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We are so much more than how someone from the world we are currently in perceives us to be.
Dressed in an alluring red gown,
To rave it up, she let her hair down.
Serenity embossed on her face, she sat in repose;
Click, smile, click smile – she dazzled every pose.
Puns and quips were enough to get her to bust a gut;
Her circle of sisterhood never let her feel stuck in a rut.
The jamboree ended with words of gratitude and hugs tight;
The frolic and chortles made way for the quietude of the night.
Calling it a day, her mind rewound a few hours back;
When she wondered if she would survive the moment as she hid like a sack.
For rescuing precious lives, she was in the line of fire;
Tenacity, valour and pragmatism were her attire.
She had survived, they had survived, the squad had been triumphant in their mission;
Once more combating the terror of trafficking, they had broken free from the prison.
She shut her eyes to another day of breathing two airs;
Both of which she sponged up with aplomb and flair.
Crude to polished, murk to shimmer;
Two starkly contrasting worlds collided into her.
Author’s Note: The woman in this poem is many of us. “She” can be any person on the road, next to your abode, in your family or even you. We often talk about the world without realising that “world” is probably an abstract. We are not even aware of the number of worlds that we are willingly or inadvertently a part of, and also the ones we are blissfully unaware of. We are so much more than how someone from the world we are currently in perceives us to be.
Maybe, it wouldn’t be incorrect to say that there are indeed multiple worlds within this one world and a different version of us lives in each of these worlds 🙂
First published here.
Image source: Pexels
Multiple award winning blogger, influencer, author, multi-faceted entrepreneur, creative writing mentor, choreographer, social activist and a wanderer at heart read more...
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We are conditioned to normalise domestic violence out of fear of abandonment. Thinking that 'trauma bonding' is better than no bonding holds us back from speaking up!
(Trigger Warning: This post may be triggering for survivors of domestic violence. This post has been published especially to honour the International Day For The Elimination of Violence Against Women.)
Everyone said my perfect husband was like Lord Ram…. but this is how he took unfair advantage of my tolerance!
My grandmother was very fond of my husband whose name is synonymous with Lord Ram’s name. Every call she made to my husband started with the bhajan “Aaj sab mil mangal gao, Awadh mai, raam aye hain“. (Hail everyone, sing praises, Lord Ram has come in the kingdom of Awadh.) It was a mandatory welcome song whenever she met him or even spoke to him on the phone. Yes, his attributes were like that of Lord Ram. His attitude, chivalry, persona, fair skin, smile, height, physique and charm illustrate the perfect image of Lord Ram.
Alone in the apartment the whole day, Riya used to feel claustrophobic. She could not imagine anyone living in with just one bunk to call one’s own. She thought about the clean air and the verdant hills of Siliguri.
The Muse of the Month is a monthly writing contest organised by Women’s Web, bringing you original fiction inspired by women.
Harshita Nanda is one of the winners for the November 2021 Muse of the Month, and wins a Rs 750 Amazon voucher from Women’s Web. The juror for this month, Anuradha Kumar commented, “This is truly an unusual, and moving mother-daughter story, set dually in Dubai and Siliguri. This story of courage, determination, and love of the mother, and the growing awareness on the daughter’s part is really insightful and very moving. A very contemporary story, featuring characters not much written about before.”
In the moon she saw Asha – her Asha. She only begged for Asha’s forgiveness. In some sort of rebirth, Asha gave her an opportunity of atonement.
It was a big day for Asha Singh. It was 26th January, Republic Day of India. The twenty six year old police officer was to receive the prestigious President’s Police Medal For Gallantry at a ceremony that morning.
Asha woke up at 4:45 am as usual. She started her day with yoga and breathing exercises. But she was unable to concentrate today – memories from her past kept coming back to her.
The sky changed from red to black and in that locked darkness innocence lay naked and bloodied, having learnt the most important lesson of her life.
She hadn’t slept at all. An unknown, silent, strange fear had been her companion the whole night. Fear she could not describe in words, fear she could not paint with a brush. But it had been there, touching her with a gentle caress at first, stroking her face teasingly, slowly entering her mind, until it had enveloped and taken possession of her entire being. Terrified, anxious beads of sweat trickled down her face hesitantly, wary of compounding her fear, until they fell on her trembling lips, drop by drop. Yes, she could taste it, she could taste the fear, who had come uninvited and laid claim on her soul and body. She tried to shake it off with all her might, but it held her violently, forcefully, keeping her pinned to the cold bed. She gasped and shivered, until she could fight her companion no more.
She got up from the bed at last, spent and exhausted, and made her way to the window with great difficulty. Every pore in her body ached with the assault her companion had gifted her. The ache was here to stay, she was certain of that. She looked at the sky, a shade of dull red, almost carroty in its hue. Was the sun feeling the fear too, its anxious rays, just outlining the hem of the sky, and not covering its whole fabric, almost willing the day to not make its glorious appearance? As if the day would bring an unpleasant news, of a loss or a death. She sat down under the window, and hugged herself desperately, protecting her terrified shape from the stranger, who had still not left the room and her body.