Starting A New Business? 7 Key Points To Keep In Mind.
Intrusion: A Poem On Street Harassment. Hush! Here comes an intruder. Silently sliding through the sea of people. Only to stop in the middle of it. And right next to you. You look around at the ones sitting,
You see yourself standing in a crowded bus
With Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata playing in your earphones
You try to look outside the window
The vision is blurred by the winter mist
Perfectly sprayed on the glass
Those morning office phone calls
And a perfect meeting spot
Craving for a hot cup of coffee
And wanting to sing like never before
Here comes an intruder
Silently sliding through the sea of people
Only to stop in the middle of it,
And right next to you.
You look around at the ones sitting
Turning their phones on,
Looking at the time every other minute.
You could see the stress
And disappointment on those faces
When the bus got stuck in traffic.
A little acceleration and more breaks
And the intruder falls on you
He straightens himself up,
Grabs the handle,
Pretending that nothing happened!
You try to ignore it too
And take out your phone
To change the tune.
Now, the bus engine is turned off
So both the acceleration and breaks
Are put on a hold.
You feel something creeping on your back
Slowly sliding down to your ass
Your body goes numb
With just the thought
Of this little intrusion
Your mind starts bickering
About what’s real
And what just an illusion
Did what you just felt happened, really happened?
If it’s real, was his intention wrong?
Or was it just the traffic
Inside those four walls?
Before you could figure out
If this was the time when you shout
Or you lock your mouth with an
Unknown key and throw it somewhere
Where it’s never to be found;
The traffic outside those walls
Starts clearing up
And the vibrations from the engine
Pulls you out of your thoughts.
Your stop comes and you get off
With a crazy beating heart
And a banging in your head
Almost, like boring a hole
Over and over again
A hole in the memories
From just five minutes ago
You walk away
Feeling like the whole world
Knows exactly what happened.
And you feel
Every pair of eyes around you
Focused right on you.
When, really, they were just
A few blind puppets
Dancing in this world’s hall.
So much to say, but silent like a broken doll!
Image source: Still from #RukheDari Campaign| SpeakUp against Sexual Harassment by BRAC
[There are laws against street harassment, if readers found themselves or someone in a similar situation, read here for further guidance.]
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There are many mountains I need to climb just to be, just to live my life, just to have my say... because they are mountains you've built to oppress women.
Trigger Warning: This deals with various kinds of violence against women including rape, and may be triggering for survivors.
I haven’t climbed a literal mountain yet
Was busy with the metaphorical ones – born a woman
Fighting for the air that should have come free
And I am one of the privileged ones, I realize that
Yet, if I get passionate, just like you do
I will pay for it – with burden, shame, – and possibly a life to carry
So, my mountains are the laws you overturn
My mountains are the empty shelves where there should have been pills
When people picked my dadi to place her on the floor, the sheet on why she lay tore. The caretaker came to me and said, ‘Just because you touched her, one of the men carrying her lost his balance.’
The death of my grandmother shattered me. We shared a special bond – she made me feel like I was the best in the world, perfect in every respect.
Apart from losing a person who I loved, her death was also a rude awakening for me about the discrimination women face when it comes to performing the last rites of their loved ones.
On January 23 this year, I lost my 95 year old grandmother (dadi) Nirmala Devi to cardiac arrest. She was that one person who unabashedly praised me. The evening before her death she praised the tea I had made and said that I make better tea than my brother (my brother and I are always competing about who makes the best chai).
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