us would have experienced at least once in this lifetime. And when it happens, don’t we feel that we are cared to safety by someone?  Don’t we believe that there is an invisible power protecting us?

 Some days we think we had perished but still we exist; we assume we are in stillness of death but still we breathe; we think that special person has desolated us but still he comes back, we feel we had reached a dead end but yet we discover lots of new doors and windows. 

   Believe it or not, there is always a “someone” who bends over you and encourages you and whispers into your ear, "grow, grow.."

 Know it that, there are things which we do not understand. Some miracles happen in its way which would be too difficult for a human mind to comprehend. We can’t write down everything under the label ‘science’ and escape out the ambiguity. These are things which we don’t understand because they are beyond our brains of logic.

   Often in my life I experienced it – a feeling of third person surrounding me.

When that cool breeze caresses my face, when that  ripple formed on water glances into my eyes, when  that just born dew on a grass smiles to my sadness, when that rain drop fallen on my face wipes off my tears – I knew she was near me. Yes, SHE...

   I felt her protection. I experienced her love. I sensed her warmth. I perceived her power. She wakes me up from my bed before the alarm bell rings; she puts me to sleep on her lap when I am sick; she spreads me an umbrella when it rains; she covers my face with her shield when it burns; She holds me tight in my arms, when I walk around, She stays awake at night when I sit to learn, She protects me under her wings when those street vultures stare. I know I am out of all their traps. I don’t fear because I believe…

  Whenever I feel sad and nobody cares, I feel her tender touch.She protects me like a mother, embraces me like a sibling and prays for me like an angel.  She is here, right near me, smiling to what I write and watching my fingers moving on keyboard with her eyes wide open.

She is sometimes a mother, sometimes a father, sometimes a friend, sometimes a sister, sometimes a guide and sometimes a daughter. However you reject, she still guards you because she is your Guardian Angel. She is born for that. Angels are awesome. All you have to do is to believe blindly that they are near you.

Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers 

“Grow, grow”
                                                                               – The Talmud

Pay attention to her whispers
Give ears to her voices
She is your Guardian Angel...