The Prisoner

I silently stood behind 50 odd boys in the line. One thing that this place makes you habitual of, is standing in lines. There are lines for everything - to eat, to use the bathroom, to take a shower, for a chance in the playground etc. Sometimes there is a line to get to the main line too. They say it imparts discipline - a trait lacking dearly in all of us, punctuated by the very fact, that we are here. The warden tells us that in the most distinguished  boarding schools too there are lines for all these things. Even the army operates in the same way, he adds. But I  simply think it's because it's an insanely overcrowded place. Mostly the bigger and the stronger boys get their way every time.  They will probably justify that by saying it's the valuable life lesson where the mighty would always win. I will remember it, once I am free.

This is the New Delhi Juvenile Correctional Facility. Today is the day of my release  and I am in the line to collect my clothes and belongings. All that stands in the way of my freedom are a few people ahead of me, also awaiting release, and, some papers to sign.

Yes, sign. I can do that now.

I have spent the last 3 years in isolation. They kept me separate on the pretext that me getting attacked and killed by fellow inmates was a very real possibility. Honestly, I don't believe it. Even if it was true, it still beats the purpose. This is not a prison. It's a Correctional Facility designed, by definition, more  for rehabilitation than penalization.  How do they expect me to rehabilitate outside if they won't even let me blend with the other convicts? Even though I wasn't sentenced to it, I got Solitary Confinement.

But I don't think too much about it. I have tried to make the best of this time. I learnt to read and write. I revived my hobby of painting, the loss of which, came as a collateral damage with the move to the city. One of my paintings recently won an award too. Of course, I couldn't go to receive it, but I will get it once I am free.

I am fifth in the line now. Closer to freedom.

My counselor tells me that I have no trace of anger in me and that's a good sign before release. Actually, I have never had any anger. I  was always more amazed being the subject of universal hatred.  I was caught, tried and sentenced promptly. I never denied my crime. Everything went by the book. Still, there were strangers on the roads asking for my head. I became the poster boy for the media with the veiled face. People who had never met me or known me wanted an exemplary punishment, for me, even more severe than death.  How did I become a bigger criminal than the ones accused for matricide or patricide or child molestation? Or even the same crime that I did.

However,  nothing changes the fact that I committed a heinous crime. I destroyed a young woman's life that night. An act, so repulsive and irrevocable, that others  got death sentences. I did unspeakable and unimaginable things to her. The fine details, like I was accompanied by 5 adults whom I had known since childhood or that I had to be a drunk to fit in with all the adults or that they provoked me, are meaningless. Intricacies hold no value for my demonic act.  I realize it more than anyone else but nobody would ever believe so.

That's the last of the papers that I had to sign. I have seen this walk way , from the office to the main gate, everyday through my small window. It didn't seem so long.

I was never scared of coming to this place because deep down I knew I deserved it. Being surrounded by dangerous convicts wasn't intimidating because captivity is a big equalizer. But I am frightened of freedom now. As I walk through this final passage, I know there's a world outside that hasn't forgiven me. It might have forgotten me but the society doesn't believe in rehabilitating criminals. And as anonymous  as I might be, she  would always know me. I might be one among thousands but I am the one for her. And I shall always remember it.

I am the prisoner of my destiny. I am the prisoner of the society. And I shall accept my fate.

But there has to be a reason why they don't send 17 year old teens like me to jails. They must believe we still hold some hope for future. I think so too. I want to start afresh. I have always been a captive - of poverty, of illiteracy, of responsibilities - but now I want to be relieved in all aspects.

I am outside. I am free.

With my hands spread, as I take a deep breath, the earth's scent smells different than it was inside. This is how salvation must feel like.

I feel as if I am reborn.

..............................................................................................................................................................................................................

I was shot thrice. Once between my eyes, once in my throat and the last one in my chest.

As I collapsed in the arms of the guard I saw her in my fainting vision.

She shot me. 3 in 3. She must have practiced all this while.

She had been a prisoner of destiny too.

Now, we both were free.

My rehabilitation was complete.

* Suggested reading and inspiration to this post - Washington Post article on December 16th Juvenile Rape Convict

* My earlier work on a related topic - Faces

**Image Courtesy - blog.cleveland.com

A Dream Lost

(1)

I recently lost a dream. It's strange to lose something that's psychical in origin,  evanescent in existence and meta-physical in interpretation. I was taught that having, preserving and relishing a dream is the way to success. So I dreamt, big. I was made to believe that dreams don't come true without working hard, so I did. They said patience is the key. So I persevered.

My dream to me was the liberation of the spirit from the natural pressures; A buoyant force that freed my soul from the shackles of the matter.

And then, I lost it.

(2)

I lost something that had occupied me for as long as I could remember. It had governed my actions and conduct. It was the string that tied all the otherwise inexplicable fragments of my life. My dream was my subconscious giving all that around me, a meaning.

With my dream, I lost my subconscious and it took along the people, the places and the relationships, it once defined and gave meaning to.

Karma, my religion taught me, is the greatest and the fairest justice of all.

My dream was my Karma.

 (3)

"Living a dream" is misinterpreted. You can have a dream in your future and your past, but you don't ever have it in your present. As they say-"Dreams are but sea-foam".  If it were to become your present, or you "realize" a dream, it simply becomes worldly, losing the enigmatic self that elevated it to the levels of being mythical.  It becomes your story; your Life.

In many ways, I lost my reality.

(4)

A dream is lost when you lose the Desire to sleep at night as that will mark the end of another day you wished didn't happen. And a dream is lost when after every such night you still want to wake up in the past. To live such an illusion, you wish that there was no morning, no sunlight and not another new date in this forced chapter of your life.

A dream is lost when it takes with it the very Faith that drove you to have that dream in the first place. It's more than losing confidence as confidence is merely the reaffirmation of one's own abilities while Faith is the spiritual stamp of approval to trust and back yourself . When the spiritual is lost, the physical has no meaning.

A dream is lost when you steer without Direction. A man can handle setbacks and adversities as long as there is a perceived path ahead. The road ahead might be rough or smooth, bright or dark, easy or difficult, but it's still a path nevertheless. And a dream is lost when you can't distinguish between facing a wall or a crossroad.

A dream is lost when the Realization sinks in that no matter what the future holds, better or worse, you can still never go back to the status quo you once cherished. And you know that this change is irreversible and what's lost can't be replaced or regained. For that matter, you also know that calling it a "change" is undermining the havoc of this apocalypse.

(5)

When the dust settled, the passersby came to help me gather the pieces. They simply asked me to look ahead and start afresh.

Till there is breath in me, there would always be a future, and people would point towards that telling me to aim for a new and better tomorrow. Life, they say, always finds a way. I find that flawed. What I have lost, and what I might gain, cannot be equated. 

Balance, is irrelevant to me.

Losses redefine the parameters. It's then the mind accepts dreams as a useless and morbid exercise keeping us afloat for no reason. We start aiming for the low hanging fruits, consoling ourselves consciously, by instancing the past failures. This new definition of success is impudent to your lost dream, but we ignore it, in the name of life.

A dream is lost when the only Motivation in life remains to connect every dot to get the same pattern that defined your dream once. Time will pass and people will move on but I would find myself living in the same matrix trying to relive the manifestation of the dream that once was.