Posts Tagged ‘guest’

Guwahati. A woman molested. Twenty molestors. A mob. Rescuers beaten up. Forty men responsible for the cigarette burns on her skin.

Gujarat. A girl. A neighbour. Neighbour’s friend. A rape. Rape recorded. Video uploaded on the ‘net.
Rajasthan. Two girls abandoned on the railway tracks. Infants. One has died.

Guwahati, again. A girl. Army men. Protectors. A molestation.

Four days of such news. Four days, ninety-six hours and over five thousand-sixty minutes of ongoing frustrations. Depression. Questions. More questions. No answers. No solutions…

A gas chamber.

But, then, as girls we are used to it. Used to bearing a shame that is not ours. Used to bearing a burden that is ours by birth. Used to speechlessness that is a far cry from awe or anything good. We, as girls, are only molded to tolerate, to swallow back hot tears, to eat away the words that yell our frustrations.

And we keep quiet.
We keep quiet when those guys on roads, in metros, in buses -in family as well- give us those lewd looks. Looks which reduce us to mere Objects.
Is your mother an OBJECT?! No?! Oh, but she is a woman!

So am I.
I am the woman who is a friend, a lover, a wife and a mother. Sometimes all of these together. I am the woman who is the “Ardhangini” of every God you worship. I am the woman who would carry further the seeds of your bloodline…

This is how you treat me.
This is how you look at me, reducing me to a ragdoll.
This is how you talk of me, defame me and shatter my sanity.
This is how you touch me and singe my very soul with filth, filth of your dirty sexlessness.
Aren’t you ashamed already?

Today, its not a girl in news… Its a boy. A boy raped by his warden. The warden who snatched away that little boy’s innocense- the very beauty that boy has a right to.

The question, therefore, is not, “Why girls?”. No, the question isn’t that anymore.

The question is simple enough– WHY?!
While you ponder over that, I’d like to take you to the day i began with my menstruation- yes i talk like this. So, my parents sat me down and explained the changes puberty shall bestow upon my body, hormone play et cetera. As a part of this, my father explained the reasons why and how a man would want my body. Then he said, “A male who makes you uncomfortable knowingly, is not man enough. You do not need to respect him if he is elder, you should not tolerate if he is your age. Never compromise on your limits or your body. Never forgive those who taint you with action or intent. And never think that I would not believe you.”

Stephen Hawkings said, “Those who are silent, have the loudest minds.”
Someday, the scales would either be evened or wiped out for good. The change is upon us. It’ll be through us.


She Danced

Posted: July 15, 2012 by sakshikumarindia in Poems
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Guest post by Prateek Garg:

Kaafi puraani baat hai.
Ghaati mein saalon ke baad baraf giri thee.
Aur jab sab apne gharon ke andar
mandd choolhe per haath sek rahe they,
woh baahar nikalti hai.

Woh baahar nikalti hai,
baraf se dhakee ghaati ko nihaarne.
Barfaani thand ka ek jhonka
uske gaalon per jaise hee padtaa hai.
Woh naachti hai.

Woh naachti hai, jaise koi kal na ho.
Woh naachti hai, jaise iskey baad koi jashn hee na ho.
Woh naachti hai, jaise aaj woh azaad thee.
Woh naachti hai, jaise yeh baraf uski daas thee.
Woh naachti hai, zindagi ki taal pe.
Woh naachti hai, vaadi ki saaz pe. 
Woh naachti hai.

Uss din
aakhri baar usey dekha gaya thaa.
Kisi ne kaha, bhaag gayi hogi marjaani.
Toh kisi ne kaha, maar diya hoga usko.
Kahaan gayab ho gayi
kisi ko nahin pata thaa.
Aur saath hee uske gayab ho gayi
ghaati se woh baraf.

Uss din ke baad aaj tak,
ghaati mein kabhie baraf nahin giri.
Uss saal ki baraf bhi paani ban chuki thee.
Ja mili woh ek gehre samundar mein.

Aaj bhi jab baadal chhate hain.
Aaj bhi jab aasmaan shor machaata hai.
Aaj bhi jab ghaati apni beti ko yaad karti hai
Woh naachti hai.
Gehre samundar ke beech
leher bankar,
woh naachti hai. 
Woh naachti hai.