…and the world was silent again

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 35; the thirty-fifth 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. The theme for the month is “…and the world was silent again”

 

She drew blood again with another venomous strike. Warm liquid touched her frozen bare feet. His scared eyes kept staring at her unforgiving ones. She bent to pick up the fallen shawl, now crimson stained & wrapped it around her shoulders. She realized she wasn’t afraid now; she stopped sobbing…and the world was silent again.

 

 

 

 

 

She’s a mother..a sister & a daughter.. Duhita and an Ardhaangini She’s Durga…She’s Kaali.. Love her, Fear her, Respect her She’s a woman!

 

 

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. Participation Count: 11

That Last Night

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 26; the 26th 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. The topic for this month is ‘That Last Night’.

She was running..as fast her legs could carry her….running in the wee hours of dawn. And then suddenly she was grabbed from behind. She let out a blood curdling scream, only to wake up drenched in sweat. She looked around, yes she was back in her cell. Wiping off the beads of sweat her mind took her back down the memory lane to that last night of the month of March.

She had always wanted to be a good wife, a caring daughter-in-law & a proud mother of her kids. At 19, when the henna patterns were being made on her hands, she created her own dreams-loving her new family unconditionally & dedicating herself to her husband. It had been just a week of their marriage. Only a few very close relatives were still around in the huge house. It was a joint family as was typical in this part of Afghanistan, with 2 of her brothers-in-law living under the same roof with their families. She was the youngest daughter-in-law & some said the prettiest.

The door creaked open at midnight. She knew it’d be her husband, returning after meeting his friends. The thoughts of their wedding night flashed across & she blushed at the memories. The bed creaked under his weight & suddenly the smell of alcohol filled the room. She got up from the bed & stared at the stranger-“Who are you?””What do you mean who am I? I paid good money to your husband for you…now where do you think you’re going…?!!

She shuddered & blocked out that half an hour of hell she’d experienced. All she remembered was running. Running away from home, away from her in-laws, to the town. She remembered reaching the police station, bruised, out of breath & trying to explain to the officer what happened in between sobs. She remembered being handcuffed… being accused of Zina, daring to run away from home. She remembered the court’s order-12 years in jail.

Now at 25, she sat staring at the walls surrounding her. That last night 6 years ago…may be she should have run towards the lake, she never learnt swimming after all.

Note: The ‘moral values’ expected of a woman seem to be the same everywhere. Although this post is based on a news article I read today about Afghanistan, such practices are prevalent in India as well. Raising awareness is the least I think I could do.

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.

When Journey Meant More Than Destination

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 25; the Silver 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. The topic for this month is ‘When Journey Meant More Than Destination’.

Mamma, are we there yet…?” his baby voice, muffled underneath
layers of warm clothing, scarves & cap to beat the winter chill
reached my ears & I smiled, “No sweetheart, there’s still time…
why don’t you sleep awhile?

No, look there’s a little puppy…he looks so lonely…
Mamma do you know where is his Mamma?
” he asked.
She must have gone to bring him food, his favourite
chocolates & ice cream too…
” I paused & smiled
at him & winked-“there’s some for you too..

As he happily munched on his many chocolate bars
and silence made its way back into the car,
I too welcomed back those memories of bygone
Like my first day to school in that very same car…
Those first few days of awkward and shy hi & hello’s
White polished shoes, ribbons & kneeling on cold stone corridors.
The sound of the school bell that caused both panic & much cheer,
Summer holidays, missing friends & the long wait for results..
The last journey from school to home in this car…

My eyes fell on the dashboard, at the picture of us both
The one where I looked like a nerd that I was & both,
smiling like only fools secretly in love do…
The college canteen was visible in the backdrop I noticed
Flashes of birthday treats of Idli’s & Dosa’s I could now see,
those long lab hours & the movies with you bunking classes
mime artists we all were once, dancers & actors anything but students
And I now wish I could back a decade & may be meet you again
the catch being we repeat the journey & it doesn’t ever end.

I looked back & was in time to catch him smiling in his sleep,
Perhaps he was dreaming of his favourite super-hero, I wish I knew…
Another hour before the journey ends, another hour from a big lonely home
Like a wanderer in a desert I’d wished to reach the oasis & each time
the mirage shimmered & mocked at my foolhardiness as it disappeared
and I was left alone wondering if I took the wrong turn en route?
Maybe I should have not chased the rainbow too far and just
enjoyed walking in the rain, holding on tightly to your warm hand
the very hand that today has signed the fate of my lonely journey…
Did you even remember that pen was a gift from me?

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.