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The Price They Paid…..

How can you judge everyone so fast?
How are you so sure that first impressions last?
You didn’t ever know them, but did you even try?
Or make an effort to find out why they cry?
The girl who you pushed down the stairs,
And laughed about the clothes she wears,
Cries herself to sleep every night
Her insecurities the only things in sight
That boy who you beat up for not giving u his homework,
Is the only son of an ordinary clerk,
He works day and night to make ends meet,
And rarely has two square meals to eat

That pale boy who you laughed at for being parentless,
Once upon a time like his sorrows , even his smiles were limitless.
But his parents passed away in an accident
He was shaken up by this incident
It’s been a while
But try as hard as he may , he could never regain his merry smile
You don’t know the stories behind their sadness or the sadness behind their stories
Neither do yoyknow the reason behind their worries,
But still you gave them this harassment.
Why? What did they do to deserve this treatment?
You mocked them.
You condemned them.
For mistakes that they never even made,
For your darkness, the price was what they paid.
You clipped their wings,
You deprived them of the joy life brings.
They have lost their faith in humanity
After facing this harsh reality
What would you do if you were in their place?
If these were the challenges that you had to face?
Would you have lasted as long as they did?
Or would you already have quit?

These answers will remain a mystery,
You won’t ever have to bear their misery,
Because all the sadistic grins and shoves finally made them crack,
They spend each day anticipating your next attack…….


    
Quill

STAINED

Oh, so let me get this straight.
She is stained if she bleeds once a month,
But not when she is ripped apart, trying to give birth?
Does a body part determine her worth?

She is stained as a survivor of sexual assault,
But as a rapist, you are not?
And if she unknowingly converses with men like you, she is of the wrong sort.

She is stained if she is pregnant with her rapist’s baby,
But why is the tag reserved only for the lady?
When she tells people that the father is unnamed,
Shouldn’t he be the one who is stained?

She is stained if her pants show a red patch,
But not when she wears a little red dress,
And is considered a ‘catch’?

Changing the views of a country that took ages to make,
It just won’t be a piece of cake.
Even after all this progress, if these notions remain……
Is it possible, that it’s not our girls, but our society, that is stained?

Quill

An Apology

So today, I am sorry. I am sorry that even today, after all this ‘progress’, I am scared. I am scared, that when I hug my male relatives, they will interpret it in a way that would leave me somewhere, mangled and torn. I am afraid, when I stand in an elevator with two unknown men. Everyday, when I leave the house, with all the safety that there can be, I am still terrified. This is the level of fear that has been ingrained in me and every other girl in our country. And most of all, everyday there is this fear, somewhere, deep in my bones that there is no limit to all the tortures that another 16 year old girl may be enduring somewhere. When I sit in my father’s arms at night, I feel guilty. Guilty that another girl might be caged in the prison of her rapist’s arms, slowly dying every second. Today, when pictures of Dr. Priyanka Reddy’s charred body flash on my phone, I give up. I don’t have the strength to tell my father that he worries too much, when he tells me to be alert and call him when I get to class. I can’t fight anymore. I don’t want to be another daughter whose honour India failed to uphold. I don’t want to be that girl whose body is found in a sack in a street trashcan, and whose pictures are splashed across the media. I don’t want my sister to know that I am scared, and I don’t want my parents to tell the world that I died fighting.
To Jyoti Singh, I can’t be fearless. To Dr. Priyanka Reddy, I can’t burn for my country to rise from the ashes.
To all my sisters, whose voices haven’t been heard, I am sorry. I am sorry that I am alive, and you are gone. I am sorry, that today, I think that being a rape survivor is a better fate than dying.
I am sorry that I want to live.