i am you …i think….

photo; deviantart vulnerable by ~bailey–elizabeth

You owe me no pity neither have I ever felt the need for any; please stop looking at me like that your gaze pierce and bleeds me, it hurts so badly.

Thinking and I know i can’t  say or explain anything to you, you that can understand but don’t want to; you that are the society of which I am a part too.

I understand you are sad to see me in such a sorry state but are you “sad”. Isn’t it acceptable anymore for a person to fall sick, to fail, to be afraid; being vulnerable is what a human is I am a human seems you are untouchable by sad part of reality; make me question are you human.

You start your sympathy speech every time telling me but pretend I am deaf for a moment and direct all you have to say to my guardians.  You speak of how hard my life will be now, its ok you speak the truth but quit telling me my survival my fight is useless if you can’t make my faith stronger my belief in hope please don’t make me believe in darkness.

One stumble in life, an ill turn of fate was all you required to see me in a new light through a biased glass. You took all my achievements striped me of all the respect and love I had earned, put me naked on a podium for display. sometimes i think you waited for all this patiently.

I cringe with pain the steps I force myself to walk I fall, fail yet I walk.

It’s said everything in life happens for a reason. I’ve seen none till now, wonder what will I see but I know none even you won’t speak of me with pity but celebrate my life and I won’t let anything come in my way

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We were the oppressed and they were the oppressors but neither we knew nor did they. We lived in the same house in a corner maybe however it was the same shelter we and they called home, we also had the same food as they, the food that we prepared though we ate without exception after they were satisfied yet they will go to extremes to not accept that, “they were the oppressors and we the oppressed”. This had been going on for generations unknowingly or in full visual. Some voices raised were quieted some just quit and a few brought about some major but small changes.

They were the oppressors and we were the oppressed, we gave them the power….

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RAIN DANCE

 

Rain… by ~spider13bug

                                                                                                                                                                         

The smell of the wet mud, everything clean, beautiful green trees and the streets full of brollies of different sizes and colours – this season is simply spellbinding. People may despise this season but I belong to the opposite group.

      As there is a reason for everything-from dusting a clean table to reading old newspapers – I have cooked up an inexplicable reason to back up my liking. When the tiny drops hit the earth, memories of yesteryears come flooding back. During my school days the thing I liked most ­­_ apart from bonfire and my parents’ visit to school –was rain. It was not until the 10^th standard I had the freedom to get wet.

     The season had its share of disadvantages too, but even the slimy leeches did not deter us pals from frolicking in the playground. Even during the drizzle we hit the road, our school building a clean 15 minutes  hike, making our way between the pine trees along the sides of the road.

    The trickle would take its own sweet time to subside. Meanwhile, we pranced around as if the road was our private property with no teachers in sight to stop us from sleeping on the road or performing rain dance.

    By the time we reached our destination, we would be thoroughly wet. It’s not that we couldn’t afford an umbrella or run but the feeling when the drops touch bare flesh surpasses heavenly bliss. One needs to feel the spirit of the season. The thought of our teachers taking us to task wouldn’t matter much as long as the drops rejuvenated the parched earth. During my study in Delhi, the rainy season never seemed to end. Back then we had to think twice before venturing out. Even if we summoned enough courage to do so, we were allowed out only under the watchful eye of the local guardians.

     An edition of chicken soup states that life is a chain of rainy days as rain helps shape up our lives. The most hated season is like sugar that makes food tastier, even while it’s not as important as other ingredients like oil and salt.

    I don’t mean to entice people into running out into the rain. But seasons are like different flavours provided by the grace of Almighty to spice up our lives. As tastes differ, so do the seasons.

 

September 2006

this Piece was my first article to be published in “The Himalayan Times” after  many disheartening rejections and as it is  and it will always be  a pure joy to see my name in print

Thankyou

Thank you Ankit  at the, The  Food Gypsy  for such a beautiful Award (I have always heard people who love food have a big generous heart     ) people do visit this wonderful blog you won’t be sorry.

The rules for the Award are;

• Visit and thank the blogger who nominated you.

• Acknowledge that blogger on your blog and link back.

• Share 7 random things about yourself.

• Nominate 7 or more blogs with the award, a link to their blogs and notify them on their blogs.

• Copy and paste award on your blog somewhere

7 things….

1. I think  a single chocolate bar is never enough and mean too  so one must eat it always in pair or more so that the chocolate never feels alone

2. I love junk food though seriously I never understood the “junk” part

3. Whenever I read a book I never remember (not done deliberately) the title or the authors name

4. English is my 2^nd language but I dream in English exclusively I sometimes think my dreams have subtitles in Nepali

5. When I study or think really hard the radio should be on in full volume but I won’t tolerate anyone near me even whispering

6. I don’t understand how cockroaches survived in the  survival of the fittest and it’s not the science part that confuses me

7. To  get a good night’s sleep hearing dogs bark is an absolute must

Though asked for only “7 things about you” I would I have assumed you’ve given me (I asked) the permission to add just  1 more;

1. To come up with this list there was a 2 days delay and no thinking done at all. Typical me!

Now for the nominations which is a absolute honor  here are seven wonderful, beautiful blogs in particular order;

• Braindisease’s Weblog
  

• The Nahmis Chipher Report

• someshortstoriesonline

• FOREVER POETIC

•  bronwynlundberg

• writerwannabe763

• Written words never Die

  and if you don’t accept the award, it is just an appreciation of the great work you do.

 

she was raped!

Every morning the newspaper comes and seldom, now it seems like never will there be a day when heart melting stories of rape victims or stories of rape victims do not appear.If it’s not the newspaper it TV,internet or word of mouth It’s all so terrible, horrible that sometimes it all seems so near to fiction but it’s “true” reality is stranger than fiction just much more ruthless and even kids are not spared. Often we are left to wonder, why sadly our quest for answer ends in the question itself.

I had never prior to now ever ‘seen’ or talked to a rape victim this was my first encounter sadly a little girl of 8 years old a totally chance meeting if I may say so. I had lots of doubts, questions and fear I can’t exactly describe it all seems such a futile effort of mind at present.

The first time I met her after so many hours of avoidance was when she barged into my office space and before I could become aware of my un-surety she just took it all away. “Pretty sister” she exclaimed holding my hand after that moment she just wouldn’t leave my side until the evening when she had to go to her parental home for court hearing, she kept telling everyone around that she will come back after the court hearing to stay here with us because she simply loves it here.

She entertained all in the office by her song by her impromptu song and dance routine interrupted by her sudden peals of laughter and questions, why is this box (computer) black? How can you call when your phone has no numbers? First we were patient in giving our ‘made-up’ answers but, what ,where,how and why were so many we ultimately had to no option but to order her in a strict voice , to sit in a corner with finger on her lips. Our strict avatar was not real enough maybe she kept up her funny antics filling every nook and corner of our office with laughter.

She sat right next to me sometimes combing my hair with her little fingers or telling me not to drink too much coffee and at times giving me wisdom filled advice. My colleagues asked her why she liked me and not them; she answered “she is so white”. Yes I am a little fair but others were too to this counter argument she just kept mum. Time and sorrow had taught her to detect fear I think.

4 hours she stayed with us and left, leaving us to normalcy. For a day we touched, felt; saw the truth and the truth was “pretty” not scary.

I cannot tell of the pain she bore physical mental but I can tell one fact it was, is and always be many times of her age.

 

Question Mark (Photo credit: auntiepauline)

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A thought

“God like our parents can just guide us. However he also has the power to put obstacles in our path to test the strength he has endowed equally on all of us, his children. Sometimes we take the easy detour to reach the end of our path fast other times we take the less chosen option but much-loved option of the long tiring almost impossible road and sometimes while travelling we surprisingly reach our destination. That great power helps us along the way but only when we first help our self. Honestly! it’s the only rule; the golden rule he has set.”

 

Someone once told me during my period of sadness. I love and live by the very thought of an ordinary day.

 

sunrise (Photo credit: Sean MacEntee)

A story of a life

photo credit; http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs19/i/2007/243/3/8/Hurt_by_fantasmica.jpg

Every cloud has a silver lining but mine is only dark, frightening binding me in its deep vacuum holding me by chain of words. Often I wonder, have I committed some unknown but a horrific crime that even now after so many years I have to pay in the currency of tears by reliving it every moment of every day for it seems just like today. All thanks to the strange society, our society; it’s always hungry always sad the good in some people do exists but the bad of the society always overpowers them. I think it takes immense pleasure in killing slowly and painfully the people who are different than them. Otherwise how am I to answer why doesn’t it applause my achievements not tell me how useless they are or take pleasure in my smiles rather than forcing me drop tears or make me believe I am loved, wanted rather than telling me whole existence is a waste.

Exactly how many years have passed, I don’t know for me it’s just an arbitrary question of time but if you insist I’ll tell you today. Today I drowned my parents in loan so large they or I have no idea how it will be paid off or how many life I have to slog to be free. Because Today I experimented with weed, today I fell from the balcony to the ground 13 stories below, today I broke my bones in 27 different places and had some nasty cuts on my face. Also Today is the day when my bones have healed; a miracle they say but it left me with a very distinguishing mark  a - wobble also today the scars on my face have healed again but it will require a lengthy stretch of time to completely merge with my color.

To speak honestly a look at me and you’ll never forget my horrifying marks my wobble is what you see and forever remember. I guess you hear it too.

I have tried to live happily in my own world away from the World of pain, wretchedness, sorrow, criticism anything Worldly actually. But no matter how beautiful dreams and fantasies are you have to wake up and the World beckons me time and again and each time I fall for the trap only to drown in tears again.

* The above story is an imagined scenario.