Her universe #StoriesFromTheTrunk

It must have been around 3 in the morning when Molly got home. She was again late from her work and her fifteen year old son had fallen asleep. She opened the refrigerator and took out a can of beer, she closed her eyes and sighed, silently. She looked at the beer can and thought to herself, had she failed as a mother?

   She took a sip and thought, had she been too selfish in filing for the divorce? She opened her eyes and found herself crying, she had always hated crying, pertaining to the stigma attached with it. ' Women have a shorter and a shallower tear duct than men ', she had read that somewhere, she reminded herself that she is still radical, it was the tear duct that was at fault. She was trying to comfort herself, was overthinking every bit, but what else could she have done? She had realised that she was falling apart, piece by piece. She knew that she could not deal with the guilt all by herself, but she was, all by herself. She had chosen this life and had she not been sorry for her son, she would have been content. According to her, this life with emotional outbreaks and guilt was much better than the life she had been living with her husband.

    Johnes was everything Molly was not and this was why they got together at first but once they were done discovering each other they could not bear each other. Their ideology, their philosophy for life was way too different. Their son, Peter had no idea about the differences but as he grew up he too thought that it was better for both of them to separate, although he was only fifteen years old, Molly had always thought that he had an old soul. A soul which has seen everything, understood everything and was in a fifteen year old's body just so that he could stand by her.

   Molly used to believe in the universe until her divorce, post divorce, she could not stop blaming herself, the only thing she did not want to give her son was, a life without a father but she could not do anything about it. She felt helpless and tired ; mentally tired. She could perform all the duties of a father but she could never replace the touch of a father.

   She knew Peter was understanding enough that his parents can't live together and that was what was eating her, she knew Peter wouldn't crib, she knew Peter wouldn't say a word for he understood her mother more than her she understood herself, but she also knew that that could be his parasite too. His own suppressed desires might start feeding on him one day, and what will she do then?

    She was so completely torn between her son's desires and her freedom, she could not deal with her own self anymore. She sat on the rocking chair and finished her can, she stared at the wall and cursed the universe until she fell asleep.

The Suffering #StoriesFromTheTrunk

The Day He Froze, Again.

It was 5 '0' clock in the morning. He got up and started thinking about the day that had passed. He closed his eyes hard and tried not to recall the moments. He was terrified, sweat dripping off his forehead, his eyes blood shot, his lips white and his cheeks scarlet with the realisation of the gravity of the situation.

 At 5 in the morning, this was all very surreal for him, he tried to get up from the bed, stretched his hand to reach for his specs which were kept on the metallic bedside table, next to the Father's day card his son had made for him. He couldn't recall keeping his specs on the table the night before. He figured his wife, Martha would have removed the specs while he was asleep, and kept it there. He hastened with it, took his legs out of the quilt slowly, trying not to wake Martha up. His legs had been cold even under his quilt.

   As he keeps his feet on the carmine carpet, he feels a relief. The carpet was warm and comforting. He takes a deep breath and tries to block the memories of the horrible incident of the previous day, he stands up, his hands hanging from his body like that of a dead person, his steps, firm, his head, steady, his eyes, blank and his pace, slow. 

   He walks to his son's room and keeps the palm of his hand on the bed and feels the quilt, he sits on the messy white table lying beside the bed and keeps his head on the pillow as if, trying to smell his son. He finds the bed empty and gets up from the table, slowly, moving away from the bed, the memories of all those fifteen years, coming back to him, bit by bit. He sits on the floor and presses his hand hard against his mouth, trying to sob without making a sound, taking in all that had happened.The lose of his ten year old son, who had died fifteen years ago in a car accident on the 6th of October 1998. For him, it was the 7th of October.

   He had been waking up at five in the morning, feeling like it's the 7th of October 1998 since fifteen years. He had not been able to forget and move on even after Martha's several attempts. Martha felt that she was luckier, she did not have to go through the pain, the agony, the suffering of losing a son, every morning, like her husband.  

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Us, women

 For how long can one fight on trivial issues? For how long can we fight with our loved ones for things like, going for a play at 7 ; Going for a guest lecture which ends post-sunset? Not for long. I can't. I can't stand silent treatments, so I am usually torn between following my heart and thinking about the restrictions. I have tried to reason with my family, extended family, cousins, second cousins and the only argument they come up with, is our security and by our I mean mine and other girls' who feel the same way, as if the whole world is after our life, the robbers are out of work for banks are all corrupt and the rapists are forever roaming around in Delhi. I mean, No. This world doesn't stop after sunset and so we shouldn't have to, either. 

On the face of it, people are so liberal, they don't restrict anymore, there is no restriction on what we eat, what we drink, what we wear, where we go, but actually, there is a glitch. There is no restriction on what we eat, what we drink, what we wear, where we go - Before sunset. Post sun set, there isn't much option. One could either, argue and continue with the schedule or one could suffocate oneself, let go off an opportunity to learn something and be the ‘lady’. I'd choose the former over the latter any day. Any day. But it's tiring, I have the ovaries to fight with the robbers and the rapists and the kidnappers, that's not tiring at all, what's tiring is the arguing-with-people-part. It takes a lot of our time and energy and again, our brothers don't have to drain themselves of all the energy because, well, let's not state the obvious here and waste more energy, and so when we’re arguing, we’re not always just gathering good reasons, we’re also controlling our jealous nerves and that makes the whole process slower and more difficult. 

We want to feel okay if our guy friend asks us to hop in his bike and go somewhere, honestly, how free are we if we have to do calculations before getting on a vehicle.

Most of the time, we don't give a fuck but sometimes, we can almost feel the stares seep through our body. It's humiliating, so one decides to not feel that way once in a while and be A-okay with doing what other people expect him/her to do- Not to get on a bike with the friend of an opposite gender, i.e . This problem is obviously not limited to any one gender.

I'm not sure if it's the culture that we are so deeply rooted in? Or is it just the fear of what the other 'cultured' person will say? I don't know. All I know, is that we want to use our energy in our work and not in justifying what we did. We want to be safe on the streets post-sunset (being alert all the time, thinking about all the previous groping incidents that have happened, is annoying, nobody wants to have the same alert expression throughout the day.) We don't want to think ten crore times before getting in a friend's car or bike, we want to be able to work to our potential and not be restricted by the society. And I think this could all be achieved if people just may be may be, stop judging others? We could probably build a lot better society.