Thunderstorm
I left the sack empty.
“You can cry. But don’t let the sound come off,” dad said.
The pre-schooler stared back at him bewildered. She felt helpless. She sat on the floor at the corner of her
room with trembling hands, frightened to look around.
Her heart was crying. But nobody heard it. Not even her.
Gradually, she forgot to look inside her
And kept the door shut.
But it was a two way door. You must know what that means.
I left the sack empty. I knew that I had to collect water droplets.
“Don’t respond, the world is dangerous,” dad told her, the then teenager
when a co-passenger nudged her thrice during the bus ride. She looked around to see the glistening eyes of deadly creatures ready to rip her
apart. She felt tiny.
Teeny tiny.
With burning rage, she looked outside to see those things that she was
supposed to see. She was instructed to be grateful. Not resentful. She empathised with the kids with shabby clothes, the thatched huts and kadukuvala. But
the two golden bangles had already started to suffocate her.
‘They could play, scream, laugh or cry,’ it stayed there for longer than
she expected.
I left the sack empty. I knew that I had to collect water droplets. But instead I collected stones.
“Obey your husband. Never question him,” dad told her on the day of the wedding. She was hurt. She was beaten. She felt lonely. But she didn’t
want to break her promise until she realized that she was ill-treating herself. She was criticized for her actions, words and gestures. She was not allowed to have opinions. She was not allowed to have likes and dislikes. She was not allowed to have choices.
I left the sack empty. I knew that I had to collect water droplets. But instead I collected stones. It showered.
‘I am a human being,” she once told her husband. It was totally unexpected. Frightened, he stared at her.
I left the sack empty. I knew that I had to collect water droplets. But instead I collected stones. It showered. The stones hurt him.
“Rain rain go away,” the husband screamed in rage.