Being erratic

-
“Humare ghar pe logon ko baat karni chahiye, baat karna bahut important hai. Andar koi bhi cheez daba ke nahi rakhni chahiye!”
“She notices everything, doesn’t she?”

“I have a thing for noticing these stupid things, you know.”

“Ye bahut accha luck leke chal raha hai, iska sab achha hi hoga!”

These are few of the statements that are thrown in during everyday conversation at home. They strike me like glass. Patang ke maanjhe ki tarah. And I’m not sure how to react to these. Because these are said by the people I love, hold very close to my heart and can’t seem them hurting at any point of time. But at the same time I wonder. Where were these acute observational skills when Ram was shoving his dick inside me. Where was that noticing eye when I tried committing suicide, twice. Where was my luck when I could not escape Ram’s clutches?

“Why didn’t you ever tell us?”


Seriously? That’s your defence? That’s your answer to a person who has been subject to active sexual abuse for 8 years? And what have you done since the time you’ve been aware of this? You know for a fact, and say it without qualms in front of an audience, “arrey ye to bada shy hai, isko time lagta hai open up hone mein”. And yet you have never asked me how I’m doing, how I’m coping with it, whether I’ve coped with it? You preach to us and the world that families should talk, and yet you don’t address the abuse? And no, you can’t say that since I never brought it up again, so you assumed all is okay. NO. Not acceptable. Can you imagine my condition, the condition of a person who has not only been subject to abuse but attempted suicide twice? How much motivation and courage it took me (since that day) to get up, do my daily activities, with this thing constantly nagging me?  And sometimes continues to do so? And do my parents really think I’m fine? Why have they never asked me the right questions? Why have they never addressed the past with me. Talking to Didi about it is not the answer to these questions. I need to be talked to. The onus isn’t and shouldn’t be on me. I am not my parent. YOU ARE.


I can’t explain why these things come up the way they do. And when they do. And why. They just do. They came up when we were on our trip around the hills. I teared up on the way to the hotel. No one noticed then. They came up when we were in the hotel, sipping alcohol. I was incredibly quiet. No one noticed then too. I am not seeking attention, these are not deliberate or pre-meditated reactions. They happen. They just do. I am just very surprised as to how the incredible observational skills conveniently ignore these reactions. I guess, they just do.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Unlikely City

-
Image
There was a slight rustle in the palm tree across the garden abutting the lake and I noticed an old worn-out branch crashing on the manicured lawn below. The city lights reflected in the water and the moon shone bright in a starless sky. I could neither hear the water rippling slowly nor the cars driving by on the other side of the lake made any sound. Just tiny flickers of light following each other, as if in a school parade instructed by a rather stern-looking instructor. I stubbed my cigarette on the rusty balcony railing and waited for the smoke to vanish completely before heading back into the room to plant myself between two bodies and be alone again.   I often find myself alone with my thoughts. Sometimes, it seems like a pointless, melancholic and pretentious exercise of talking to myself. Sometimes, I want to write them down that very moment but often don’t for either lack of effort or resources. And sometimes, I go into long winding imaginations of the future, rather of m...
Read more

Love Spoils (II)

-
Such a weird creature, desire. A few weeks ago, I was narrating my experience of a date to a friend. Although things didn't work out eventually, the night itself was memorable. We had dinner, went on a drive, made out in his car and debated the logistics of having sex in that limited space. But we didn't. Especially because I wanted the date to go, for once, according to me. And anyway, I enjoy making out more than anything else. I can spend hours exploring a person's mouth, ruffling through their hair and touching their skin. And he was happy to oblige. Whenever I think of that night, I ask myself this question - What do I really miss? The person, or the experience? Are these two questions so exclusive anyway? However, the answer is always 'experience'. I do miss the excitement of getting ready, going out, taking the metro, stepping into a restaurant, to (preferably) see someone waiting, talking and then (hopefully) going for a walk or a drive. I miss the process. ...
Read more

Fascinating/Identifying (II)

-
I don’t want to dwell in the past. But sometimes, it flashes across my mind. That of being decked up. That of my sister saying that I don't need to be stuffed with oranges, I have a plump chest anyway. Of staring at my mother getting ready. Her jewellery. Her cheap, sticky, cakey foundation which she sometimes applied on me. Touching her sarees and feeling beautiful just looking at them. Of observing how my mother and sister emerged from a bath with one towel wrapped around their heads and another pulled upto above their breasts. I imitated that, and no one really said anything. Today, when I put on my sister’s or my girlfriends’ dresses and look in the mirror, I go wow. Who is she? Where was she? When my chest fits into those padded bras, I can’t help feeling gorgeous. When these clothes fit me perfectly, I don’t want to take them off. I want to walk, eat and sleep in them. But when I do take them off and my eyes travel down to my penis, there is a certain awkwardness. Why is it ...
Read more