Sexism

This is going to be a short piece about sexism for a dear friend and blogger-Vishal.

The link to that post is here:
http://vishalbheeroo.wordpress.com/2014/07/18/guest-post-sexism-by-tarusha-mittal/

How ingrained it is in us..How we are brought up along side it but we rarely reflect unless we are forced look in that direction.

This is not going to be a bra burning piece,just for the record,I am all for it,for the fun of pyrotechnics but I respect those who choose to do that as a form of protest.

The problem is that patriarchy and sexism are so inherent in our "great" country that people have forgotten that being ogled at -or the attitude of boys will be boys,that is how the society is,behave this way because you are a girl- is beyond abysmal.

Women do not understand that we are not objects to be ogled at,we are not meant to be toys or a piece of property,we are as much an individual as the next dude with different and "super" set of genitals.

There is something known as equality and we have completely lost sense of it.

Boys flashing their dirty underwear label is a "dude" but a girl's accidental or even if it is deliberate like the former is tagged as slutty.

Boys can step outside at odd hours and if they misbehave,they are being boys but heaven forbid if a girl steps out late at night-she is asking for it.

We need a change,this is not about being a rebel sans a cause.

It is just about bringing children up better with better ideals-they need to learn to recognise sexism when it happens.

People just do not understand. We are crass and uneducated by any and all standards-for we do not understand simple concepts like patriarchy,sexism and inequality between genders.

It is is not always in your face,sons are better than daughters but it is sinister and insidious it is an attitude that is drilled into girls while they are being raised. It might not necessarily say that you are lesser than the boys but learning the feeling of being ashamed. Shamed for being a girl,shamed for having certain boy parts,shamed for doing certain things,just plain shame.

People need to be taught-men and women-that there is something known as equality of genders and most importantly,there is a need to make people learn that their "culture" or "norms" are not to be imposed on everyone. Their yardstick of judgement should stick to themselves and no one else. Also girls are individuals,they have nothing to do with family's honour,the honour belongs to the girl and no one else.Women are individuals and not properties.

Chalice

She sat down with her broken pieces and cried.

She realised that it was all over long before it has actually started.

When you play and confer with the devil for so long,it is not long before it comes knocking at your door.

***

The murder was an accident that brought her immense pleasure and glee.

It was a simple pitch and toss,deemed an accident.

She was free from the clasps of the man who ravaged her every other day.

It is easy to pass it off as an accident when one is adjudged as a drunkard.

Ah,alcohol,as the beaded drops condensed on the shoot-less champagne glass,she seemed in a zone.

She woke up in a daze and got up and started rummaging through her drawers- Need to find a duvet.

Life was easy here. Incarcerated with her consent,she was doing well.

It was disturbing at times but she was finally at peace and safe.

The enactment of that night brought her a sheer rush of adrenaline.

Guilt,drained her at times when she remembered his tender moments but they were always followed by beatings and cuts; She enjoyed the intimacy and this brought out the demon forth from him,for he thought her promiscuous for she enjoyed.

She wanted to be free. She was not free. Finally she was,free in her incarceration,she was free to pursue her love for self.

The night as it happened,was simple. It was the simplest tale in the world.

He came through,she laced his wine with Nitro and Viagra-he was aware of the former.

They made love that night,slowly,languidly-she made no sound,moved not a muscle-lest he starts beating her.

In pain,she tensed up as he increased his bunny hop.

He crumbled right on top of her as he clutched his chest. Right on cue,she screamed.

Cried and called the Emergency number.

Then she started the act-she thrust herself onto him and thrust until content-the noise would at first be thought of the grieving wife and not necrophilia.

The paramedics found no trace of that glass for it had been replaced by a glass that the dear hubby had used at dinner.

She was questioned and let off.

Within a week,the jig was up for Nitro was found in his cadaver.

She confessed,before the glass shards were found in the trash,because she was unable to live without his love.

***

She was at peace here. But he was not here.

She felt pain in her veins as she injected herself with a drug cocktail. A prickling feeling raced through her body.

Then the excruciating pain started,she screamed but stopped and had a seizure.

She was found in a pool of her vomit after having drowned in it.

Revenge,revenge,thou art a lesson-Like the poisoned chalice,revenge had come back to haunt her.

Astral projection

She floated away sans feelings,after all,she had a plan.

Feelings left her exhausted for she felt fully. She felt it all the way to her bones. 

The misery that came along with it or after it in case it was a high was palpable.

She had resolved to move away from the pain.

This time,it will work for the dose will be just right.

She lay down calmly after injecting herself.

Any moment,now.

She waited till she felt a weight lift off  her. She was floating right above herself.

Insulin shock induced astral projection,she had managed. 

The irony was that even though she reckoned that she would be above worldly feelings,it was not the case.

The pain ebbed and flowed. 

She screamed after the loneliness got to her but there was no one to hear her screams on this plane.

In her hurry to be relieved,she did not learn that revival could only be done by another.

She moved after days of insanity and when she could not bear to look at herself any longer.

She broke the shiny thread,connecting her to her body. Died.

Moved past it all and tried to find more.

Find,she did. All the people she had lost but her love-who could not her's there- lay down there.

So,she imbibed her essence in his dreams and urged him to come and be with her.

He followed suit by ingesting a poison.

Lo and behold they met and embraced.

Ramblings of a Dark Day

Always wishing for death,when things a little rough.

What has life turned me into?

Always running for cover in a confrontation or turning my back,in toto?

Life turned me into a coward.

Cowardice emerged after i lost all sense of security.

What has life done to me?

Is therapy the way to go?

Lest,it unravels me and makes me flip completely.

How will i reach out of this abyss?

Tried and tried again and will keep trying till I can no more.

Grateful,i am and should be but why do i still want death when the smallest things go awry.

I talk to myself and reason.. Step ahead but i seem to fall back.

Death might not be an answer but it can very much be.

Are you really ready to trade in everything for a toss?

Just for some peace,i want it. Desperately.

I want to be high just so that i can let go of all the pain and anger.

Will it be being obnoxious to a someone if my anguish comes to me,time and again?

Being happy is a choice,one needs constant reminders.

But when an emotions overwhelm you to the point of madness.

Pent up anger for violation,ignominy and insecurity.

Perhaps,am just weak.

High-for today.

Death,is for another day. I sigh and trudge along.

Anger

How can one let go of pent up anger against a person?

The easiest answer that would come onto everyone's lips would be-talk to them,forgive them,let it go.

I know the adage regarding revenge-poisoned chalice-but i would love to draw an analogy with pent up anger.

It currodes your very being. You react rather than respond. You lash out when none is necessary.

You stew in your own filth,that is anger.

I guess,the healthy thing to do here would be to talk to the person in question but what if that person will lash out and perhaps and try hurt you after hearing your side. Irrationality and the knack to yell being their perfect response and you are the kind of person who dies as soon as someone starts yelling.

Is it healthy to aggaravate a dormant situation just in order to calm the fuck down?

What if the relationship is deemed as important?

How much hatred do you feel for yourself when you realise that perhaps,all the year of anger and thoughts surrounding the subject have caused you to be more like it?

How can you start loving self again?

Zapped

She zapped around on her broom

Awaiting her prince. Till she decided

To conjure one.

Yatch

He sat on his yatch,alone

Dream fulfilled. Yet, a strange

Emptiness engulfed him. 

Xanax

She popped a Xanax and tried to go back to sleep. 

The screamings started as soon as she closed her eyes-startled,she sat up. 

Sweat had broken on her brow. 

The rational part of her tried to reason with her-it is ok to sweat when you hear a dead person's voice,you were not at fault. It happened. You need to move on. 

A morbid smile crept to her lips,move on from what?

To what?

Her eyes glazed over. It was time. 

This hour came everyday and passed into oblivion till the next day. 

She drifted in the interweaving period.

How could she move on from killing someone?

How will she ever overcome this?

What was her purpose?

This and many other questions plagued her as she sat and wept beside her own grave. 

Wellness

Wellness of her being,lay with him.

She wept when she went away.

Wept again,albeit with joy when she returned to his arms.

Her world was him. 

This made her afraid.

She had finally found her fear and it befuddled her. 

Her passion for one made her see reason in everything she did.

She reasoned and tried but ultimately knew that loving someone so deeply would bring forth a vulnerability but instead of mistakenly taking it as her weakness and shunning it.

She revelled in him,being her strength and source of energy and light.

Umbrella

Her umbrella was a tool

For men with pokes in their 

pants on the bus.

She travelled far and wide

Till she came to a bridge 

And decided to jump off it.

Veil

She was blindfolded and taken behind a veil.

When her aunt had blindfolded her,she giggled and thought they would be playing a game.

A game,it was but of the most vicious kind.

She was made to lie on a stone bed,this is when the fear hit her. 

The blindfold was taken off and she let off a soft scream-the scene that unfolded around her was something that she had never seen.

Her various female relatives,singing in glee but somehow it all seemed very eerie.

There was a blunt razor there,a blade. 

They unclothed her,she started whimpering but they threatened with dire consequnces if they do not let them make her "pure" and sinfree.

They rubbed some herbs on her genitals,make believe anaesthetic it was and then the blade was brought down heavily on her clitoris.

The white shock of pain reverbated through her  every cell. 

Even in her daze,she thought-the amount of blood is not so much. 

She fainted while her kins patched and stitched her shut. 

She retained this memory,the pain and the helplessness against the restraints that she was put in-while she went in labour.

Her husband had slashed her when he impregnanted her and the scar tissue was hard. 

These were her last memories,as she bled to death.

Ironically,another female was born. 

Took away

He took her toys-kept them away

Took away her innocence 

Plummetted away.

Sexuality

Why is sex still a dirty word?

It seems strange that something that people indulge in quite a bit is tagged as tabboo. 

Here again the gender distinction and discrimination comes down with full force,it is quite alright for men to joke and throw around cheap comments and double entrendres but a woman doing the same would be tagged as loose or easy.

A woman reveling in her sexuality as judged but a man is tagged as a stud or a cassanova. 

These terms are back slapping tags that are bestowed upon men as how far they have climbed on the totem pole of sexuality. 

Women are expected to be "pure" and have their hymens intact before getting married lest they give away "milk for free" but men can fool around for boys will be boys.

In this nation of fools,women who enjoy sex even with their husbands are at the losing end-their men think that they are too worldly wise and hence must have a "questionable character".

This begins the torture at a marital home.

Women and sexuality is a deep subject and a lot can be said on it,not just the aforementioned-which are just stereotypes.

We need to educate our kids and admonish them when and if they ever repeat a sexist joke,comment or even in person.

Parents need to treat each other in a way that would represent no gender doscrimination rather than being in a perfect mother or father mould. 

We need gender benders because i have ways believed that gender is not only what you were born with on your lower torso but also how you are brought up,what influences you. It is all in the mind.

I strive for a day when women and men would be treated at par with one another. 

It is not about being greater,it is about synergy and yin and yang-so to say.

Requiem

She wrote that requiem for her dream herself when she decided to put her stuff away. 

She had to,for family. She agreed.

This is what had to be done. 

Dream but dream only till you are told you stop.

Have ambition but in a lesser degree lest your potential partner is intimidated by you.

These were the adages that she was brought up by-she was expected to abide.

She worked hard and was married off to a guy she barely knew. 

Before she could start questioning the point of it all,she was raped by her husband.

He raped her for she knew too much and this simply implied that she had to be subjugated and made docile. 

She was too worldly wise,a loose woman,definitely. 

Rather than bringing shame upon the family,he beat her black and blue. Everyday,as the sun went down.

These beatings refused to dissolve her resolve but gradually as the number of broken bones increased,she accepted the adages that her mother had taught her and decided to bring her daughter up with the same.

Quite quietly

She stepped out quite quietly.

She did not want to wake anyone up.

In the moonlight,her scars bore a silver colour.

The nausea was getting to her. 

She wanted to step out.

Just one more time.

She moved towards the neighbouring house. Shivering as she unlocked the door-being the nanny,she had them.

She moved to the baby's room,tiptoeing.

Unrobing her softly as she cackled,she sighed.

A sigh of pleasure at the naked body of the cherub.

She just stood there and watched her till the early dawn.

This was her curse.

 

Picking up

Picking up after him seemed like a natural thing to do.

She picked up after him all the time.

We complete each other. 

We love each other.

Everybody's mess is different,right?

She snapped on her gloves as she cleaned out the basement.

The chair had dome shreds of skin and dismembered limbs lay all over.

She sighed.

Another day. Another appetite. Another person. 

Picking up and burying it all with salt in the backyard.

Opposites

They were way too different from one another.

Opposites,some might say.

She hastened her pace.

Her wheezing sounded so loud,in the quiet of that moonlit and foggy night. 

I need to get there,she thought.

Her load seemed lighter as she half ran and half walked to her destination.

They fell in love.

The stereotypes were replayed right in front of her.

Gradually,it unravelled.

It had to for she had started being herself.

This was not the person he had fallen for.

She had varied interests which were nothing like his.

A mundane life,he craved.

She entered the local sheriff's premise.

It had just not worked out,she thought.

He wanted to be more adventurous. 

They decided to indulge in some sadism.

Mild strangulation et al.

Well,we took the ultimate step today.

She is carrying a head!

They yelled as the officers surrounded her,aiming their guns at her heart.

He was not as adventurous in life or death,she simply said with not a single

expression escaping her eyes.

Normal

She was not normal,they said.

How will she fit it?

She is a tom-boy,in derogatory terms.

Grow up now,be more like a girl.

No,you cannot behave like that. 

Why do you have so many boys around you all the time?

Dress up properly.

Study but only to a certain age lest you be one of the leftover women.

Get married already.

You do not want kids,well-you will change your mind.

Get married,now is the tethering end.

No,you cannot work at that hour.

Cover up!

Going out?

Nope,stay at home. Fine,be back before sun down. 

Why can you not be like a normal females who listens?

Every girl-nearly-goe through this. 

Worse,if you are a liberal with aspirations to push the envelope and live life to the fullest. 

Men and Women

Are men and women really that different?

Before you run screaming about stereotypes riddled articles,wait.

This was perhaps brought about by the recent SC order-for the uninitiated,SC wants the state to extend transgendered people all the rights and also,there would be reservation for them in jobs.

This great news got me thinking about gender roles and the stereotypes ans notions that are associated with genders.

These notions are drilled into our heads from the very beginning,as children we are given gender specific toys.

We are told that talking or walking a certain way is not okay for we are of the opposite sex.

We are asked to watch shows that are gender specific too-the boys will watch wrestling and girls will watch all the pink unicorn shows.

Games-video-have been designed like that too.

Is it any wonder that teenagers and adolescents are uncomfortable in their skin?

They are not sure at times because just because you were born with a dick-it does not mean that you ought to be more macho and feel the need to protect everyone.

We need to stop telling our children that girls cry and boys never do. 

We need to make sure that we never tell our sons that he throws a punch like a girl.

As we grow up,we are segregated further,clothes,toiletries and what not.

Seen the reent Head and Shoulder's ad?

The blatant sexism is appalling.

Why does our government not ban that?

As it stands bleeping out words like-virginity and blurring out cleavage.

This pertinent of this issue is that gender is something all inside our head.

We might be born a way but we might identify with another.

If not that then we might feel inclined to be a certain way and still retain the gender but our knacks are considered too off for our gender?

Uncomfortable and confused,people lose perspective.

We are raising boys who grow up under so much pressure to be a certain way that they act up. 

They do not know how to interact with the opposite sex.

We really need to raise our kids,just asking them to be themselves.

Not according to the genitals that they carry.

Lackadaisical

 Being lackadaisical. It is not just about work,is it?

Being like that,is an aspect which can upset realtionships,career,family,life.

Everything requires a certain amount of effort.

It is inconsiderate in relationships.

Uncaring when it comes to family.

Lazy when it comes to work.

Reckless when it peeks its head in life.

Everything requires an effort but ultimately,it is worth it.

So,stop being lackadaisical and move forth,emnating joy.

King-he was.

She knelt at his feet.

He asked her to go down further-prostrate.

Deaf to all her pleadings,he eyed her cleavage.

She was whimpering now.

King,he was-he shook his head,turning down the plea. 

He wanted to get a closer look at the undulating bodies.

Ravish them.

They stood by and pounced on her at his command-King,he was.

They ravaged her and she seemed to be catatonic. 

Too proud to scream.

This angered him-King,he was but he continued pleasuring himself for-King,he was.

When she lay on the floor bleeding,her eyes pierced through his and she simply asked-Why?

King,he was-he could do whatever he wanted.

His insecurity betrayed on his face,she laughed and he recoiled.

Her last words dethroned him-

you are more into screwing men and that is the only time when they would unclothe their member in front of you,she smiled.

Plunging the dark shard of glass into her jugular-He was left wishing he could go to the same place as she had.

Jealous-Joker

Jealous; she laughed it off

I did not know but 

She had gone astray.

Joker-He liked the warpaint for 

Noone could see the scars

On his face.

Ideal

She was waiting for the ideal situation to arise.

She was in the shadows.

Eyes fully of mystique.

Lips parted in desire.

Her face blanched from the effort.

She seemed to be in pain.

She was waiting for her man to be ready for the altar. 

After all,society dictates,ideal men are like deer caught in headlights when it comes to commitment.

Change in mindset is the need of the hour.

H-Haiku

Home is where the heart is

But what if your heart lays buried

Six feet under?

Sticks and stones might break my 

Bones but words will scar me and 

Leave me bleeding.

G

Giving away my soul was easy

I just had to cut

Through my shin again.

Getting out of bed is easy when 

Your cat Projectiles self on face

And licks.

Finding Meaning

She was finding meaning in all the things that appalled her.

This was her mission. A resolution,perhaps.

She went to a circumcision ceremony,for a both the sexes. Performed by quacks,it was a recipe for disaster. 

Females have to be sliced because it is a cleansing ritual,lest they turn into harridans who sleep around.

Chopping of the clitoris,blood and bandages. 

We have clip the extra skin-it is necessary,they said,otherwise-it is impure. 

Blood and bandages again.

She went to meet war veterans. They had a few regrets but mostly were indignant that they do not get their due. 

Was there any meaning in all that you went through?

They had no answer apart from patriotism or propaganda.

She visited a brothel,asked the pimp whether she ever felt bad about the girls she sold out,on an hourly basis. 

Her anger and bitterness were palpable when she said that her pimp showed no mercy.

So,again,she went to another but all she did was shoo her away. 

The last one was politically correct,she smiled ruefully and pointed at their kids,but i pressed on-she reasoned that it was all freewill at least in her premises.

I moved on. 

The blank stares followed me.

She went to talk a male pimp but he uttered abuses and said that it was all business. 

Another wielded a knife at her.

How do people become desensitised?

Here are two parallels to do with infliction. Motivators and culprits are different. 

The confusion reigned,her exercise came out with a jack,for results.

Unexpected Visitor

It was there. No matter,how much she tried,she could not make the spot disappear.

Clear as day,she thought ruefully.

She wanted to use that phrase in her book. It was just so pretty.

The rambles in her head circled the drain.

I should feel. It is pertinent. Her pidgin Psychology chimed in- Feel!

The words echoed in her head,the unexpected visitor in the drab of sanguine on her panty line,slowly drenching her bottoms had shattered her dream. 

Her doctor had warned her but she wanted to save her marriage.

My baby is dead,she wailed. 

Elite

These are the ones who rob us,not just financially but also emotionally.

They were the elite with the higher echelons at their beck and call.

Took away my sense of security and shook me out of my reverie.

A curveball so hard that it knocked me out,while in the process of recovery-I got bludgeoned by them,again.

This time around,I lost all feeling-went on doing what was expected of me,like an automaton.

Time heals,perhaps but for me my words will be my therapy.

I wait in the shadows to strike,perhaps, while my deeply seated hatred and indifference turns me into them.

Ah,the ruiners. 

Woe betide'em.

Dead

She was drunk in her own beauty.

He was drunk in his vanity.

They dreamt of a happy tomorrow,as they drunk and dunked through their present.

They doled out advice like pennies,only when their heart gave in.

They were so alike,yet too different.

They died the same day when a bomb exploded on their city.

They met in purgatory,each paying for their sins,as they harboured the same notions and beliefs.

As their hypnotherapy and electrocution session ended,they came out of the purgatory as one-for the society did not believe in being sexual fluidity.

Child

She was a child when she was violated.

She was told to keep quiet. Tacit,it was.

Brought up being told that her genitals were a bad place. 

At three,she knew that they had to hidden away. 

Ashamed.

She told her that it was a game.

It was many years later,that she realised when she knew about it all,that her cousin was the first to assualt her.

Years more,it took for her to sort out her feelings and accept her violation at a tender age.

It made her who she was in part.

Bomber Jacket

The bomber jacket was ironic but it felt nice. It was snug and hugged her.

Her skin was almost transluscent,she had not been out in the Sun-for days now.

She had long,pearly arms but she had to hide them even though they were always sheathed in sheer. The jacket,did just that.

She had to wear it over her uniform prescribed by god lest they lashed her too like they did her.

Scared,the bomber jacket from the mission was her salvo.

Addiction and Anxiety

I sat and scratched my scalp-smiling grimly when it dawned on me how much of my hair had fallen out.

It began suddenly as the hour dawned.

It seeped through me and ran through my veins. 

It was a like a bucket of cold water drenching me to the skin,a tightness in my chest.

Dry skin,flakes falling off when i scrached at the scabs-the sores and the cuts.

The blood clotted nails. 

Cutting myself to make something perfect,out of imperfect nothingness.

Pain is moot. For the point is for it to take over,make me forget.

Hugging my knees to my chest,as I rocked back and forth.

Struggling against the wave of nausea and being left overwhelmed.

Confusion encircling and numbing my entire thinking process.

The tears that come out of nowhere and stayed. 

Stuck and smothered in my own abyss.

I feel her easing me as I took her in. 

Needl-ed right into my blue arm.

She kissed me and made me her own,addicted to my poison,lest i fought and let my anxiety take over.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place-I strive for a day when it will ease.

Lucky.

He is the lucky one. He would feel thrilled everytime,he entered the premises. He knew that his need for love would be quenched. 

As he came and dominated him while shouting obscenties due to the sheer pleasure of their bodies being together,he would contemplate about how he had just read about this wondrous feeling.

But the resources were sparse. 

His lover-how adult of me,he chuckled-had told him that the bond that they shared was special but it was tacit that it had to be kept a secret.

How could what they shared not be sacred,he was his priest-altar boy's priest. 

I wish she knew-55 Fiction.

Her skin was luminous. Her body rippled and flowed as she danced for him.

Her hair had ringlets of golden admist a waterfall of chocolate. 

How i wish she knew me as a lover rather than just knowing my telescope from a draped window.

Neverthelss,she put up a show without fail everyday for me.

Writer's Block.

What happens when you are plagued by a writer's block?

Initially,I always tend to blame the work that I have on a day to day basis-the lack of clarity that is required to write.
But,it gradually dawned on me that it is quite a few factors and not just work that stops me from writing.

Inhibition is one too.

It is tough to bare your soul and at times,i try to garb it with my words.. 

It is difficult to know that people who actually know you -not your spouse,per se- can delve into your very thought process which you might not have shared with them,directly.

Is it a betrayal?

Do they feel that?

 

Or it is just an artistic license?

Will my twisted sense of being change the way they look at me?

But then i commence writing again,with the simple notion that i have always lived by,it does not really matter what they say,my life and rules for it is short.

Writing i cathartic,i do it for self.

No matter how corny it sounds.

So,here we go again:)

She had the last laugh.

She was the reason why he took the plunge.

She was there when he came back from purgatory.

She was always waiting for him near the grocery shop.

She was there when he came back after being rejected for the fifth time.

She was there when his fiancée broke up with him.

She was there when he broke down.

She was waiting for him when he tried to take his life.

Slowly,she unravelled him when he took her to his lips. 

She travelled into him and rot him away. 

She had the last laugh when he died a slow painful death of liver cirrhosis.

Useless

First attempt at Haiku. More like a Senryu.

It is useless if you are hurting for 

love will find a way.

So soon.

Useless to mend a fence

when you're having an affair.

With the neighbour.

Life and Rain

She cussed as she got out of the car. It had come to a halt after a screeching noise. A flat tyre. 

He could not see a thing from across the windshield. It was pouring torrentially. 

She called him and asked him for help. 

This is where she had called him.

It had been over an hour and it was raining,now. She was reading when she heard a thumping noise being added to the gushing water noises. 

He got out of the car in order to take a better look. He moved a yard ahead,only to be confronted by a man with a glazed look in his eyes. He was holding something long.

She was getting uneasy. The thumping noise could bot possibly be of the rain but she was afraid of getting wet,hail gave her bruises.

He did not see her. He tried but all he could muster was darkness.

She forced herself to step out,trying to sheild herself by holding a book over her head. She walked a few steps away from the car,on instinct and stumbled over something warm. 

Screaming,as she realised that it was a body. She ran towards the door when a strange scene met her eyes-a man was using her car as a trampoline.. 

He was holding a head.. It had to be a doll.. 

She was violently sick when she realised that it was a severed head. 

She fainted when she realised that it was him.

The loon from the asylum,watched her with glee as he showed off his prize. He was fascinated by how quickly the book soaked and floated away. 

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend,an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Flash Fiction-55:)

He gave the deftly cut meat a butter bath in the pan. 

Her kitchen smelled,he smiled ruefully as he remembered how they fought nearly everyday. Not anymore. But,little did she know that he loved her so much that he could never ever let her be,she was his-he cut through her flesh again to sear it.

Strangers in the Night~Sinatra~100 words,nearly.

Then, there were three.


The boy with the typical stud air about him, approached her,she looked on apprehensively.


She nodded and moved away. He followed her but i asked him to let her be,he gave me a dirty look and when i tried to obstruct the way,he shoved and hurled some abuses towards me.


He lunged towards her but she turned and pushed her hand towards his face. His body stiffened and he fell forward as she moved away with a sneer.


Chloroform-our weapon of choice.


We patted him down,stripped him off his valuables and also clothes-for good measure.


She seductively gave a peck on my lips.


We were a good team.


All this in a span of two minutes.


We had to go back to our earlier stance of being strangers in the night.

Love

She was not in love with him,she only loved the idea of him-she tried to convince herself.The person she thought he was,how could she have known that it was forbidden,in a normal world-perhaps- this was common knowledge.But this was CAR-Central African Republic- normal was a mere ephemeral word that the politicians spat out when inquired about the state.He was the rebel soldier who had raped his mother years ago,he was her father.They had committed incest,she cried bitterly as she cut herself.



This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Split

I started reading the journal-

"Age,experiences and an open mind make you more judgemental in a more subtle manner.

I judge a certain person more harshly for i see in retrospect what he did.

I understand it.

When you realise that a certain person has started repulsing you then everything about that person disgusts you or brings about a deluge of emotions within you.

Small things make you angry.

Perhaps,it is also because as you have aged you aee their weaknesses and flaws,vices that you cannot tolerate.

She was right when she said that you cannot love people when you judge them.

As i judge him and he has had a bearing on my life,on all levels,i do not love him.

I have a feeling of kinship. I will always be there but small things will continue to repulse me. 

Perhaps,it is because i am disappointed beyond belief in him.

Perhaps,it is the constant disinterest.

The patronising manner. The condescending shit that is poured onto me even though,he is the one with a secret,perhaps or just a a big screw up.

He tried and he failed. I can forgive him for that,but i cannot overlook the garguntum ego,the impatience,the close mindedness and ultimately,the fact that he refuses to believe in me. The egomaniac believes that he has it right and everyone else is a moron,a closed off mind.

The emotional scarring and the dismissive nature that persists till date will haunt me forever.

I refuse to let him know that he might have been right about certain things because it will feed his inflated ego.

I refuse to discuss anything with him,for he will mock and patronise. Laugh. Make me feel small.

I cringe everytime i realise that a particular trait in me is like him,i do not want that,i cannot. Will not. 

Parenting 101,he did not get it right."

So much anger. 

Sigh.

Rambles

Even though the movement is complete. 

The transition is complete.

The feeling has not sunk in,as of yet or so i would like to believe-for there has to be more of a reaction,right?

A reaction to being uprooted.

Is that reaction diminished when things are too far still in the air or is it the numbness that overwhelms you?

Normal things and events seem so faraway from my family's grasp. 

It makes them more precious but i guess that it is not supposed to be this way.

It is astounding that so much can happen yet we keep standing. Fighting. 

For another day.

It is a lot,right?