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A child tells her mother about being sexually abused by men she knows, how much it hurts, and wonders aloud if she should not have been born at all!
Maa… They were a bunch of familiar faces Cultured and credible [supposedly] Yet well stocked with disguised lust That you and I could never easily discern!
And then one day They shamelessly savored my tender flesh Gratifying their insatiable ‘sexual appetite’ And look what they did to me While you were away!
(i)
That ‘amiable uncle’ Snuggled me into his arms Coaxed me to let him use his two hands All over my flesh While I was alone!
(ii)
That ‘cordial man’ I fondly called my teacher One day brazenly set out To intrude my body parts While I was alone!
(iii)
That well disposed ‘Hospitable neighbor’ enticed me Grabbed me with full force To fulfill his profound craving For a slice of me While I was alone!
(iv)
That ‘doting cousin’ Fondled with his organs Sneaking his unsettling fingers Under my clothes and Groped me for a moment of pleasure Without a peck of hesitation While I was alone!
(v)
Even the ‘man’ Whose blood runs through my anatomy The one I proudly called ‘papa’ Derived gratification from my youthful frame While I was alone!
And yes I did utter a yelp But in no time my shrieks Dwindled into subdued whimpers Before ‘they’ devoured me Like a luscious morsel Of course, abandoning the ‘left over’ Just to writhe in pain And dwell in sullen silence
Maa… It really hurts!
But I wish you hadn’t left me alone If your observant eye Could rescue me before the brutal invasion
Maa…. My predators are all over And perhaps Your womb was the only safest haven!
Published here earlier.
I writer by 'will' , 'destiny' , 'genes', & 'profession' love to write as it is the perfect food for my soul's hunger pangs'. Writing since the age of seven, beginning with poetry, freelancing, scripting and read more...
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She would serve everyone fresh food and serve herself the stale rice and curries from the previous meal. Some days after finishing the leftovers she was so full she would not even be able to even taste the fresh food.
When I married the first time, my MIL told me that during the Navratri the lady of the house should not eat stale food. ‘Gharatlya bai ni shila khau naye’ — in refined upper caste Marathi.
I was just 26, eager to please, not versed in patriarchy or feminism, and it seemed like a positive thing — respect for the goddess in woman.
But soon I realised she spent the remaining 356 days of her year finishing leftovers. And that I was expected to do the same.
Story - Beauty: Shreya wondered, ‘Are they talking about me?’ ‘But what is the use of inner beauty if the exterior is unattractive?’ Ravi asked. Her heart skipped a beat, and now she listened with the utmost alacrity.
‘Beauty is skin deep, Ravi. In the long run, it’s the inner beauty that matters. I know Shreya is smart and I find her attractive.’ It was Chetan’s voice.
Shreya had paused for a moment on the open door of Ravi’s flat when she overheard him. It was the morning of 27th March, and she had come to give Ravi his surprise birthday present. She didn’t want to eavesdrop, but the conversation had caught her curiosity.
She wondered, ‘Are they talking about me?’