The Delhi case on fire…

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My pen is silent these days. I do not feel like writing or doing any such sort of business … the silence has surrounded me.

The silence and the shame.

The guilt.

 

Worthless. Worthless is my existence.

 

A 23 year old girl was brutally raped and assaulted in Delhi, and is suffering the worst…a situation I can never imagine…neither want to… who would?

And I’m silent. Just quiet.

My pen is immovable.

 

Not that I don’t want to speak…but I don’t know what to speak.

 

There are too many things I want to say but my emotions drown my words. I break down every time I speak. My fingers tremble.

My eyes cloud.

I’m having nightmares.

I cry without a reason.

 

Is this what a girl is made for? To be trashed? To be assaulted? To be raped?

Since the time a girl is born, she faces discrimination. Every girl.

Yes, every one of them.

 

Some take it as a fate and live happily ever after. Some don’t and still live.

The we learn the “golden rules of girlhood”. The superior/inferior business.

More than half of the girls never take a decision of their lives by themselves….but leave it.

Come to the point.

 

Rape.

 

Why is the word so “prejudiced”?

Why do the criminals only get much to much “7 years imprisonment”?

Why are we so “ashamed” in discussing it?

How can someone give an “invitation”?

How are the victim’s clothes responsible?

How is the time of the day responsible?

HOW IS THE GIRL RESPONSIBLE?

 

Does/Can a random person do these brutish things? Can you do it?

 

Heaven’s sake these questions did not burn loud this time, because the crime was …. don’t think we have a right word for it.  The world’s whole curse can’t would be less.

 

Delhi is burning with marches, revolts and protests. People are working. Media is working. Police is working. We are working.

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Where were we when it could be stopped?

 

Just telling you in one sentence, if the girl was wearing a “skirt” or something, she would be blamed half the time.

Yes. This is the reality.

Our world’s reality.

 

Bloody hell….

 

Tomorrow, another piece of news will flood the channels.

These marches will stop. These forces will scatter. These tweets, blogs will end. The fields would be empty.

If she survives, all she would get is worthless pity.

 

Worthless? No. it will make her life worse than now.

 

When I heard the news, I said to my best friend, “I wish she makes it out…god bless her…”

She gravely replied, “It would be better if she dies….or she will die each moment she lives….she will be a living corpse…”

 

I was shocked, but somewhat agreed too. I didn’t want her to die, but even couldn’t think of a good happy life after this.

 

I read yesterday, “she wants to live…”.

 

It struck to me. I am mentally slapping myself every second for agreeing ever to my friend a bit.

Who am I to decide or even think/discuss whether she has a happy life or not?  Who are we?

 

 

I salute that girl.

 

I just pray she lives a long and happy life. She lives, not just survives.

Her intestines might never let her have food in her whole life. She would rely on liquid, if she makes it out. These thoughts might never leave her. Those shadows might haunt her.

 

But I pray to god, she MUST live. Live for her dreams, for ours too.

 

 Why do these things ever happen? Why?

“Cant men have a sense?”

 

I have heard and seen people saying/holding boards saying Teach your sons to respect, not rape”.

True.

 I have seen boys boiling about it. “All boys are not rapists.”

 

True, but some definitely are. A rotten apple rots all.

 

Can’t we do something? Shouldn’t we?

 

NO. WE MUST.

 

I see a very drastic situation in the future, a very drastic…when there will be riots.

Sounds dramatic?

I don’t say who will win, who will lose, for only inhumanity wins a riot. But if this doesn’t stop, those won’t stop either.

 

For when tolerance breaks…patience breaks…lives break.

 

Just wish things get under control before time takes its toll….

 

 

Is there a way out? Humanity is losing hope….

 

 

Do you have a hope?

 Another important question, what is the suitable  punishment for such a crime?

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Is there one?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The utter reality of my wrinkles

 

 

 

 

The wrinkles on my skin

Don’t show how weak I am

Nor how experienced I be

Nor the long race I ran

In the quest of being free…

 

 

 

Those patches on my skin

Don’t show how failed I am

Nor how insufficient I be

Nor the pains I took

In the quest to love thee…

 

 

Those foul make-ups marks on my disguise

Don’t show how insecure I am

Nor how ashamed I am

Nor how depressed I be

Of my toil for getting renewed, my identity

 

 

 

They don’t show any thing you think

Nor any thing you guess

Or figure or hear

Or place me into thee

But the glory of god, They just remind me…

 

 

How he reminds us of

Everything we do, we did

The power I once thought was mine

The wits on which once I did dine

The glamour, which once made the proud me…

These patches, wrinkles, all…just tell me, my real reality….

 

My utter reality…

 

 (C)2012

 

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The utter reality of ageing. Isn’t this what the almighty reminds us?

The reality of our proud “I”? The reality, which we tend to forget when we should remember it the most?

 

 

Enjoy!