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A hard-hitting poem about a victim of violence who despite the brutal act will rise like a phoenix.
Whenever and wherever I raise my eyes,
Violence is ready to show its ugly head.
How hard I try to avoid it,
Its devil eyes never stopped following me.
How can I walk back to home?
Violence is scattered all over the roads!
Its edges are sharp like a broken glass,
See, I’m bleeding red throughout.
I swear I fought till my last breath,
But, failed to release from the tight grasp of its tentacles.
It penetrated deep into my body,
But, it paralyzed my mind.
A blood red tear trickled down my eyes in silence,
But the mob bypassed it, just like another casual incident.
How can one be so cruel?
How can one ignore the innocence dribbling down my face?
How can one turn a blind eye to my oozing wounds?
How can one turn a deaf ear to my piercing screams?
Doesn’t it make you freeze?
I was asked to keep my mouth shut,
Hide under the blanket of ignorance.
Does silence deserve more respect than my self-esteem?
Is keeping quiet more convenient than speaking my heart out?
Does suffering seem more important than claiming my space?
Don’t show your cold-shoulder to me, I need answers
Will turning my back bring down the nuisance?
Will limiting my boundaries solve the issue?
Stop marching with candles in your hands,
Please go and teach some morals to your sons too!
Because how hard you try to stop me,
I’m still going to fly with my broken wings!
I’m still going to fly with my broken wings!
Image Source: Pixabay
Founder of 'Soch aur Saaj' | An awarded Poet | A featured Podcaster | Author of 'Be Wild Again' and 'Alfaaz - Chand shabdon ki gahrai'
Rashmi Jain is an explorer by heart who has started on a voyage read more...
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My house-help asked excitedly, “I am going for wedding. Can you let me wear your red & black saree? To be honest I was stumped for a moment; I didn’t know what to say but I still said yes.
I lent a gorgeous saree to my house-help for a wedding in her family. Soon I stated getting questions if I would wear that saree again or if I was okay to be seen wearing the same saree my house-help was wearing?
We are all so conditioned to give our used clothes to our house-helps but are we okay to wear the clothes they were wearing?
A few days ago she came excitedly to me, “I am going for a family wedding. I want to wear your red & black saree, Ill wash and give it to you after the function. Please can you let me wear it?”
Sivaranjiniyum Innum Sila Pengalum (SISP) is an ode to all of the lost women, who could have been sports stars, singers, bankers, lawyers, doctors, just... happy, if they hadn't been enslaved in matrimony, and then forgotten all about.
One of the cool things about my mother was that she was an ace athlete and a champion sculler as a young woman in the 1950s and 60s. I only found out about this side of her a few years ago. I imagine her in a paavaadai dhaavani, taking on the mighty Kaveri river so many decades ago.
I recently watched a Tamil film anthology on SonyLiv that she would have liked to watch – Sivaranjiniyum Innum Sila Pengalum, (SISP) that has 3 stories of 3 different women – Saraswathi, Devaki, and Shivaranjini.
Like all the heroines in the anthology, my mother’s talents were sacrificed at the altar of matrimony. She pawned her gold medals and silver cups one by one to pay for expensive textbooks for us or a gift for a niece on her wedding, money for which she didn’t dare ask my father, because it was her niece… I remember how she caressed the cups and how her face hardened as she shoved them into her bag to take to the jewellers.
Parliament refuses to criminalise marital rape in India. How long will we focus on saving 'culture' at the cost of women?
Parliament refuses to criminalise marital rape in India. How long will we focus on saving ‘culture’ at the cost of women?
“What mark is that? Goes well with your saree print!” I told my domestic helper as a blue colour popped up near her blouse. She tried to hide it and in the process I noticed that she had more than one of those blue prints on her. She looked at me with the most heartbreaking tears when she perceived that I had a suspicion as to why her skin was discoloured. Yet, I wasn’t ready for what I was about to hear about what I saw.
Trigger alert: This post contains descriptions of violence that could be disturbing for some readers.
Your age, clothes, or what you're doing doesn't matter - you don't ask for it, and nothing 'allows' rapists to rape! The perpetrator is responsible every time.
Your age, clothes, or what you’re doing doesn’t matter – you don’t ask for it, and nothing ‘allows’ rapists to rape! The perpetrator is responsible every time.
Trigger Warning: This has graphic descriptions of sexual assault and child sexual abuse, and may be triggering for a survivor.
Today while surfing, an ad popped up, and my entire life drifted in front of my eyes. It was an image, yes, simply an image. Its was an exhibition of clothes worn by rape victims of all ages, from a 3 months old girl to a 75 years old lady who had worn a white Peshawari suit. I recalled all the incidents in my life when I was sexually harassed, and damaged my esteem as a girl.