“Hey Shona,Hey Shona”

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Final Trio.”

For our final trio prompt of the year, write about any topic you wish, but make sure your post features a bookcase, something cracked, and a song you love.

Being a single mother of a hyperactive toddler,I could rarely find time for myself.My days would usually see me rushing home after work to re-unite with my daughter,holding her close to my heart while bidding her eighteen year old babysitter goodbye and then dedicating the rest of my time following her little footprints,ensuring she remained safe and loved.

However tonight,Dia-my gorgeous angel was asleep much earlier than usual.Tonight,I was to be on my own with the freedom to recall everything I had left behind by relocating to a country miles away from home.Tonight,I could be in the company of his thoughts and the memories I had printed with him.

So,I gradually made my way into the study and from the ancient mahogany bookcase I had recently purchased in a yard sale,I removed a grey photo album.I placed it on the coffee table before moving towards the iPod docking station that stood silently beside the brown leather recliner.I then played the song that had forever remained on repeat.

“Tum hi mere har pal me,

Tum aaj me,tum kal me,

Hey Shona,Hey Shona”

With that,I returned to the recliner.I sat,in silence with the photo album in my hand and turned it open.

Tears welled up in my eyes.

There he was,one the very first page of the album,smiling like…like nothing had ever happened.

His eyes glistened with happiness.The beautiful glow on his face was untouched by pain that I was being consumed by.

Suddenly,I wanted to run my hands through his soft dark hair.I wanted to confess that I had not for a single minute,stopped loving him.I wanted to tell him that I had missed him every second of my life; how my heart ached without him by my side.

I wanted to tell him about the child I had adopted,whom I had given the name that we had decided to give to our child.I wanted him to know how much my heart craved for his one glance; how much I craved to hear his melodious and soothing voice.I wanted him to come back to me.

But I knew that would never happen.

Helplessly,I slid off the recliner to the carpeted floor,and buried my head in my hands.Tears poured out of my eyes,travelled along my arms and fell to the floor.The void that had been building inside me for years seemed to swallow me.

The unbearable pain however, was soon replaced by anger.

WHY DID I LET HIM GO?

WHAT WAS I THINKING?

Consumed by rage,I grabbed the photo album and tossed it right at the floor mirror confronting me.

But unlike my shattered dreams of being his soul mate,the mirror only cracked.

Feel Alive

I want to exclude myself from this teeming metro.

I wish to separate myself from stress and tension.

I want to escape to unknown destinations with the one I love.

I wish to go on adventures I’d be proud to mention.

 I wish to let the cold breeze blow through my dark hair.

I want to hear him hum to our song.

I wish to eat at small eateries and forget about calories.

I want to feel like it is here I belong.

I wish to see the scorching sun dip into the horizon.

I want to feel little raindrops on my palms.

I wish to hear the melodious chirps of birds.

I want to fall asleep in his arms.

I don’t want our moments to be interrupted by official calls.

Yes, I wish to skive.

I wish to let myself fly.

I want to feel alive.

Dilwalon Ki Dilli-Is it really?

Around twenty five thousand rapes occur in India every year.It has become so common that to read about rapes and gang rapes on trains,buses,in taxies by strangers,uncles…brothers,fathers, has become part of the every day life.Men cringe,while women sigh at their helplessness.Not all rape cases make their way into becoming national news though but when they do,the fear returns.

Mimicking the December of 2012,December 2014 bought fear back into the hearts of Indian women.Once again,flashed on every single news channel,the heinous news of a woman who was raped by the driver of the cab she had hired in the ‘not-so-Dilwalon ki Dilli’

Now,hold on.

Before you start to fume with anger,sigh or cringe,think of who should really be blamed.Oh,not the driver of course! It was her,who made the mistake of travelling when the sky had been separated of light and then falling in the peaceful hands of slumber when the hungry gaze of this wolf was fixed on her and her body!

It was her who fell asleep when she should have been sitting cautiously upright even after a exhaustive day.She should have been making sure her clothing do not reveal her legs and her breasts remain still.She shouldn’t have let the breeze blow through her tresses and fall over her face.She should have been equipped with pepper sprays and a taser. Her fingers should have been trained and ready to dial 100.

Wasn’t she taught of all this since she was just four years old? Or did she simply forget that she was a woman?

And just why did she make a complaint against the cab driver? Perhaps,she expected she would get justice.Oh, how silly of her.A man who spent merely seven months of his life in prison-when he ruined an innocent’s entire life in nothing but twenty minutes- three years ago,would not care to spend another seven months in jail. Saat hi mahine to hain yaar.Aise guzar jayenge.

She,on the other hand,will now be mocked.She will be treated as an untouchable.Unless gold hearted prince do exist,she can kiss her dreams of marrying,goodbye.Because nobody wants to marry a rape victim.
The middle aged women in her neighbourhood will use her as an example to warn their daughters and cage them in rules and restrictions.They will tell their daughters not to converse with men,not to wear shorts and skirts,not to travel alone,not to go out once the sun has departed.

However,there is one thing hardly any of them will do.

They will not tell their sons to not see women as sex toys.

They will not tell their sons to respect women.