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The girl child is still marginalized, no matter how much things change, so much of sexism and misogyny remains the same!
Before she was born, you said, “No, we don’t want you!
You’re the expensive choice we can’t pursue”.
Then, the mother’s cries melted the stone,
And you let her be born!
Lakshmi was here in the family,
Worshipped but unwelcome as always!
Exceptionally bright as Lakshmi was,
She outshone everyone in her class.
“Who cares!” you said, “someday she will be just a wife”
You never saw through her strife.
You mocked her, teased her on the street.
Whilst castrated manhood watched her feet.
That day, she was walking her way from school,
She saw your venomous tongue drool.
You faked a smile and robbed the other one,
And stabbed her feelings for sheer fun.
Your lecherous eyes raped her each morning,
She left for college and while returning!
Then one day, a groom was sought for,
Lakshmi, the educated bride to be married off.
The boy, his family and his first cousin
Came to check the bride out and her kin.
How much dowry could they afford?
And what beauty was to be sold?
So she came to her other home.
“She is dark; she looks glum; she is no match
For the MBA son she is a poor catch”!
The unpaid maid servant to the family,
Meant to stay an outsider only!
The father came to see the daughter,
Complaints! “No dowry, no furniture!
But you had vowed to offer
Our son deserved a lot better”.
Two years pass by,
Your tantrums are still high.
Today she bore a daughter!
Another Lakshmi, lovelier.
She lay in the cot, uncelebrated
The girl child is still hated.
And Lakshmi cries, “All you people there,
My daughter is not meant to be me ever!
She will avenge the tears you shed today.
Everything will come back to you one day!
I name my daughter Kaali, the ferocious
She will rise above all you vicious!
One day the dark of her skin
Will surely freeze your chin
And you will judge her never
My revenge she will deliver”!
Image source: rural woman with daughter by Shutterstock.
A research scholar in literature. Loves books, music, movies, cats, writing, sketching cartoons and meditating. Independent in spirit and opinion and a true dreamer. read more...
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As he stood in front of his door, Nishant prayed that his wife would be in a better mood. The baby thing was tearing them apart. When was the last time he had seen his wife smile?
Veena got into the lift. It was a festival day, and the space was crammed with little children dressed in bright yellow clothes, wearing fancy peacock feather crowns, and carrying flutes. Janmashtami gave her the jitters. She kept her face down, refusing to socialize with anyone.
They had moved to this new apartment three months ago. The whole point of shifting had been to get away from the ruthless questioning by ‘well-wishers’.
“You have been married for ten years! Why no child yet?”
I huffed, puffed and panted up the hill, taking many rest breaks along the way. My calf muscles pained, my heart protested, and my breathing became heavy at one stage.
“Let’s turn back,” my husband remarked. We stood at the foot of Shravanbelagola – one of the most revered Jain pilgrimage centres. “We will not climb the hill,” he continued.
My husband and I were vacationing in Karnataka. It was the month of May, and even at the early hour of 8 am in the morning, the sun scorched our backs. After visiting Bangalore and Mysore, we had made a planned stop at this holy site in the Southern part of the state en route to Hosur. Even while planning our vacation, my husband was very excited at the prospect of visiting this place and the 18 m high statue of Lord Gometeshwara, considered one of the world’s tallest free-standing monolithic statues.
What we hadn’t bargained for was there would be 1001 granite steps that needed to be climbed to have a close-up view of this colossal magic three thousand feet above sea level on a hilltop. It would be an understatement to term it as an arduous climb.
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