Friday, 29 March 2013

That place called Peace



The forceps-bearer crushed my son’s brain’s nerves when he came into this world and it paralyzed my dream of motherhood. 

We tried teaching him the ABCD and 1234 in vain, so we sent him to a place for different ones like him; but it worsened his condition. 

He understands his traumas and blames me for sending him away, away from the warmth of a mother’s bosom. 

He wants to marry and have a family like his siblings do, but time won’t heal the face of reality – the brain damage he suffered 27 years ago. 

I can hear his words that lay buried deep down in a frustrated heart that has only suffered all along and all I can do is pray for his life to be shorter than mine so that I can see his peace before I see mine.

Tuesday, 26 March 2013

The duty of imagination



My mother protects me from everything that is the world, because I became what I am due to her pre-delivery fever. 

But I have friends whom I play with and talk to, they really exist – somewhere in my head and they even tell me about their families. 

Tutors came home to teach me after I left school, but I didn’t understand them; my fingers are stiff and I cannot do anything on my own now. 

I have a ‘parivaar’ – my husband is a doctor and I have 2 pretty daughters who are just like me – they really are there, in my head. 

My dreams are beyond this lifetime, they are more than what you can imagine – they are etched in my head, in my dreamland.

Thursday, 21 March 2013

Betrayed Humanity


He didn't give his 10th grade exams because a little before that a group of rogue boys assaulted him in ways that will always be a mystery. 

He succumbed to the mental trauma and the doctors spelled him as ‘a case of severe retardation’. 

His father died of the shock and left his mother to fend for herself and their special son. 

He echoes the names of his assaulters, undergoes shock treatments and has lost the will to live. 

He is not God’s gift like most other special ones, but a blemished residue of profanely betrayed humanity.

Monday, 18 March 2013

Count your blessings



I am my father’s princess and my mother’s angel, one of the very few special ones who has gotten her due in society. 

But I have suffered for way too long for I am a stubborn kind. 

I will scratch my skin till it scrapes, pull at my earlobes till they tear open, bleed and hurt myself in ways unimaginable only so that I can get all your attention. 

And once I have it, you will be mesmerized by me – ‘cute’ ‘doll’ ‘cuddly’- you will call me all this and more. 

My smile reflects the vibrancy of a rainbow and with each passing day the palette only grows to be more colourful – I am the one in your blessings, I am special!

Friday, 15 March 2013

Blood brothers


I can’t style my hair the way he does nor ride the bike like him neither can I get a kiss from my dad like he does. 

But mom loves my dishevelled hair, abrasive walk and toothless smile because we both are hers alike. 

He gets angry and throws things at me and says words like ‘mad’ ‘mental’ ‘curse’, none of which I understand. 

Mom cries a lot, but don’t worry mom, one day when he scratches me he will also get some Dettol to dab my wound like I kiss his forehead when he is deep asleep. 

I love my small brother in ways that are different than how other boys love their small brothers; it is love nevertheless.


Saturday, 9 March 2013

Words are all I want


She sings her 6 month old niece a silent lullaby, snapping her fingers waiting for the words to come out; but they won’t. 

They never did in all these years. 

Her family thinks she can do nothing and she has come to believe this because although she sits doing nothing, deep in her head she understands what they say. 

But now she goes to school and gets a salary and she wants to buy shoes, clothes, cars and the moon; she does – her niece knows. 

She tells this to her infant companion in the hope that one day words might just spurt out of her mouth by mistake, until then the finger snapping lullaby continues.


Wednesday, 6 March 2013

Tin Soldier



Physically crippled and mentally just a little weak – that’s how his parents describe him every time they go looking for a job for him. 

But these words are enough to elicit a response filled with flak and rejection for the boy on crutches. 

He now goes to a school, where he has been told that he is employed and this little lie has made the world of a difference to him. 

He now earns and has learned to believe in himself and his dreams. 

He also believes in the miracle that one day he will let go off the crutches and run past all those who held him back, held back the tin soldier.

Monday, 4 March 2013

Pain but no agony


I stumbled into a proposal of treachery and lies and they got me married to the special man, as you call him. 

My heart winced at the debauchery, but when I saw him I knew he had to be taken care of. 

Life partner, romance, marriage – all these are alien to him; he is no more than a small boy in the mind. 

So here I am, mothering my special husband in ways that the world will never know, whilst my rightful role of a wife takes a backseat. 

He isn't my prince charming on a white horse who will fill my world with the sun, moon and the stars; but I continue to serve him as God's blessing, for I believe he is my frog prince.