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Endometriosis: A good part of my life I've spent with you, and spent fearing you. But is that it?
Endometriosis: A good part of my life I’ve spent with you, and spent fearing you. But is that it?
There is more to us than that. I thought I owed it to myself to find a place for you. Here I am.
I try,
I try to find a place for you in my life
But that’s not to question
How much of a presence you had
As you flooded me
Invisible, inconceivable, inside
Days, months, years….
I knew you and felt you
The fierce, breaking, recurring pain was hard to neglect
Belittled though by the agony of not being understood,
With good intent,
Cajoled by gentle yet piercing judgement
‘I know what this is, you ought to, you have to, you…’, they said
Ah, the stories I heard about you
There was no room for mine then.
As I think of feeling wrapped by dark nights of despair
Much like your dark blanket that swathed my insides
Spreading far and wide
But whether it was time, our familiarity, I am not too sure
But I was sure of our different relationship, and that gave me comfort
It was a beginning
I try to find a place for you
Our journey,
Nourishment, healing, an intervention
It brought me then, face-to-face with you
Brought me some relief
With love,
‘We trust what you feel, you were a warrior’, they said
My truth, our truth was brought into the light
The journey and the light had led me further
And life, brought me a great gift,
Grateful to life, grateful to them, grateful to faith
The dark clouds had receded a bit
Gave me a moment to breathe
And bask in the glory of the new rainbow
As I now look back and make peace with you
As I forgive,
As I learn,
As truth of unfathomable battles begins to be respected
As hope, trust, love and gratitude come,
Spread,
And overshadow fear
I find,
I find a place for you.
Image via Pexels
Ramya is exploring the strength of stories, with a belief that stories help us learn and grow and motivate us to live joyous and more fulfilled lives. She is working on a platform of stories read more...
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Darlings makes some excellent points about domestic violence . For such a movie to not follow through with a resolution that won't be problematic, is disappointing.
I watched Darlings last weekend, staying on top of its release on Netflix. It was a long-awaited respite from the recent flicks. I wanted badly to jump into its praise and will praise it, for something has to be said for the powerhouse performances it is packed with. But I will not be able to in a way that I really had wanted to.
I wanted to say that this is a must-watch on domestic violence that I stand behind and a needed and nuanced social portrayal. But unfortunately, I can’t. For I found Darlings to be deeply problematic when it comes to the portrayal of domestic violence and how that should be dealt with.
Before we rush to the ‘you must be having a problem because a man was hit’ or ‘much worse happens to women’ conclusions, that is not what my issue is. I have seen the praises and criticisms, and the criticisms of criticisms. I know, from having had close associations with non-profits and activists who fight domestic violence not just in India but globally, that much worse happens to women. I have written a book with case studies and statistics on that. Neither do I have any moral qualms around violence getting tackled with violence (that will be another post some day).
Gender stereotypes, though a by-product of the patriarchal society that we have always lived in, are now so intricately woven into our conditioning that despite our progressive thinking, we are unable to break free from them.
Repeatedly crossing, while on my morning walk ̶ a sticky, vine-coloured patch on the walkway, painted by jamuns that have fallen from the jamun tree, crushed by the impact of their fall, and perhaps, inadvertently trampled upon by walkers, awakens memories of the mulberry tree that stood in my parents’ house when I was growing up. Right at the entrance of the house, the tree caused a similar red and violet chaos on the floor, which greeted us each time we entered the gate.
Today, as I walked by this red-violet patch, I was reminded of an incident that my mother had narrated to me several times. It had taken place shortly after her marriage and her arrival in this house from her hometown.