A diary entry:
December 24, 1999 ; 00h10
Dear diary
First of all, I wish you a wonderful Christmas and happy 20th to me. Second, I am sorry for reaching you 10 minutes late . There is nothing extraordinary and exciting to share at present, but just that I am looking forward to lighting my favorite candle at church this morning. You know, it is really a gorgeous one. A scintillating blue colored candle. With each of its purest melting wax would my deepest prayers be heard, I believe, because this time I have to request for a couple of real SERIOUS things from the lord. They say that prayers should not be shared with anyone , but your lord. Dear diary, you are closest to me. My best friend ever since I found myself caught in the desperation to show my bare self to. Except you, otherwise, who else would have ever known what sort of beauty do my eyes long for and what does my heart whisper?
Darling, I will tell you something today. Something that I could not erase the memories of, and whenever it hovers my head, a gush of shame and guilt and pain runs down my veins. My skin spills out a sweat of discomfort and embarrassment. My whole body aches with anger and disgust.
I do not remember my exact age, I was that young, when he touched me inappropriately for the first time . I was not sure if that was right, but that was certainly not a familiar touch. Not until I got used to it with his every advent at my house.
Raman has always been close to my family. In fact, my father trusted him so much that he chose to pull Raman out of the village and educate him in the city we live in. My uncle could have never afforded it, otherwise. That was long before I was born. I am 20 years younger than Raman. 20 years! The day Raman was selected in the Army, I remember my mother offering sweets to the poor children who came to pick edibles from the dumps down the street. My father, on the other hand, was proud to see his efforts paying off.
"My sweet little, Anna, come here. Sit on my lap, my doll", that used to be Raman's greeting statement for me. While my mother engaged herself preparing cuisines for him, he'd stealthily run his fingers through my hair, my body,.. under my dress. And as soon as my mother arrived, he'd be a different man. Someone totally different than a second ago. His jovial attitude never really flickered a hint to others, not even the slightest, of the evil inside of him.
I was succumbed to my ignorance. He'd often find a place to take me to, where no one else could hear me cry, just in case his grip slipped off my mouth. My heart bled. Every time. Every time he fooled my family to secretly take me away at an abandoned place, I'd sob to take a glimpse of my father, and brother because Raman taught me the value of blood relation, Love and family. That one good thing he did, yes.
"Here goes my girl. We are almost done. Today, I'd get you a chocolate , my obedient doll", he'd whisper to me every time before heaving the final sigh.
I would not define it as a "moment". Moments are ought to be beautiful.
Every time I got back home after that, I remember taking shower for long, longer than usual and harsher than ever before. I'd scrub my skin just too hard until I end up hurting myself. I'd wash my hair vigorously to get rid off the minutest of his details. But, unfortunately nothing worked never. That feeling of disgust never could subside. His presence always lingered beneath my skin. It was never easy to swallow it all down, but I did. I do not know how, but I did.
There were days when I tried sharing it with my mother but, perhaps, she could not understand or perhaps, I was unclear. Every time Raman visited home, it used to be for 2 days at least. And every time he did, I'd try to spend most of my time at school and with homeworks, making sure that my father or brother were around. One thing that I could not find an escape from was to show him respect in public. After all, he was my cousin.
My childhood rooted a strong intuition in me about manhood, feminism, sexuality and so much more that my growing up has been quite assertive and rational. Men and women are not an object to me. Neither are they subjective. There is a superlative degree of spirituality involved somewhere in between two bodies, I am sure of that. And that can never be defined by dominance. I now know who and what I am looking for. One's individuality should be denominated by generosity first, respect second and love third. Rest all follows.
It's been a while since I confronted Raman. My dear, this is one of the things that I'd be asking the almighty for- to bestow me with enough courage that I do not need someone else to help me get off the hook. I want enough strength to just shove all my anger at Raman, all at once, so hard that the child that still weeps and yearns for justice within sometimes could find a solace. I promise to protect her, wrap her dearly in arms this time, close to my heart, forever. I promise
See you, love.
.................
January 4, 2004
Raman is now married and blessed with a girl child.
"Anna! Come here. Look who's here?", mother called her from the living room. While Anna was busy writing her thesis for the seminar next day at college, she guessed it to be her best friend Freddy.
"Nah! He'd have informally hopped inside the room uninvited, anyway. So, who else could it be?"
As she steps outside her room, she saw a child crawling towards her. A really pretty one. She lifts her up, admires and plays for a while. Right then a manly voice calls her out from behind, "Anna! My lovely doll !! "
A sudden gush of anguish and discomfort grew inside her. That familiar old feeling shook her once again. Anna, before turning back to Raman, threw a glance at his daughter. She was incredibly
beautiful and as delicate as a flower petal. Anna held her a bit more closer to her chest.
Chastity does not dignify a being, it merely classifies between the Love and the Loveless
It was the last time Raman ever showed up.
What languished her voice back then gave her enormous courage to speak up today. But the scars of childhood remained
December 24, 1999 ; 00h10
Dear diary
First of all, I wish you a wonderful Christmas and happy 20th to me. Second, I am sorry for reaching you 10 minutes late . There is nothing extraordinary and exciting to share at present, but just that I am looking forward to lighting my favorite candle at church this morning. You know, it is really a gorgeous one. A scintillating blue colored candle. With each of its purest melting wax would my deepest prayers be heard, I believe, because this time I have to request for a couple of real SERIOUS things from the lord. They say that prayers should not be shared with anyone , but your lord. Dear diary, you are closest to me. My best friend ever since I found myself caught in the desperation to show my bare self to. Except you, otherwise, who else would have ever known what sort of beauty do my eyes long for and what does my heart whisper?
Darling, I will tell you something today. Something that I could not erase the memories of, and whenever it hovers my head, a gush of shame and guilt and pain runs down my veins. My skin spills out a sweat of discomfort and embarrassment. My whole body aches with anger and disgust.
I do not remember my exact age, I was that young, when he touched me inappropriately for the first time . I was not sure if that was right, but that was certainly not a familiar touch. Not until I got used to it with his every advent at my house.
Raman has always been close to my family. In fact, my father trusted him so much that he chose to pull Raman out of the village and educate him in the city we live in. My uncle could have never afforded it, otherwise. That was long before I was born. I am 20 years younger than Raman. 20 years! The day Raman was selected in the Army, I remember my mother offering sweets to the poor children who came to pick edibles from the dumps down the street. My father, on the other hand, was proud to see his efforts paying off.
"My sweet little, Anna, come here. Sit on my lap, my doll", that used to be Raman's greeting statement for me. While my mother engaged herself preparing cuisines for him, he'd stealthily run his fingers through my hair, my body,.. under my dress. And as soon as my mother arrived, he'd be a different man. Someone totally different than a second ago. His jovial attitude never really flickered a hint to others, not even the slightest, of the evil inside of him.
I was succumbed to my ignorance. He'd often find a place to take me to, where no one else could hear me cry, just in case his grip slipped off my mouth. My heart bled. Every time. Every time he fooled my family to secretly take me away at an abandoned place, I'd sob to take a glimpse of my father, and brother because Raman taught me the value of blood relation, Love and family. That one good thing he did, yes.
"Here goes my girl. We are almost done. Today, I'd get you a chocolate , my obedient doll", he'd whisper to me every time before heaving the final sigh.
I would not define it as a "moment". Moments are ought to be beautiful.
Every time I got back home after that, I remember taking shower for long, longer than usual and harsher than ever before. I'd scrub my skin just too hard until I end up hurting myself. I'd wash my hair vigorously to get rid off the minutest of his details. But, unfortunately nothing worked never. That feeling of disgust never could subside. His presence always lingered beneath my skin. It was never easy to swallow it all down, but I did. I do not know how, but I did.
There were days when I tried sharing it with my mother but, perhaps, she could not understand or perhaps, I was unclear. Every time Raman visited home, it used to be for 2 days at least. And every time he did, I'd try to spend most of my time at school and with homeworks, making sure that my father or brother were around. One thing that I could not find an escape from was to show him respect in public. After all, he was my cousin.
My childhood rooted a strong intuition in me about manhood, feminism, sexuality and so much more that my growing up has been quite assertive and rational. Men and women are not an object to me. Neither are they subjective. There is a superlative degree of spirituality involved somewhere in between two bodies, I am sure of that. And that can never be defined by dominance. I now know who and what I am looking for. One's individuality should be denominated by generosity first, respect second and love third. Rest all follows.
It's been a while since I confronted Raman. My dear, this is one of the things that I'd be asking the almighty for- to bestow me with enough courage that I do not need someone else to help me get off the hook. I want enough strength to just shove all my anger at Raman, all at once, so hard that the child that still weeps and yearns for justice within sometimes could find a solace. I promise to protect her, wrap her dearly in arms this time, close to my heart, forever. I promise
See you, love.
.................
January 4, 2004
Raman is now married and blessed with a girl child.
"Anna! Come here. Look who's here?", mother called her from the living room. While Anna was busy writing her thesis for the seminar next day at college, she guessed it to be her best friend Freddy.
"Nah! He'd have informally hopped inside the room uninvited, anyway. So, who else could it be?"
As she steps outside her room, she saw a child crawling towards her. A really pretty one. She lifts her up, admires and plays for a while. Right then a manly voice calls her out from behind, "Anna! My lovely doll !! "
A sudden gush of anguish and discomfort grew inside her. That familiar old feeling shook her once again. Anna, before turning back to Raman, threw a glance at his daughter. She was incredibly beautiful and as delicate as a flower petal. Anna held her a bit more closer to her chest.
Chastity does not dignify a being, it merely classifies between the Love and the Loveless
It was the last time Raman ever showed up.
What languished her voice back then gave her enormous courage to speak up today. But the scars of childhood remained
You just epitomised some hidden unsaid words that will sob at its crust and will never come out...
ReplyDeleteHope such evil spirits never exist in reality...