Sunday, April 21, 2013


First Thoughts of a Mother

9 months. I waited 9 months for his arrival. He made me wait 9 months for his arrival. He was my little VIP.  My son. Oh! How sweet was that word on my tongue? My son. My. Son. I’ll probably never tire, saying those words. I felt like I could recite them all day long. Day after night. I hadn’t seen him yet. The delivery was completely exhausting. All I heard was the doctor’s exclamation “It’s a boy!”
At that moment, there were two weights out of my body. One was from my stomach and another, my heart. Tears of exhaustion flooded my eyes and all I could see was a blurry bundle, when the doctor brought him closer to my eyes. I fought the fatigue that threatened to rob my chance, of the first glimpse, of my treasure.  But all I could do was to inwardly cry NO! As sleep overtook my whole being.
A few hours later, I awoke. Beside my bed was a cradle that was swinging ever so slightly. And then, my proudest moment arrived. The moment, when I first set my eyes on him. He was fast asleep in the cradle. He looked so pure. He felt so clean on the outside and also the inside. I lowered a hand on his head, almost not touching it. I didn’t want, me, his mother, to be the cause for his cries so soon into this world.  Slowly, I brought down my hand over his chest. I could feel the steady rhythm of his tiny heart’s beating. Right then, I almost cried out in happiness.
After months of making my body, his playground, I was ready to play with him in person. I was ready to stop him if he fell. I was ready to pick him up, when he would fall while crossing the obstacles in his path. He opened his eyes when I was staring unblinkingly at his face. “He has your eyes you know”, said my husband.
At this moment, the boy looked up at his father. Their eye contact lasted maybe for a second. Then he looked at me, with those tiny brown eyes. We shared this moment for about 5 seconds. But for me it seemed to last an eternity. Those eyes seemed to be questioning me. Demanding answers for questions unasked. They seem to be asking for protection. Asking for love. Asking for a promise. I sandwiched his palm between my palms. I leaned closer to his ear and whispered “I promise”. 

WOMAN: EPITOME OF SACRIFICE
Probably a few millions years ago…
The demons were on a rampage on earth. Terrorizing every city, every village. It seemed that there would be no end to their menace. Even gods of repute could not put an end to this unholy carnage and watched as the earth was being rid of all things good. Determined to put an end, they combine their powers to create a force so intimidating that they cowered in fear at the aura she radiated. Yes, all the gods decide to create a female. A personification of power itself. Shakti was then born. Riding on a majestic lion, she decimates every evil in her path and rids the world of all things unholy. It was a female, who put an end to the demons and not the male gods. She did what none of them could ever accomplish. They bowed to her, acknowledging her superiority over them. Over the entire Universe.

A few thousand millennia later…
It was a freezing night. But the tribe’s chief didn’t mind it. For what he was witnessing was nothing short of a miracle. His wife about to expel something from her body that vaguely resembled the shape of a human head.  He didn’t know what it was but he was curious all the same. A baby then emerged and its first sounds were high pitches cries that only sounded like music to his ears. His wife had given birth to a new life. He wondered what other miracles she could perform. But he wouldn’t know about them, for she was dead after this long and arduous trial. He let out a low moan to express his regret for not looking after her well enough. He had a new found respect for her. One, who could pour life to another human being, could only be a GOD(DESS) in his eyes. He shed his own clothes and covered up her corpse. Picking up the baby, he saw that it was a girl. His joy knew no bounds. His wife would live again and this time he would be there to take care of her.

Fast forward to 1991…
A mother had just received good news that she had given birth to a child. But 21 days later her son was going to have a death sentence handed out to him. The boy had a hole in his heart and the doctors gave him only a 50% chance of survival. One wrong decision and her bundle of joy would no longer be hers. But she decided to tame the bull by its horns and takes those odds. 24 hours, was how long the operation lasted. Those would be the longest hours of her life. Her eyes were swollen from the incessant stream of tears that broke all the flood gates of her heart. She never ate nor slept, occasionally checking on her dozing husband. She waited on tip toes to catch a glimpse of her son as he lay battling for dear life. Finally the doors opened and a smile from the doctors was all the answer she needed to see her child. Ignoring all protocols, she rushed into the room and saw her child breathing in and out. There were many tubes and wires sticking out of his bony frame. She tried to cry once more as she saw her child helpless, but the tears refused to flow for she had dried up every drop. She slowly approached her son and placed a palm on his now strong heart. The steady rhythm would forever remain etched in her conscious. The rhythm of his heart now became the rhythm of her heart.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Social Pariah 1-The 'Ugly Betty'


Dear Diary,

Whoever said that Life Is Beautiful surely was blind, otherwise how could he not see the way life screws with you?

The way it bends you over until your backbone almost snaps?

I got questions aplenty, but answers so few.

Why wasn't I born pretty? And as if that wasn't enough, why should I be reminded by the heartless creatures of my class every single day?

Am I not suffering enough? WOW!! Is all I can say. Like, Wow! How low can you still stoop?
Probably so low, that they could still do the LIMBO even if the stick was an inch off the ground.

Their words are like stab wounds, each new taunt cutting deeper into my heart and I fear that I may even bleed to due to these razor sharp criticisms.

It isn't my fault that I have pimples at age 16.It isn't my fault that I don't have tanned skin. It sure as hell it isn't my fault if I don't have a killer body.

Then why am I being cast aside? Treated like a nobody? Treated like I should be invisible and spare everybody the trouble?

Why can't they look at themselves before they point a finger at me? They can't see that when pointing a finger at me, three are pointing to themselves?

Why am I being looked upon as a burden? They forget that I'm a human being after all. Full flesh and bones and I too have something they have. They're called F.E.E.L.I.N.G.S, you know

Surely my life should count for something other than this ordinary, torturous life?

Tell me when will these people stop treating me like a PARIAH?

And please I beg of you, tell me when will these stab wounds heal?

Tell me Oh Diary, Tell me!!!!!
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DIARY SPEAKS:
 It melts my heart to see my mistress in so much trouble.

There's nothing I can do but there's something only you can do.

Yes, YOU. The one reading this account.

Don't ever engage in bullying or any other form of torture.

You never know when someone can be broken to the point of no repair.