Note: Early morning when I went to buy milk, I saw little girls all around going around from one house to another. It wasn’t too late for me to realise what day it was. Just then I saw a small girl sitting in a stairway with a 10Rs note in her palms and her sitting in a wondering pose with both of her fists on her chin. That made me think of the alternate but true reality of our lifestyle and mentality of many people in our country. Here’s a piece from a little girl’s point of view.
Where is your youngest one?
Isn’t she at home?
Can you please ask her to come to our house,
For the ritual around noon?
Oh yeah sure, here she is,
Taking bath and getting dressed!
Just a little crimson on her forehead,
And you can take her to your shed!
“Well isn’t she the most wanted by all today!”
Quoted one of the aunts.
“Well she’s the youngest Lakshmi you see”
A lady said along with her holy chants.
While all this was taking place around her,
The girl just sat and thought for long-
Weren’t these the same people,
Who wished I was never born?
Who came to my house,
Put the hand on my mothers womb,
“Don’t worry, It’ll be a son this time,
Finally happy will be your groom.”
Yes these are the same people,
Who suggested to get my identity checked,
Who told million ways,
To not allow me to take even a breath.
Not being able to bear such thoughts,
She ran out with crumbs of sweets in her palm,
Threw them into the bushes,
Went straight to her mother’s arms.
Her mother could understand her feelings,
Without her saying even a word,
Coz she was the only woman,
Who being a woman understood her worth.
Pic credits- Image
Note- This a new and not a usual form of poetry- Prose poetry. I was getting a lot of questions regarding the style it is written in, so I felt to explain it.
(A lot of the references I am gonna use today might be too weird and new to most of the people around, maybe because they’re quite common in India and no where else. So feel free to ask if you feel like.
And also, this is written from a woman’s perspective, so read it that way.)
A lot has changed with time, but that’s how it was meant to be I think, the way we talk, walk, our clocks, the way girls used to wear frocks and how even kids nowadays carry a Glock, what a shock. But somethings never change, or we don’t want them or let them change- the food we eat, the way we sleep, we still bargaining to get what’s cheap, how a farmer’s crop is reaped and the well known, the way we weep…yes the way we weep, the way everyone else does and the way I do too. I don’t want to, but what can I do when I feel the pain, from those strokes of hands and lashes on my skin that are lain. I can’t bear it anymore, why can’t he see that it hurts me. Do I deserve to get such beating for small mistakes I do? Is that was a born for…to bear someone else’s frustration?
The day I was given away, I was told what a great person I am gonna be with. I was told how to impress my man, to do whatever I possibly can. What to do, what I shouldn’t and try to learn what I couldn’t. How as a woman I can explore what I got and in how many ways I can impress my man I was taught. And that’s what my life is about now I felt when on the wedding night they formed beautiful patterns of Henna on my pelt. I was so happy and little excited too; it was my first time with a man and that he also knew. I was sitting that night in the bed, waiting for him to come, but he was downstairs with his friends, sipping in his rum. At twelve midnight, he entered the room. I woke up, I didn’t know when I fell asleep. And seeing that I had slept, his drunk brain made him upset. He raised his hand and stroke me hard on my face, said how could I sleep before him, that I was a disgrace. He didn’t stop, he didn’t just stop there, like a wolf he approached me and I was in despair. I never wanted to become a woman at once and he didn’t ask for my permission as such. He defiled my chastity, against my will and all I could do was to weep and be still.
He did it quite often, he couldn’t feel that I was in pain, I wondered how can a person be so insane. But after a while it was it, I couldn’t bear it anymore, I thought to leave him, but I knew he was gonna do it with others too and thus to end this once and for all I swore. I was on my bed like everyday, he came and starting to take my clothes away. I pulled up the gun on his face which he used to keep in his drawer and waited for a while, to see his scared and pale face for a moment and then I fired without a recoil. I ended his heinous crusade, the treachery and pain he used to give, and that day onwards, I knew in peace I could live.
Three years have passed that day and four more to go before I get free from these bars, maybe then finally I’ll be free from people asking me about my scars. I couldn’t carry on my life for long, as I had decided to end mine as well after I did his. But something kept me going, kept me alive and gave me a reason to carry on and revive- the little angel that monster gave me has given me a new meaning to live and survive.
(This is my assignment for Day 3- Skin, Prose Poetry and Internal Rhyme. I hope you all find it nice- The Commons)