The muffled voices behind closed doors

Her dupatta slid from her shoulder as she bent down to keep the cup on the table. I noticed those marks on her shoulder purpled from the blood clotted under her skin. I didn’t want to ask her again. Because I know she’s going to say the same thing she said yesterday and the day before. I see these scars every day after a night of mumbled noise of struggle. I had all kinds of thoughts in my head about what could happen inside their closed doors. I didn’t get much time to keep to my imagination after I heard her cries. Last Thursday I saw her run out of the door, crying, in a blouse that was open in the front showing her bosom, her sari in a bundle as if she was running from a predator. I didn’t see anyone chase her though, only her 6 month old baby crying louder. She stopped running to look back, then looked around and to my surprise, walked back in. May be to console her crying baby. 

I am sorry mom

Dear Diary,

I woke up at 3am. I was in a bed that wasn't mine. I don't recognize the place either. I had some cuts on my ankles and a little burn on my wrist. It isn't much painful though. I kept looking for my phone for about an hour. I had to call my mother. She must be worried. I haven't gone home for almost a week now. I never used to stay out before. It started happening from a few months now, after I met Shudh. He’s my boyfriend. Was. I meant I haven’t heard from him from a few weeks. We had a fight one night about him inviting my sister to one of “his” parties. Come on, she’s my little sister. I can’t let her see this world, my world. Its bad enough I let myself in here. I sometimes feel like I am living in some parallel universe where I am not even sure what I feel anymore. Its like in a dream you see, do, live things and then you wake up and its gone. And when I get calls from my mother I realize I'm here, right where I always was.

Mom worries about me. I see the look in her face everytime I come home late. It looks like fear. “Trust me mom, its harder than you think. I don't want to live in THIS world but I can barely help myself. Everytime I prick myself with that needle all I can do is cry. Because I am doing it without my will. Am not under my control. I try to live like you want. But i am too weak to bear all that's happening in my body.”

I don’t remember how I got here. I remember I was starving and shivering. I remember P ringing on my phone and me switching off my phone because i didn’t want to end up here, again. I don’t remember anything after. I don't remember most of these days. I wake up at different places, places that felt like heaven and hell. I don't remember dates and sometimes even years. That happens rare though. At times, I cry for being stupid. But most of the time I'm happy. Too happy to look back, too happy to look forward, into years from now when I'll long to live this again, this time, this age, these moments when I can actually feel things- good bad worse. I sometimes long to travel back in time and start again at the crossroads, where I took this turn. For now I know where it will take me. I can see things clear from here. I see the illusion I've made of life. But all it does is take me down. Till I hit the rock bottom and the bottom after.

 

He's in love with my hair

 

 He loves my hair. You won't believe me when I say he's more concerned about the shampoo I use, then I ever will be. It's cute that way. He would get so upset when I talk about cutting my locks. He'd brush my hair for hours and smell them. He even oils my hair for me. He'd smell his hands after touching my hair; says it smells like some summer fruit. He never remembers what fruit that is. He brings me all kinds of accessories to wear on my hair, you know the pins with rhinestones on them. He once got me a hair clip customized with studded pearls, both black and white, from Hyderabad. 

And sometimes when he gets angry, he'd grab my hair and drag me across the house and hurl me onto a wall before hitting me with the next thing his hands could reach.

The touch I dont want to remember

It's almost two weeks now. But it still hurts when I tilt my neck to the right. There are still blue black marks on my wrist, i still couldn't wash off the stink of his touch, after 3 showers everyday sometimes even more, I still smell his sweat on me, the stale reek of alcohol from this breath. I cringe every time I think, my fingers and toes become stiff and by skin crawls into my stomach. Then I shower again. But now even my wardrobe smells like him, my sheets smell like him, or may be its me. May be I smell like him. I haven't been able to talk with mom and dad for two weeks. I haven't gone out my room ever since. I disgust myself.

           I must have passed out after midnight. I barely remember anything after the 3rd beer. But I woke up in the middle of the night. I tried to lift up my head and open my eyes, all I could see was a shadow leaning over me. I couldn't move myself. I felt weight over me, as if the shadow was pressing up against me. My clothes, they weren't there.  I was on the floor and someone was lying next to me. The marble felt so cold and hard on my back and hip. I tried to wake myself up from the dream. But it hurts and dreams don't hurt. Dreams don't cut your vagina like a sand paper scraping your skin. Dreams don't strangle you when you try to scream and run.

The next morning I looked at him. And he smiled at me like nothing happened. He WAS my FRIEND.


                                                                                                                                           17th July
Dear Diary,

          I am so so excited about  X's Birthday. Will sleep late today. I have to call him at midnight to wish him.

Also, I do feel bad I had to lie to my mom. But I promise its only for now. As soon as i come back from the party I'll tell her everything. I hope she understands. I am no longer a kid anyway.

 

Life... Is it?

It's a bad day at work. It's long and tiring and exhausting and even worse. I have 10 hours to back at work again.

 

Will a 6 hour sleep be enough to get over this aching stress. May be I should take a long, warm shower to relieve some stress. Let me first complete the report before I get another remainder call. But that will take more than 3hours. What about my 6 hour sleep plan. Oh and dinner. Not noodles again. But I don't have an hour to spare for cooking. I should have asked that lady when she had time. Now she has 9 other places to cook. And her charges have hiked more than petrol. Even if I keep her I'll have to cut down on some other stuff. What should that be? May be I should eat less. Or work more to afford more. 

 

How I wish I hadn't grown up. How I wish I could live with those people down there. Their tiny little house which looks even tinier from my 6th floor apartment window. I can hardly see their faces but I know she'll wake up before I do. Wash her clothes while I brush my teeth and watch her through the window. By the time I start dressing up she's already done with preparing breakfast. Three kids on little rugs on the floor. I can't really see what they are having but anything is better than a cigarette in the morning. I guess the man is her husband. He takes two of the kids in uniform with him while he goes out. May be for work. The little one stays back with her. He can hardly walk. I have seen him standing though once or twice. I'm not quite sure if it's a he or she. By the time I reach home at night she's already done with everything. She'll be scrubbing her utensils outside, all of them burnt and black. Most of the times I see nothing but a silent little HOME with a small dim bulb outside that assures me of a better life every night.

 

She won't be back for summer...

It's summer already.  I can see the happy sun on the bright green lawn. The air is lighter than it was last month. The creeper started it's way towards the iron railings on the balcony. The purple flowers in it ornamented the old brick walls. There are more birds in the back yard orchard. Summer's here but she isn't.  She said she won't be back for summer and she kept her word.
   
       I met her in the winter last. Winter had always been too grave and dark for me. I wonder how poets find beauty in the falling leaves and yellow sky or the cold wind that chills you to the spine. Like the barks of the tall trees she was shedding her skin that winter. Her cold hands looked so thin I could almost see through her skin. The dry wind brought report papers from the hospital everytime,  her chemo reports. With each flake of snow it got harder for her to get up from her bed. Her wide smile that could light up all hearts at once, was getting thinner and weaker. She wasn't left with much strength to smile or talk. But she did dream. Sometimes of heaven and sometimes of hell. She knew she was leaving us all. She said she'll miss us there, as if she knew where she was going.  Sometimes it felt like she really knew. Then there were other times she would talk about stars and planets and kings and Queens, angels and demons, monsters and wizards, about her stillborn child andddeceased father. The doctors said it's all a part of it. A part of death? Sometimes she screamed in pain asking us to let her go. Only if we could have held her back with all our love.

I'm a 21st century woman and I think it's okay to be a stereotype

I met my old friends today. We had this little reunion planned months ago and finally we made it. But nothing was like it used to be. We have grown up, gained weight, have heavier qualifications certificates, have bigger dreams and higher levels of stress; stressed about making money, buying cars and apartments,  promotions, expensive shoes, looking beautiful and what not. We are 21st century women after all. We are bold, independent and we are all so much into "breaking stereotypes". Because we don't want to be like our mothers, we don't want to be what our traditions tell us. We will rebel because we have knowledge and power and freedom. We will rebel because we think it's cool.  We will rebel because we have to prove we are strong.

However, deep inside I don't believe in everything I show that I do. Because I want to make a family. I don't want to work for 22 hours a day and get promoted. Instead I want to bake chocolate cakes at home. I don't dream of buying a sea view apartment in the next two years. Instead I want to cook the best dinners for my big family. I don't hate it when my mother says girls don't drink. Because I can't picture my mother getting wasted at a pub. I don't post cleavage showing pictures of me on social media nor do I think casual sex is cool. I want to get married by 25 and have kids by 28. Look after the little ones and show them what our mothers were. I am okay with being at home and not working like a 21st century woman.  I am not against feminism but it's also okay to be a stereotype...