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These are the thoughts of a broken girl. An ordinary girl in a busy world trying to make sense of whatever life offers her. Just like you and me.
She was broken, by his lies and him leaving her. Her stomach felt hollow and her heart was ravaged. Her arms were splintered. So every night when the world became silent, the broken woman came out of hiding.
She stood on her terrace, took a few stars and hung them on her stomach. Then she plucked a few waning moons each day and stacked them in her hollow heart. She took a few oceans and needled them into her veins. A few rivers she drank. She would gently place mountains on her chest to breathe again. That is how, sitting on a dark terrace, a broken woman created new galaxies, planets and solar systems from her womb. Then she tossed the new worlds to the Universe.
That is how the infinite universe was created, from the womb of a broken woman. And that is why the priest would close the door of the temples at night and no one would ring the temple’s bell, because every night, the gods would rush to watch in awe how a broken woman led the glorious universe to infinity. As she walked leading the universe, the gods would weep wondering how beautiful broken could be. And she kept dancing to everything, creating infinity in every step!
Oh girl, you stoop down when you walk and have self doubts. I know you girl, I feel you. So he said, you are too much. You talk too much. You read too much. You feel too much. So, you chose to be less. Or make your existence like a wallpaper. So, you doubt your own words, your own thoughts.
You keep your diary where no one will ever find it. You start lying about your tastes. You sit through those never-ending movies and conversations that eat your bones bit by bit. You lie. You call it love. Still, you are not enough. You are the ‘too much’ girl. Then they will call you mad. And make a few jokes. But hear me, girl, hear me.
Some people will always find you too much. Because not everyone knows what magnificent is or how to handle it. And that is who you are. Magnificent. You bring the light of the universe in your veins. They will merrily close their eyes and call you too much. Not everyone is ready to look into light. It’s okay. Let them go, and shine. And let your home find you. Home is a safe place to be. Home does not frighten you. Home does not ask you to dim your lights. Home lets you shine. You will find home through your own light. Shine, girl, shine.
Our girlfriends have always loved each other fiercely. With respect and kindness. With loyalty and belief. We stubbornly believe in each other’s dreams. This is how we set standards for our sisters on how they should be treated. This is how we create a generation of magnificent women. This is how we create a tribe that has each other’s back!
And the little girl who see us with love and respect, one day becomes that.
This is how we win over patriarchy. This is how we win over misogyny. This is how we lift little girls on our shoulders and run in the sunshine. We all stand on the sacrifices of many women. Mostly unnamed. When I look around, I see the fisher-woman making a deal. I see the post woman delivering a letter. And the girl in the cyber café taking orders. I know I stand on their courage too, to cruise through the public spaces. I know the writer whose father would secretly teach her to read and write, because it was blasphemy for women to study then. I, you and we all stand on her courage too.
And each time I treat myself and another woman with love, respect and belief, someone whose sacrifice I stand on feels free. For the weight she carried on her shoulders was not wasted. I know there are many whose sacrifices make me privileged today. So, I run with another little girl, so that she can run further than I could have imagined. This is the only way I know to live. One generation running for another to reach further!
This article is part of a series. You can read Part 1 here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here and Part 4 here.
Image Source – Pixabay
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Proud Indian. Senior Writer at Women's Web. Columnist. Book Reviewer. Street Theatre - Aatish. Dreamer.
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