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Neglected and bullied in childhood, and now being pressurised to get married as a grown woman, the pain of it all can become too much to take.
Why was I told I couldn’t participate in school shows, when my siblings were allowed?
Why was I told I couldn’t learn to play sports, when upon my siblings it was showered?
Why couldn’t I go out to learn guitar and piano and all my instruments were handed to my brother and sister?
Why was I told only to study and study, when my siblings were doing everything, wasn’t it a little too sinister?
Why must I suffer and suffer in silence, when all my siblings did was enjoy?
Do you know how much my mental health got affected and all you did was be coy?
When I was harassed by a doctor I was told to be silent, when a doctor simply raised his voice to my sister you got all violent…
I was told I could achieve nothing in life, and was scolded for my marks, during the time of my siblings’ boards there was nothing but silence.
Many of my friends have asked me if I was adopted? First, how does that even matter? And no, I resemble my parents a lot, I am just not their favourite!
For my mother loves my sister more, and father my brother, and I am searching for a person to handle me when I am weaker…
Oh if it were that easy I wouldn’t be blabbering like a child at 27, the broken pieces I am made of is breaking even further, that’s a fact rather written!
This continued for decades and now they want me to get married according to them? Neither accepting they did anything wrong nor repenting, but blaming me for I don’t know what but their phlegm?
Yearning for silence and peace I am going further towards the edge, even though they are silent as of now, even talk of marriage pushes me off the ledge –
For they don’t want me to be happy and that’s a fact, they don’t love me and that’s the truth, they don’t trust me is their norm, I don’t trust them anymore and I am firm!
The anger grows everyday as I stay in my house, the things I once loved are reminders of what I was,
The reminders trigger the worst of memories and I can’t take it anymore, I get more and more depressed and angry and get pushed along the shore.
The little support and love I got is taking me for granted, being good is a curse and so is love and being enchanted…
Unconditional love is simply a myth, though it’s true for many I know, at least they got some love from their parents, which I yearn for no longer any more!
‘Home’ is like a jail for me, so is the thought of getting married, yet no one seems to understand this and says I am the one getting carried away…
I don’t know for how long I can handle this, I hope I don’t die, I don’t know if I am “alive” or not, I cannot even properly lie –
I did everything I could, be everything I would, yet love and peace is far away, “if you succeed everyone shall love you” but what if failure is your only way?
Why am I not loved when I fail? Why was I not cherished even when I won? Why was I challenged by my parents to never succeed? What could I have possibly done to deserve this deed?
Why? Why? Why? Why?
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Often the test of courage is not to die but to live.. read more...
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Being a writer, Nivedita Louis recognises the struggles of a first-time woman writer and helps many articulate their voice with development, content edits as a publisher.
“I usually write during night”, says author Nivedita Louis during our conversation. Chuckling she continues,” It’s easier then to focus solely on writing. Nivedita Louis is a writer, with varied interests and one of the founders of Her Stories, a feminist publishing house, based in Chennai.
In a candid conversation she shared her journey from small-town Tamil Nadu to becoming a history buff, an award-winning author and now a publisher.
Nivedita was born and raised in a small town in Tamil Nadu. It was for schooling that she first arrived in Chennai. Then known as Madras, she recalls being awed by the city. Her love-story with the city, its people and thus began which continues till date. She credits her perseverance and passion to make a difference to her days as a vocational student among the elite sections of Madras.
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