I always wanted to be a mother. The thought of someone hugging on to me, someone calling me ‘mama’ always excited me. My husband and I had to wait for 4 years until the arrival of our little bundle of joy. When I got pregnant, I never thought of all the sacrifices I would have to make. My pregnancy was not as smooth as I thought it would be.
A female child's misfortune begins with her father's hatred, negligence and disinterest toward her. Although there is no certainty of future, most of the fathers usually perform less responsibility toward their own daughters when they are young or physically healthy. These sorts of irresponsible, negligent, biased and carefree treatment of fathers, make their daughters either struggle against them or posses negative attitudes toward them - like me in this autobiographical essay entitled, "Past: a Collection of Broken Images".
On that day, she had the courage to leave and not look back. It broke my heart, but more than anything else in the world, I valued her peace of mind, her chance at liberation away from the hurricane that is my father. My father made it a note in his mind to remind us every time he came home wasted that we lived in his home and he'd kick us out if he so wished.
When I entered the hospital room, she was leaning against the window on her bed. It was a warm sunny day. But her face was mirroring dark clouds which were about to rain filled with sadness and tiredness. With her gloomy eyes watching at the sun, she must be worried about the paddy she had planted in our field a month ago. That's my mother. Wherever she would be, she won't leave worrying about her vegetable farm. She must be missing home and family too.
Even before I could tell them what I really wanted to become in my life, I was already sitting in the classroom flipping the pages of a book which I don't even remember now. The girl who was topping her higher secondary had to miserably fail in the first week unit tests. The little hope I had within me was slowly vanishing as I attended test after test after test. And all I could do was to helplessly endure.
Yes, I’m talking about the beautiful scar that we as women carry after the birth of a child through a C-Section. A C-Section is a beautiful story of a mother and the baby, where the child is so stubborn to come out, or it’s like the child loves the mother so much that they don’t want to leave the place where they spent about 9 months
“Speak up”, she kept screaming but I couldn't. “Speak up”, she screamed again, yet no words came out of my mouth. I was mute - how could I tell her I didn't want to go to college to study medicine, that I wanted to become a youth counsellor? She would kill me. She worked tirelessly day and night for me. How could I break her heart by not doing the one thing she really required of me?
I always see people passing judgment on the lady and holding her responsible for the broken marriage. I can't keep quiet because it literally breaks my heart why everyone thinks that it's only the girl who is at fault and is responsible for not managing the relationship well. And then they compare today's women to those who have been through hell, been exploited and finished in their abusive marriages…
I have not been able to talk about it openly for a while, because apparently, it is not the sort of thing people usually talk about especially publicly. Then Michelle Obama started talking about it. Beyoncé talked and sang about it. The fictional character Dr. Amelia Shepherd of Grey’s Anatomy finally shared her long-kept secret…
When a woman is beaten by her husband or any other family member, at least she has some sympathy of the people around her if no actual support. But when a woman is bashed, bullied, doubted, accused and harassed in her own home, by her own husband, no one tries to understand her condition and no one supports her.
Feeble yet proficient, her hands executed the romance of comb with tresses. Separating, solving and sifting down the locks; these were her moments of alleviation. Hair then parted into three, weaved into a braid, were rolled up and above the nape of the neck. Hitting the same spot every time, it was then supported by pins. As she began pinning it, it seemed as if the pins had learnt their positions and needed her lift only for the earthly world.
