My school friends are planning A camping and rafting trip. We start working on the details. I get in touch with my cousin who went there last year. He’s excited for me. This is going to be the best, he says. Go, have fun. I will have a friend in the area Arrange your local bookings. He gives me his itinerary. I relay it to my friends. We squeal in the voicenotes And decide to talk to our parents For the upcoming trip. Maa comes home and I ask for her opinion about the getaway. She says, I am not sure about this. You are planning on going camping. How safe are the camps? Do you have any insider information? Has anybody you know been to it before? I understand her questions. I get her worries. She’s worried for her child Going alone to wild forests and galloping rivers. Which parent wouldn’t be? I am about to reassure her With my ex-roommate’s wonderful experience With the School Group in those hills A couple of years back. I am about to remind her about my cousin’s bright, smiling face in His numerous Facebook pictures. And then she says, You are a group of girls afterall. Alone in those camps? How safe are they, she repeats. I sit there, stunned. I am not sure how to proceed. My mother isn’t worried for her child afterall. She’s worried for her daughter. I don’t answer. I am not sure if there is a right answer to her question. We are a group of girls. It’s a camp. In the forest. It’s going to be dark. There will be shadows. There might be grabbing hands. There might be silent screams. The river will be gushing right by the tents. Loud and ferocious. What if something happens? Nobody will ever know. Not until it’s too late. She doesn’t say any of it. She doesn’t ask me anything more. I don’t bring it up again. There’s nothing left to say. I go to my room And start writing poems about Dreams of a safe society and equal opportunities. It’s a deferred dream. I will have to wait a while. A long while. It’s not safe and There’s no equality afterall.
I learned a valuable life lesson. Life isn’t about everyone or everything being perfect. It’s about the misadventures, the unplanned madness of losing your luggage and being forced to spend your travel insurance money and going on the best shopping spree ever. It’s about sitting at the fanciest restaurant and seeing a rat run past the table, only to end up at the closest McDonald’s in your formal wear. And it will be perfect. Pretty perfect.
The gunshot in the distance felt like it had been fired at her. As if the bullet had torn the delicate layers of her skin and right into her heart. It had felt like…last year again. She closed her eyes shut tightly,trying to block out the sirens and burrowed further into her comforter. She wanted to run, far enough so that it was all a bitter memory and nothing more. Where the littlest of things triggering the worst nightmare of her 19 years of existence wouldn’t make her lose her shit all the freaking time. She was tired of those stupid panic attacks that gripped here anywhere, the streets, the local cafe while trying to enjoy the morning coffee, the garage she worked at…she was tired. She wanted rest. Her mind needed rest. God knew, it had been too long since it was quiet for even a couple of seconds in there. The knock on the door ported her back to that night she wanted to escape so badly, but never could. That terrifying storm. The drunk douchebag her mother had brought home. The douchebag young enough to be her older brother. The douchebag who had eyed her all night long during that pathetic excuse for a “family dinner”. The douchebag who had invited himself to stay over because he wanted to spend more time with her mother and her family. The douchebag who had tried to grab her when her mother had turned in for the night. The douchebag who had slapped her so hard when she tried to walk away that the blood had rushed inside her ears. The douchebag who had pulled that 9 millimeter on her and threatened to shoot her mother if she didn’t concede. The same sorry douchebag she had kicked in the balls and grabbed that gun from, trying to stop her hands from shaking and aiming right. The same bloody douchebag who had jumped at her, and in the fight, had grabbed onto the gun. The same douchebag who had died that night. The same douchebag she had killed. The same one whose blood and gore had coated her body like a second skin, the feel of which she had never been able to scrub off, no matter how searing hot showers she took over the year. The same douchebag who had ruined her relationship with her mother when she wasn’t ready to accept in her heavily drunk state that her douchebag boyfriend she had claimed to love was that huge an arsehole. The exact same one who had ruined her life. That one. She snapped out of it when the insistent knocking was accompanied by a police officer asking her to come out. She walked slowly and snapped the bolts. The sight that met her eyes threatened to transport her back to that nightmarish sight. Police vehicles with sirens blaring, ambulance, people all around…it was too much to take but she slipped on that mask she had perfected over the year to give nothing away and calmly asked how she could help. The police wanted a statement. Again. She started talking.
Change will come. Don’t doubt that, not even for a second. The screams that you have been hearing every single freaking night since those dreadful years will cease. The breaking of glass won’t make you flinch anymore. The ringing in your ears due to the sounds of gunshots fired that night won’t affect you anymore. You won’t feel the need to duck when somebody would put their arm around your shoulders some day. And a day will come when you won’t cringe whenever you hear that sweet nickname you have come to hate. You will stop getting the urge to hurl when somebody would so much as extend their hand for you to shake. Touching somebody and the thought of somebody touching you won’t make your stomach drop one of these days. And you will be able to hold a conversation, all on your own, without going into a panic attack everytime you will be in the limelight. You won’t feel like fleeing everytime you will become the focus, but will be there to clarify and get your point across. Yes, one of these days,you will be able to put your point forth instead of wishing to be swallowed up by earth whenever you will hear people talking shit about your life that they have no idea about. You will be strong one day. You will be okay again. You will change. Things will change. Change will come.
Note:It’s for everybody around who’s ever been a recipient of abuse,physical or mental, at some point in their lives. You all will be okay. Just hold on. Things will change. For the better. For best.
Terrifying possibilities surround me Making me feel like there’s nothing left, Nothing left to salvage. I feel like everything has ended Nothing more left. Nothing more. But then comes she; The light of my dark Black existence, She comes to save me From the ghosts of my chaotic webbed mind: Webs of hatred, blackness, negativity And that foreboding sense of doom. It all resides inside me; A company of demons of mistakes past, And endlessly terrifying possibilities that plague the canvas of my future. An ugly black tar-coated canvas blotched with dark spots of hopelessness. A canvas that was supposed to be a picturesque sight, With only sprinkling of golden dust of opportunities, Bright saffron days, Calm blue thoughts, Vibrant green spread of soft moist grassy path to walk on, Dauntless violet adventures, And a sheer coating of mildew of glistening places I was supposed to go. It’s a grotesque sight, the tar coated canvas It makes me wanna retch, The possibilities, the probabilities, the state Of my doomed future. It makes me wanna retch. But she comes. Every single time she comes And she saves me, From falling head first into the abyss of swirling black tar; Retch-illicting ugly black tar. She saves me from the darkness. She brightens the black room with no light, And she makes me wanna open my eyes To the possibilities. Happy possibilities. Optimistic possibilities. She has always been my savior. She is a savior. Of broken people. Of silent sufferers. Of people with easily switched retch trigger. Of everybody around. The bright light; a wild yellow light. Savior. Mine. Ours. She.
P.S. It can be anybody. It can be anyone. It’s my mother for me,my savior.❤
I have had this crazy idea in my head for a few weeks now. Yes, people would say,wild and crazy. I wanna get a pixie cut. Not a longish one,but one with short sides and longer top with a bit of bangs,maybe? My hair are too damaged to salvage at this point. So I don’t see any other way but to chop it all off. Also, I have lost so many chunks of hair during the two weeks of exams because of the overwhelming tension that my head looks like a dog’s back with missing patches of fur due to some puke-inducing disease. Yes. I am not even exaggerating( okaay, I am really. My condition is bad. Not that bad,though,I guess. 😶).
But yeah. You get my point, don’t you? I lost half my hair during these exams!! So many chunks! So many!*sobs*
Anyway, I have shoulder-length curly hair(kinda tightly curled sometimes and kinda wavy other times) and I wanna go pixie now. And I thought of running this by a few people to see their reactions.
My mumma, as always, was supportive of my decision. She agreed to go with me to the salon. Other people, though? Cardiac arrest!! Why!?! What!?! Huh!?! Don’t!! Noooo!!!! Seriously!?! You’re kidding, right!?! You’re crazy! This is India!! You want a boy cut!?! Yes. That’s exactly what I got. And ofcourse that made me furious! From when do boys have a copyright on short hair? And when a guy decides to let his hair grow,he’s so cool. Why can’t girls chop theirs off?!!! Why?!
And yes. You wouldn’t look like a girl anymore. What? Neither my body nor my face is getting altered. What the hell?
I kinda researched on the Internet and I came across various people talking about the pros and cons of getting a pixie. Some were: Pros-
❤Easy to manage hair.
❤Getting rid of the damaged stuff without looking like an utter fool.
❤It’s “in” these days.
And many many more. Cons-
🐀”You and I have a similar haircut.” <- says a guy, in case you were wondering.
🐀”Are you coming out?!” SERIOUSLY?!-.-
🐀You won’t feel or look feminine.
🐀 You won’t be able to wear you hair down. Duh.
If that doesn’t sound stupid enough, people said stuff like, “That’s okay in other countries. Here,in India? Not so much“, to me. Why the hell not? I can not understand for the life of me.
Also, I have really fine hair and the density has decreased a lot A LOT. So,my getting a pixie is not only about looks but health reasons. I wanna work on the damage and get my hair healthy again. I will grow these out again once they are fine. What’s the big deal? It’s just hair. And even if you don’t like it once you get it chopped off, just get a wig( that’s the last resort,though🙊).
Anyway, I just wanted to kinda rant and vent about my anger and frustration. So.😶
It’s not really usual with me. But anyway. *shrugs*
By the way, does any of you have a pixie? Wanna share your experience, or why I should or shouldn’t get one(except for the ones above,I mean)? Tell me! There’s still time. I don’t want regrets!*sighs*
❗ That moment when you cry yourself to sleep. ❗ That moment when your head hurts with a headache from hell. ❗ That moment when you can’t decipher a single bloody thing. ❗ That moment when you feel like a dry leaf floating on the wind without a direction to head to. ❗ That moment when the only thing left for you to do is hurl. ❗ That moment when no one’s there. ❗ That moment when everyone’s here. ❗ That moment when you want to choke the life outta everything and anything. ❗ That moment when you don’t feel like yourself. At all. ❗ That moment when you aren’t alright. ❗ That moment when you are right. And still not. ❗ That freaking moment…
Umm,lemme warn you. This story is kinda weird. I mean,I have never read a story with such a weird theme,ever. But…I dunno where this came from. Seriously. Okay,read it if you want to. And tell me what you make of it. I don’t generally ask you what you make of the stuff I write,but this “story” calls for it,you see. I NEED you people to tell me what you think about this.
White light. White sound. White surroundings. White everything. Not even a splash of color. Except the eyes:Golden, silver, turquoise, emerald, topaz, onyx, obsidian…you name it. It was disconcerting to say the least. I couldn’t make sense of it all. What was this place? What was I doing here? In this…unusual place? Am I deaming? I must be. Such places only exist in fantasyland. I couldn’t recall anything from my past. Nothing. Everywhere I looked, all I could see was the swirling irises in stark white. I wasn’t alone, no. There where so many people around. So many, I couldn’t even begin to count. But they all looked like shell of a person. Not moving. Not breathing. Looking through me,instead of at me. I realised suddenly that I was wearing those bland robes like everybody else and I was… WHAAA? I was stuck to the ground just like them. And my limbs were slowly freezing like them, too. Nooooo. I started thrashing. I used all of my strength to get my feet to move. I don’t know for how long I struggled. It could be seconds, minutes, hours…I don’t know. Suddenly I realised that I wasn’t the only one moving. Every single, umm,person was trying to disengage their bodies. And their eyes! They were looking at me as if they wanted to devour me. Like I was some treat they hated but couldn’t stop themselves from getting to and, well,eating. Like they hated the thought of me being the only one who wanted to get away because they couldn’t, but still wouldn’t mind having me as a meal. Oh God! I won’t be a meal to these abominations. I increased my effort to get free many-fold. I had to get away. AT ANY COST. Suddenly I felt the invisible bonds giving away. I tried harder and I was free finally. I looked up and realised that they were, too. Noooooooo. They were converging on me real fast. Shit! I tried to run. They caught me. I felt faint. Nothing made sense. I, the sensible one, couldn’t save myself. The last thing I saw before succumbing to darkness was the swirling irises.
I am a 10 year old With skinned knees And knotted hair.
I am a 10 year old With a drunk father And helpless mother.
I am a 10 year old With 3 sisters Roaming here and there.
I am a 10 year old With insufficient food And inadequate care.
I am a 10 year old With free privileges; Unclaimed share.
I am a 10 year old With unnamed friends And address nowhere.
I am a 10 year old With uncertain conditions; Unveiled stares.
This is about all those little kiddos I am meeting while working in my NGO.I have met a couple of kids who were separated from their family.They were runaways.One of the kids is going to a shelter home near his hometown because he cannot recall any contact details. Another one’s family found her.She was running away to some relatives’ place.Their conditions are pathetic. You wouldn’t believe until you see it with your own eyes.I wouldn’t have,either, if not for my joining the NGO.THEY NEED HELP.THEY REALLY DO.