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A dirge by a mother, who has just lost her child to the erasing blackness of death. She was a mother. But she's nameless, now. A mother, no more.
A dirge by a mother, who has just lost her child to the erasing blackness of death. She was a mother. But she’s nameless, now. A mother, no more.
Milk of sorrow, drunk, As dawn begins- though it does not seem, For the majestic sun- bowed, And Heaven’s tears danced, many at a time, And a bleak cloud crossed the majestic hills!
A mask of death put, Over tragedy, for, What is greater sorrow than parting…
The mirror is draped, The ocean, at its large is still, And the trees, and the wind, Are hushed…
~~~
Sorrow sunken in eyes, And shoulders slumped, bearing The weight of Death’s hands…
Throngs of white, they surround you, Sitting- wondering- weeping, Sitting, and wondering and weeping. Why you had reached for Heaven, In the prime of your youth! In this time of joyful bliss and haven!
‘Why?’ she whispers into your ears, Strands of grey in a messy bun, Brown shawl over a red sari, Her tears falling on your Pale cheek- sliding and resting.
‘Why?’ she asks, looking through The black RayBans that shield Your windows from the rest of the world! You do not answer, and Her face wrinkles, sorrow writ all over!
And then, she lays on you, Clutching your white shirt, She searches for that familiar ‘dub- hub- dub’, And, she remembers that It is gone, like the destiny of everyone else!
And, down memory lane, she walks, And there you are!
The tiny little boy- against her bosom, Resting- Resting, Your tiny fist clutching her tangles, Resting peacefully…
There you are!
A scared youth, in her arms, In her arms, seeking and taking comfort!
And, there you are,
Waving to her, in the early morn, To work, and as she waves To you, she realizes that you are Slipping through her fingers, Slipping through her fingers…
And she wakes, in the dawn of The present day- against your white shirt! She loosens her grip on you, And though she knows not, why You reached for heaven, Does she know that ‘twas Your will, and your will was obeyed!
She kisses you, gentle and caring, And she is reminded that With your parting, you are nameless forevermore, And she is too, For she was a mother, and is nevermore!
For she was a mother, and is nevermore!
If you or anyone you know is feeling suicidal, here are some of the helplines available in India. Please call.
Aasra, Mumbai: 022-27546669
Sneha, Chennai: 044-2464 0050
Lifeline, Kolkata: 033-2474 4704
Sahai, Bangalore: 080–25497777
Roshni, Hyderabad: 040-66202000, 040-66202001
A version of this was first published here.
Image source: shutterstock
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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.
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