Check out 16 Return-To-Work Programs In India For Ambitious Women Like You!
The masked intruder slowly made his way out. She peered at his receding shape. All of a sudden, she felt a sense of loss.
Under normal circumstances, she would speak her mind, but with a gun against her head, she just stood transfixed, visibly shaken.
As beads of sweat trickled down her forehead, she eyed the perpetrator taking in as much of his appearance as she possibly could. A relatively tall man, his face seemed muscular even under the sheath of a black mask. His large hands almost merging with the rubber gloves made her tremble and a sudden surge of fear nibbled at the pit of her stomach.
The sinister silence was just then broken by the deafening sound of thunder. The rustling wind made a menacing noise and she could feel the hair on her arm stand at their ends. With the gun still held against her head, the intruder dragged her and in a muffled but a strong voice demanded her as to where she kept the money. She pointed towards the cabinet and for a split second felt his grip over the gun loosen.
Her heart was racing in tandem with the storm that was raging outside. And then he withdrew the gun and turned towards the cabinet. As if on a cue she rummaged the keys from underneath the mattress and placed it on his gloved hand. A few minutes elapsed and he got engrossed in stacking the valuables in a bag. She still stood staring at him with vacant eyes. Somehow fear had taken a backseat.
As she eyed the big grandfather clock that was perched in the bedroom almost becoming one with the cobwebbed wall, her heartbeat raced yet again. Her husband would be home soon. The mere thought of him made her ill at ease. Inadvertently her eyes turned towards the floor-length mirror. Her pale visage stared back at her and it was hard to miss the bruise near her lip which was swollen. It had turned a shade of bluish purple. She was standing next to this large poster bed next to an intruder who had a minute ago held a gun to her head. And yet the sense of dread seemed to fizzle away with each passing minute.
Her brows furrowed and her thoughts ran back to her husband yet again. Living as his wife for the past five years, she had become a mere shadow of her real self a ghost. Constantly walking on eggshells whenever he was around and hoping every minute not to upset him with any of her actions was something that had become part of her being now. Her life was a façade. But she was a weakling. What could she do? She was a nobody and he was this top-shot guy.
A loud noise brought her back to the present and she realized that she was standing a few feet away from an armed intruder. The intruder had by now plundered everything of value from the safety vault. The noise put him back in his alert mode and yet again he quickly put the gun on her head. She sighed.
The silence that was hitherto dispelled only by the sounds of their breaths and the intermittent thunder, was suddenly broken by a loud noise at the front door. Someone was coming inside.
Her husband soon came running towards the bedroom door. He looked inebriated as usual and had the same familiar look of disdain when he looked at her. But, the presence of the masked intruder changed something in him- at once. He was scared. Yes, she could see that he was shaking like a scrawny mouse.
Too shocked to utter a syllable, he stood there without moving an inch. As she glanced sideways, she realized that the intruder was now pointing the gun at him. He in turn had turned white with fear.
For the first time in five years, he stood in her presence utterly powerless. Strangely it filled her with an inexplicable sense of euphoria. Her husband could not lay a finger on her. Not tonight. The intruder now gradually slipped away from the bedroom while his gun was still pointed at him. His job was done. The intruder had realized by now that she would not move an inch as she had not done so in the past half an hour.
The masked intruder slowly made his way out. She peered at his receding shape as he left the house. All of a sudden, she felt a sense of loss. Fear gripped her from all fours. As the shadow of the masked intruder disappeared, pent-up emotions gave way.
And just then it happened.
She ran. She ran away from the house where she was abused. She ran away from her meek powerless self. She ran away because today an intruder had put a gun on her head and made her realize that she could run. Running was always an option.
She smiled.
Image Source: Still from Short Film ‘Rann’/Angry Owl Productions, YouTube.
Meha has worked as a Business Analyst in an elite IT firm and as a full time professor in management colleges. Having earned an MBA degree in Human Resource Management and an MA degree in read more...
Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views, individual posts do not necessarily represent the platform's views and opinions at all times.
Stay updated with our Weekly Newsletter or Daily Summary - or both!
UP Boards Topper Prachi Nigam was trolled on social media for her facial hair; our obsession with appearance is harsh on young minds.
Prachi Nigam’s photo has been doing the rounds on social media for the right reasons. Well, scratch that- I wish the above statement were true. This 15-year-old girl should ideally be revelling in her spectacular achievement of scoring a whopping 98.05% and topping her tenth-grade boards. But oddly enough, along with her marks, it’s something else that garners more attention – her facial hair.
While the trolls are driving themselves giddy by mocking this girl who hasn’t even completed her school yet, the ones who are taking her side are going one step ahead – they are sharing her photoshopped pictures, sans the facial hair, looking nothing less than a celebrity with captions saying – “Prachi Nigam, ten years later”.
Doctors have already diagnosed her with PCOD in their comments, based on photographic evidence. While we have names for people shamed for their weight – body shaming, for their skin colour- racism, for their age- age shaming, for being a female- sexism, this category of shaming where one faces criticism for their appearance has no name. With that, it also has zero shame attached to it.
Please enter your email address