As soon as I said that, the world seemed to change, my world, rocked to and fro, trying to maintain its balance. You gasped, the lines on your face, hardening into a scowl. Suddenly, you looked so old and fragile, that I wanted to hold you in my arms and console you. But I was frozen, numb, saying those words out loud, had drained me of all courage I had mustered over the weeks.
I looked into your eyes for comfort, but they were scrutinizing me, from head to toe, flabbergasted, wounded, cold.
The bruises on my back and hands, frantic attempts to change me, my fate, the lines on my palm, so that I could be born again, normal, ordinary, average, the loving and doting daughter you had always known. Or had you?
Yes, there was shock, overshadowed by disappointment, your trophy, your pride, had fallen to the ground and broken into shards of glass, that hurt your being. After all, your every action, every ambition was because of me.
You came towards me and held my hands, wanting to caress, but hesitating to touch, lest you also get it. “Beta, chodd de yeh sab, kyun tang kar rahi hai, bol de na ki yeh sab jhooth h.”
Oh, how I wish Mumma, that this reality was a lie, for I have never wanted to stand out, just be with you, sharing secrets, laughter and love. But at that moment, words refused to come out, my mouth was zipped, tears sprang from my eyes, as I left you, setting out to search for acceptance elsewhere.
My body, being, sexuality, has built this wall between us, strengthened by phobia and hatred. I simply wish to send you a message, from a crevice in there, as I know that you still love me, but fail to see me for who I am, waiting for the day, when you would hold me as you always did.