February 28, 2012


No, this is not the Dark Side.

This is the forgotten side of me that I used to call-Politically Incorrect.

When I started blogging, I had no idea about the "blogosphere" but I wanted to write. I preferred calling it Wonderings of a Wandering Mind. There was anger, frustration and an opinion. I was naive but believed that my opinion matters because I am the youth.

Very Political. Very Correct. Yet Politically Incorrect.

I feel the same today. 3 years ago I wrote a piece on Article-377, about legalizing gay sex in India. I thought people are opening up. The point of view is broadening.

Till, I read a piece yesterday.

I have nothing against the author. Trust me, absolutely nothing. I laud his writing skills and brilliance to express himself.

I just don't agree with him and instead of commenting on it, I wish to retaliate like this.

My older blog is not registered on any forum so I am putting the link of the post here. I apologize for the title of the post if it offends anyone but it was a catchy song then that made sense for the post.

Read on.

February 14, 2012

Let Me Go

I heard a doctor screech when they first looked at me and one of the nurses fainted.

Do I look that dreadful?

A doctor is trying to clear my eyes. There are bite wounds inside my eyes. I have plasters on all limbs. My cheeks are swollen and there are injuries all over my face. Clearing my wounds must have been a daunting task.

I like the nurses here. They are kind. The older ones say that they have never seen a case like mine before.

Everybody is trying desperately to save me. There are machines all over me. There is a team of doctors and nurses working round the clock just for me.
And then there are some who just want to take my photos!

I have survived, but I can’t be saved.
After all, I am all but, 2 years old.

My mother always thought I was pretty, even when I wasn’t born. Oh! Mothers, silly! I don’t know her name, but the little I saw of her, I can say, my mother was pretty. Definitely emaciated, but she had dignity. It was her dignity for which she fought and decided not to abort me.

I know scientists won’t believe me, but I could hear and feel in my mother’s womb. I could hear the screams, sense the fear and feel the blows. But I could never fathom why she was blamed for my existence. Even before I was born, I had my haters. My mother bore the trauma for 2 years and it’s only when she was unconsciousness that they could take me away from her.

I know the bites in my eyes are not from an insect. But I would like believe it was an insect, or many.

I am not scared. I don’t feel the pain anymore.

The pain was over when they separated me from my mother. The pain was over when they hit me, ignored my cries and broke my bones. The pain was over when they dumped me in trash to be eaten alive by insects.

The pain is long gone. These are just the scars.

I heard someone say that everyone comes to this world for a purpose. They wondered why I came. And why did I survive? May be I survived this long just for a simple message.

My story is told. My pain is felt. I think now, my message is delivered.

They have named me. But it’s pointless to tell you. You won’t remember.

You have forgotten the basic truths of life. I am the creator. I am the best friend and the most loyal fan. I am the embodiment of love, dignity and poise. I am the woman.

And you are not ready for me.

Let me go.

* Inspired from a piece from Purba Ray and instigated from the recent events of the "battered baby" case. I don't wish to name her. You won't remember.

Photo Courtesy- HD Wallpapers app for iPhone