Faith

The light seemed to drift from no apparent source. Into the deep dark tunnels. The heavy smell of disinfectant overwhelmed her. She knew she was scarred. But did she have the power to heal them? She wished to be reunited with the soil. But she wondered of the endurance of the soul after the end of life. There was a sound in the distance. The sound of gushing water. The sound of a roaring truck. And a scream. Ripping through the void. Ripping through the innocence. 'It pains'. She howled, 'You bitch. You complain of pain now. Where was all the pain when you were doing it with him?' But what did she know what it was like to have a pervert pedophile uncle? That, behind a vegetarian smile, there lies an evil face that betrays. Trust. Relationships. Respect. Family. Love. All these words seemed meaningless. And then there was darkness. She dreamt that she was a giant piece of glass. Trying to catch the sun in remote corners of the mountain. In remote corners of the government hospital. Someone was bending over and loking at her. Another unknown face demanding trust. 'Don't worry. We'll take care of you. We'll take you to the sorority where you and your daughter will be safe. You'll have proper food, accomodation and education. You'll be able to fulfill your dreams' Dreams. That seemed like another meaningless word. And she nodded.
At 14, she didn't know what sorority meant. But she knew why she nodded. She wanted to live. For her new-born daughter.

With all the dead words
We carry and cannot use
He holds up mirrors
From which our reflections fall
Half battered existences
Where we lose ourselves
For the sake of the other

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There was a lot of death. A lot of noise. Like smoke hanging from the air. Full of ghosts. Filled with voices of the dead. She always wore white. The colour of peace. Of her faith. And they came in saffron. In all the glory. Raised slogans of the glory and sanctity of the very nation she had grown up in. And today she was to be deported. Her screams were drowned under the shouts of 'Bharat Mata ki Jai'. And the entire nation was shamed.

But then the nation is shamed every day. Every minute. In buses. In dark alleys of the narrow lanes. In cities. In villages. In homes. Every single time we ask the girl to shut up.

We continue to accept a rapist amongst us, but the very idea of a girl coming into existence seems outrageous.

The child molester laughs, but our sense of pride comes with honour killings, when we decide to kill a girl because she chose to elope with her love.

Has suffering become synonymous with womanhood??

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DURGA POOJA was brilliant. I got lucky all the time. Got to do the pushpanjali. Got to light the 108 diyas. Made it to the sandhya artis almost everyday. Got the prasad even though I had not offered it. Loved the evening sessions of the Robindra Shongeet. Ma enjoyed the Shindur Khela. The food was good. Well durga puja evenings is all about good food and lot of chitter chatter yackety yack! I enjoyed it. I loved it. Just like every Bengali-Bihari does. I felt Her power, Her blessing, Her presence. Every thing was present. Just the 'shakti' was missing. From within. And I prayed.

I know I'm not making much sense. But I should. I must. Period.