Child Abuse

Cold were his hands

Hands that hit me.

I lay still, motion-less.

Lest he hurt again

Devil, I saw, felt.

Angst, I felt within.

Begin, when did it?

Unending, it seemed now!

Scamper away, he said.

Everyday, once he finished!

Submitted for Acrostic Only

Speaking Out - An acrostic

She looked at me
Perhaps to say something.
Eyes, hope within them?
Aspirations aplenty, lay crushed
Killed, dead, lost, shattered.
I wonder and shudder,
Now what to do?
Give her some space
Or return her faith?
Under the covers, hide?
Take the leap, instead!

Written for Acrostic Only

Plan of action and roadblocks!

Craziness alert!

There is something that I am hoping for. All my plans for the next year are dependant on that one thing! Now suddenly I am scared what if it doesn't happen like that? There are pros and cons to every situation and there is to this too but I fear I'll lose a lot if it doesn't happen. I almost used all my brains and calculated the probability of what I want happening. Result was inconclusive! Not bcas I am bad at maths but bcas too many variables!

It is like what I want is the intersection of 2 circles. Two really huge circles with a minute possibility of intersecting! The worse is that I have no control over things. I have been told to just plan my actions and the rest will follow. But when you want something bad, can you stop hoping and praying?
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Being me

I never say the things that I want to. It is always about whether it is the right thing to say. Am I being dishonest?I'm confused yet give good advice. Am I a hypocrite?

I don't know which risks to take and which to let go. Am I immature?

I love with all my heart and believe that everything is possible. Am I stupid?

Even if the answer to each of these questions is yes, even if I get hurt each time, I am me and there hardly anything that make me change it.

Having said that, if being me can be bettered in any way, I will! Suggestions welcome ;)

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Your best face on

Take a deep breath
Put your best face on.
Plaster a smile
and cover the deep sorrow.
Hide the confusion.
What is truly within you,
let them not see.

Wonder what it is,
that masks us all.
The deep-rooted fear
or the questions unsure.
Who is it that you don't trust?
The heart that loves
or the soul that cares?

Within you each reside,
the fear and the love.
Within you each reside
the happiness and sorrow.
Each one comes in spurts
when expected the least.
When I cannot assure,
Say this, I must though,
They will come indeed

I am not one of them

I was against domestic violence. Which self respecting woman wouldn't be ? I am not one of those who'll keep quiet. But after you see something in your house, your head starts to reason. It was a one-time thing. This was an exception. Fractured hands and bruised eyes become a daily affair but you think it is a phase. You fall from stairs often and bump into walls. You have more stitches than you remember and yet you laugh it off.

Deep inside you know there is something wrong. It is his work pressure making him do this. It is that boss of his that makes him angry. He is just taking out on me. It isn't as bad as those other women who get beaten up everyday for years together.

Until the day, you realise you are one of those who decided to keep quiet for years together.
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Random story

Do you know how difficult it is to tie your laces when your hand is in a sling? Let me tell you. VERY. Being the accident prone that I am, I had my hand in a sling yet again. While I was tying them, bent down. This random guy bumped into me and walked ahead. I looked up and realised it was the same guy who had asked me for a lighter for a smoke. After exchanging a smile and lighting his cigarette, I had left.

Now, he passed by me and mumbled a sorry. He hailed a cab and as it turned out, his destination was the same. What came over me, I would never know, I asked him if could car pool as I was going to the same place. He smiled and let me get in first.

The 5 minutes, total awkward silence. Then,

Boy : May I ask something?
Me: Go ahead.
Boy: You a United fan?
Me: Oh yeah. How did you know?
Boy: Rooney on your back. (referring to the Rooney keychain on my bag)
Me: Oh. Yes. Red Devil. You too?
(Thought in my head - Oh lord. Please please)
Boy: Can I guess what you are thinking?
Me (surprised but): Ok, sure. (shrug)
Boy: You are thinking. Oh God, please let him not be a scouser please please. He is too cute to be a scouser.
Me (laugh): You got everything except the cute part right.
Boy: Are you single?
Me: I rather not get personal.
Boy: Oh sorry. I don't know what came over me.

Awkward silence.

Boy: Oh you have a Blackberry?
Me: Yes.
Boy: I am really sorry about earlier. I mean it.
Me: Yeah. It is ok. Whatever.
Boy: No. I aint a scouser.
Me: Great.
Boy: Heard Rooney is back from injury.
Me: Yeah. He is going to be playing today.

... Loads of Jibber jabber about football and the darn Arsenal 5-0 win the previous night.

When we were almost reaching my place,
Boy: Hey, should we keep in touch?
Me: I am not sure.
Boy: Do you blog?
Me: Yes.
Boy: Will you blog about this?
Me: Maybe.
Boy: May I have the link?
Me: Bhaiya, yahin ruka do. (Stop the cab here.)

*Give the driver 100 rs and turn towards him*
Me: Thanks a lot. The drive would have been boring without your company. *wink*

(Thought in my head- This will make a good blog post)

Jhansi ki Raani!

Took this picture in the train on woman's day. I call her modern-day Jhansi ki rani. She moved when I took the pic so maybe you can't see the kid in the 'bag' at her back.

Today

I try to be strong and god knows I am pretty strong. But why o why am I feeling so weird today? Went to a cancer awareness thing today. It was awesome in a bad way. When I was there, I had tears in my eyes because for the first time, I knew what my mom went through. I knew how difficult it must have been for her. Yet I hear stories of how strong she was. I wonder what was going on in her head? Was she just putting on a brave front? Was she truly not scared? Not scared of death? Of leaving me behind? Did she know that she would be my guiding angel? Is that what I just say to make myself feel better? 

Guarding/Guiding angel. How weird that is. It almost sounds like a childish idea but somewhere deep in my heart I do believe it. A long time ago, I had decided that I would do something, something to make some kinda difference to this cause. What I knew not. I realised I had forgotten this resolve of mine. It is now time to do something about it. What I still don't know but I shall renew my efforts in this direction.

Time Travel

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 8; the eighth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

She walked on the beach she liked to believe was her own. Beautiful clean sand and deep clear water. She walked on the horizon where the waters silently kissed the sands. She walked thinking of days to come and the days gone by. Of all the people she had met, those who had made a difference in her life. Mostly she thought of him. It was 10 years she had heard his voice. The voice without which she could sleep, once upon a time. She wondered where he was now. Whether all the dreams they had shared had come true for him. Of all the worries they had spent nights thinking about and how the worst among them had come true. They truly had grown apart.


Suddenly, she saw something cold hit her foot. It was a bottle. There was something in it. A message in a bottle? She smiled. It was letter dated 12th April, 1916. The World War-I. Her curiosity grew. She sat down on the warm sand and opened it slowly. Afraid she would tear it. She read. It seemed like a leaf of a diary.





12th April, 1916

Dear Diary,

It has been a year since he left me. He seems like just yesterday he was hugging me. Holding me close and now it is all gone. The pain too is now dull. Never will it be gone completely but now my brain is clearer. I realise that he isn't coming back.


I wish I could speak to him just once more. Talk to him. Listen to his voice. Tell him what he meant to me. My beacon. My soul. I wish I could tell him how special he was to me. All I wanted was him to be happy wherever he was. I wish I could hold him once more. I wish I could feel his strong arms around me. Telling me everything would be alright. I wish I could see his deep intoxicating eyes once again.


Most of all, I wish he knew I was all his like I was no-one else's. I wish he knew I loved him and still do and probably always will be.


I wish he knew.






She stared at the letter long. For quite some time. Then she knew what she had to do. She put it back into the bottle and tossed it back into the ocean. And ran back home. She ran like there was no tomorrow. The sun was setting but in her heart, realisation had just dawned. She picked up her phone with shivering hands. And dialled his number. Just as she was about to dial the last digit. She remembered, she remembered all the nasty things said and all the hurt she had caused.

It was like a slide show of not the good times but the bad ones. In the life they shared together, the sadness was there for around 10% of the time but those were the only times she remembered. Suddenly, she left like the hourglass had turned and the time had gone back.

Should she dial or let things be? He probably was happy wherever he was. Even if he wasn't (she gulped at that thought) what right did she have to disrupt his life? With all these thoughts, she placed the phone back.

She smiled at herself. For that brief period that she ran from the beach to home, she felt she was alive. Like she was in love once again. Like she was alive. Like she had travelled time.

PS: Thanks Vipul for the "inspiration"

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

oh so random

I have been thinking who do i crib to about the really bad days i have been having. Somehow telling friends yr sob story every single day seems weird. And then voila i remembered I've a blog. Which is my space and i can do whatever. I need not apologise for what i write here and more so, if my friends want to know they can log on. So this marks the beginning of my ranting days.

I had this teacher in college. Psychology professor, we all were pretty scared of. She, while on the topic of stress, said that each aspect of our life that we deem important is a pillar that holds us high. When something is wrong with 1 pillar there are still other things to hold you up. Like you are having bad days at work but your family is supportive, they act as a buffer and work doesn't affect you that much and somehow you find strength to deal with it.
Lately, however, i feel like everything is crashing down. Like I was told i was making an issue of small things. But then maybe the person is right. I've to give this a serious thought but moment i think of it, i feel like my head will explode.

A friend of mine, once called me 'a reservoir' which is content independent and hasn't shown that it has reached maximum capacity. In a long blown way, what he meant to say was that I tend to listen to a lot of people and their problems. But the weird part is turning to
some1 when I need help. I tend to think they wont understand. And very frankly, very few of them do.

I think I'm going to make a list of things that i want to change, big and small. And then find effective ways to tackle it. That would be the sensible thing to do. Wish me, luck.

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What you mean to me?

Happiness dont impress me much
Its a nice place to be
Sadness is uncomfortable
It inspires.

Yet, now, I look
Everywhere, at everything
For something, for someone
to inspire me.

I lost it, when
I lost you.
My penchant for
anything fine.

I wrote when with you,
I fought
I wrote when with you
I made sweet love.

I wrote always for you
Now, without you, there is
No-one to fight, no-one to love
There is no inspiration.

The desperation,
The frustration,
The inspiration I craved,
Numbness has been paved.

Whatever prevailed
Whatever it was
It is no longer there
Just a void that you left.

Come back to fight
Come back in sight
Come back in my life
Come back, be my wife.

I loved you, I still do.
Selfish you were, still are.
I loved you, without a care.
You loved me, just as a muse.

Your penchant is lost
Took it with me, it seems
But it is that you miss.
Coz without it, you are in a fix.

Life is incomplete
without inspiration.
Is that all I mean
To thee?

Without me,
Your words lose meaning
With you,
My existance begins waning.

Come back to fight?
Come back in sight?
If just you had asked me to
Come back to love!

Ps: Just in case I have to explain this, the first part is the guy talking and the next part is spoken by the girl!

I hope no more explanation is needed! :)

Thoughts!

Somehow my hands didn't shake while I signed those papers but then why was I crying now? It felt like it was over. Final and for sure. I did what was best for him, I thought. I could never. I can't. I just can't take care of him.

So small. So fragile. I cared for him since the first day. How could I let him go? I just had to. Rational decisions are the toughest.

I sat on the chair and stared at the setting sun. And thought of the brief but oh so beautiful days that I spent with him. His first smile. The first time he opened his eyes. Memories and images of him flooded me. How do I get rid of them?

A text message telling me I have an email. That could be a distraction. I log on. This email has an attachment. A picture. Of him. With his adoptive parents. They looked nice. Rich too. He was smiling. Maybe he was happy. He was happy.

Oh wait, didn't I ask them not to send me any updates. Damn! There must have been some goof up. Do I correct them? But then, that would mean never seeing him ever again. I had already decided that I didn't want to be a part of his life anymore but seeing his face melted me. I never wanted to be out of his life.

Yes, keeping him with me was good for him. I have to find a way to be with him without wrecking his life.

No, I wouldn't stalk him!

Title-less!

He called me one day and said, " I am in town. Meet me at the same place. Please. I need to talk. I need to talk to you." I was shocked. We hadn't spoken in ages and in the 7 years that I had known him, I had never heard him like that. I immediately left my office. There was something in his voice that made me leave work immediately.

When I reached the cafe, I was shocked to him there. That handsome face, that tidy hair, that crooked smile. Nothing. Just an empty stare.

It was like he was waiting. Waiting for something to occur, something to happen. I saw him at the cafe. Disheveled hair, clothes ragged. His eyes held an empty look.

I went and sat next to him. He looked up. Still no smile, no spark in the eyes, no him.

"What happened? Are you ok?" I asked.

"She is dead," came his reply.

"What? Who?"

"Her. Yesterday. There," he spoke slowly, breathing heavily like each word weight heavily on his heart.

"What happened?"

He took a deep breath and then looked at me, with tears in his eyes. I couldn't believe it.

"Why did they? How could they? Why her?"

I tried to put things together in my head.

"She called me a month back. She said she wanted to get back together. It was tough. She was there and me here. We spoke about it. A lot. You know how I can be. I never took her seriously but I was happy." He gulped.

He continued, " Yesterday, I called her. She didn't pick up. She almost never picked up when I called. She didn't call back that entire day. I saw the news. Pune blasts. She was in Pune. Something within me shifted. I don't know why. I called and kept calling her."

I was dreading the worst. I knew what was to come but I hoped that wasn't it. I was hoping that there was some other end to this story. I just didn't want rationality to win.

"That blast in Pune killed her. I am just coming back from Pune. I had to see her one last time. "

What do I tell him? How do i console him? What do I say to make it better when nothing can make it better?

(Based very loosely on true events)

What if...

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 7; the seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Age 3 years , 9 months and 2 days: My first memory.

Baba came in drunk. Heard Aai and Baba fight. Baba hit Aai.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 5 years, 1 month and 7 days: My first beating.

Baba came in drunk. Heard Aai and Baba fight. Baba hit Aai and then came after me.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 7 years, 4 months and 3 days: My first abuse.

Uncle came home. He put his hand on my mouth and touched me. I bled.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 9 years, 5 months and 5 days: My first burn.

Baba came home to find me reading. He took his bidi and burnt me. I had to learn cooking.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 13 years, 2 months and 9 days: My first proposal

Aai got me all ready in a saree. I had to serve tea to a family. She told me I was to get married. I didn't know that meant.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 15 years, 5 months and 20 days: My first hope crushed.

I was married to a boy I had seen once before. Maybe this life would end. He came home drunk on our first night and beat me after having sex.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 15 years, 11 months and 28 days: My first abortion.

I was pregnant for 3 months where they tested that my baby was a kill. They had her killed.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 16 years, 10 months and 13 days: My first child.

I was pregnant again. This time with a boy. He lived. All the time I had with him was when I had to feed him. I wanted to be with him more.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 17 years, 11 months and 15 days: My first girl

I was pregnant again. No testing this time. They already had a boy. I gave birth to a girl. Her father never asked to see her.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 20 years, 7 months and 23 days: My girl's first memory.

He came home drunk. He hit me. She watched.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 22 years, 3 months and 1 day: My girl's first beating.

He came home. He hit me and then lashed for her.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 22 years, 3 months and 2 days: My first realisation.

My girl was living my life all over again.

I had to speak up now.

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