Repentance

When she was three, they took away her mother because she was a ‘witch’. She remembers the mute acceptance on her mother’s face, as if that ridiculous accusation had been expected for a long time.

Four, and she remembers waking up in cold sweat, desperately clawing through the covers to touch her older sister, making sure she hasn’t been taken away as well. She remembers her father’s sad eyes resting much too often on her, his even sadder remarks that she looked so much like her mother.

Five, and she remembers the thrill she felt on healing an injured fawn. She’d cleaned the wounds and applied some medicinal leaves, and a few weeks later the creature was bounding about like normal. She remembers her sister’s eyes widening in surprise and the fervent whispers to keep it a secret. 

On Family and Why I don’t want Children

WARNING- highly emotional rant ahead.

So, I’m going to state a really unpopular opinion of mine, simply because I’ve held it in for so long that its threatening to devour me from the inside.

I love my family. I truly do. But I am not a fan of how they treat me at times. Actually, I absolutely despise their actions at many occasions.

There are instances where their words leave me gasping for breath in-between crying sessions all alone in my room, and then there are happy times when we sit together watching reality shows and make jokes at the expense of the participants. My mother is amazing at juggling work and house work, my dad is the softest person I know and my brother has the most amazing memory. We have so many great family moments that I feel like a little bitch for ever thinking that I want to move away from them.

But I do. Oh I do.

Recently,

Ode to a Lesser Human

I’ll never forget the truths you taught me

Nor would I ever forgive you the scars

But even now, as I stand healed and whole

I still regret playing out our farce

First it was fun, a source of great cheer

To prick you with my wit

I loved nothing more than to lend an ear

To those who saw you unfit

Though not a bad word ever left my lips

It brought me a smile to see

That no matter how well you played your cards

There were still those immune like me

Cut my Tongue and ask me why I’m Mute

The worst was when the words died in his mouth. No matter how recently he’d wet his lips with water, they’d go dry at the slightest hint of being made to speak out loud. He’d miss some words, make mistakes in pronunciation and easily make an utter fool of himself.

People around him were so so good. The words danced from the tips of their tongues, weaving a tapestry of sentences that draped over the entire audience, leaving them spell-bound. And he? His function was

Chains

It’s not that she was always being physically restrained, so to say. But even so, she could always feel the chains tightening around her soul- her very being.

The rules they set for her weren’t unreasonable. She could easily follow them and keep being the wonderful girl she’d always been.

But lately, she’d wanted more.

The first time she’d dared to lie to her parents was when she experienced the bitter-sweet ache of love.

Exotic

He felt ridiculous, getting his first pet at forty, especially something so big and noisy. It had proved itself to be really stubborn as well and resisted any kind of training he had tried to give it. It couldn’t even be potty trained, and he almost always had to clean up after it.

He often regretted choosing this particular pet.

Of Bitter Words and Broken Hearts

A few months ago, a person I’d respected called me ‘an apple that was merely painted so as to appear as a pure golden apple’. This insult to my worth stuck to my mind for a long time. Every time someone complimented me I’d think But I am only painted yellow. 

Every time his words echoed in my mind, I’d feel my self-esteem crumble. I began to believe everything he’d told me-that I was unstable, unlovable and a horrifying creature altogether. It took me a long time to break from the vicious cycle, but ironically only because he himself provided the stage for my escape.

That’s why today I would like to discuss a very sensitive topic- Emotional abuse.

This is seldom discussed in many countries like my own, simply because of the fact that most people cannot seem to wrap their minds around the concept that yes, even if the scars are not visible, it is abuse. In India, emotional abuse by itself is not a punishable offense (but in case of mental injuries caused by abuse of husband or his family it can be covered under IPA section 498A and even then it is a bit of a stretch).

On Harley and Watching People Sleep

We’re no strangers to abusive relationships. Most of us have had our fair share of them, be it physically or emotionally. Even well educated individuals find themselves falling head-first into the depressing pit such relationships create for us. Now I am no psychologist, and hence I cannot comment on why and how these happen to the best of us. I am, however, an avid reader and so I will limit my commentary to how such bonds are expressed in literature.

Wuthering Heights is