You know that fancy,
Having a broken glass in hand
Sharp, and striking it through the wrist
Over and over again!
Tearing everything in the path
The threads, the skin, veins
Gushing blood and moments of pain
Counting till the last
Visions of all the was
the knives that stabbed
cups, full of poison
and that helplessness…
And now free, free of everything
Free of all the stabbing pain
It is raining. I am warm and cosy in my bed. A cup of coffee and some books add to the pleasure. And I guess everyone using Facebook now is equally cosy and at ease.
But some people aren’t. Some people are being thrown out or beaten just because of their identity. And the fact that something happened in their area, in their they had no say whatsoever.
Even they aren’t the reason for my post this time. The reason is the constant revenge posts in my feed. My six years of NCR gave me a lot of friends who proudly call themselves Indian. I am glad to have them. But after the Pulwama attack everyone, almost everyone is posting solitary with the soldiers and how they want revenge. From Pakistan and from Kashmir.
The 45 soldiers who lost their lives might not have deserved this. But did anyone step back for a moment to consider why a 20 year old youth would want to blow himself up? He wasn’t raised in the so called Afghanistan and told killing people will bring him to Jannah. He was raised in a village in Kashmir where I am pretty sure he was told, and it was emphasised that suicide is one of the gravest sins. That once committed, the doors of jannah are shut for him. That this suicide results in eternal hell.
Then why? Why would a person having his life ahead of him take such a step?
Why wouldn’t he consider the fate of his family after he is gone? Didn’t he know how families of militants are treated? Didn’t he know that even if PM wouldn’t say anything, army would avenge itself? Would at the minimum burn his house down. Beat all the Male members up and harass them at every opportunity? In a fit of rage, his mother and sister could be raped?
Or was it because he had had so much of this pain and trauma that he couldn’t hold back?
After all, does it not need immense strength on part of a person to just blow himself up? How many of us can survive that thought without tearing up? How many of us can could the time, the seconds till our death? And then cause our own death too? How many?
Or was it that he was already so dead inside that no heaven or hell mattered to him anymore? That he had seen enough to blow up not just himself but 40 other people too?
If he was so traumatised didn’t he know the families of these people would be in pain too? What had happened that rendered him numb to everyone’s pain? Tears?
Did anyone think, or ask for his story before asking for revenge? Did anyone even care to seek out the wounds inflicted on him? The reason that he drove to his own death?
The times when you so want to curl up and cry, to hide somewhere, run away from everyone….
The times when you feel like giving up, like everything is worthless, like nothing is working in the way desired…
The times when the world comes crashing, when the skies fall, when the earth bursts open, when even the closest ones leave your side…
The times when you lose the purpose of living, when nothing makes a sense, when even the next breath is a burden…
Don’t give up! Look up into your eyes, re-ignite that fire, visualize your purpose. There’s an answer to everything…
And all of a sudden I desire
A blade slicing through my wrist
Blood oozing out in busts
Everything painted red
An attempt to clean out all inside
Everything that deserves not to be
One or another trait, unwanted
The tag of unholy
Some memory may get erased
The piercing eyes of world
And forbidding eyes around
The soul may ultimately jolt awake
Dilemma of existence put to end
A vision to follow, go after
A life desired, devoted too!
It all started with a simple introduction. They called it an icebreaker. “Why be ignorant about each other when we have to be together.” That was the first time we interacted with our seniors.
We were asked to introduce ourselves. Names, previous university and hometown. On the mention of hometown they asked to pinpoint the place of residence. I refused straight away. Why should some strangers know of my residence? What purpose would it serve them? What fun? But they didn’t see my point. All they understood was that I had misbehaved. Insulted the seniors. Hurt their ego.
Later that day, Her classmates displayed the first signs of trouble. Someone came in and asked who talked like that to seniors. When pursued further she revealed that seniors said it was rude to refuse revealing your address like that. Discussions on my behaviour had probably started. The feeling of unease settling in.
This incident highlighted me in the department. I could even see my classmates eyeing me thinking probably of my (muhnphat) behaviour. Faces of seniors even worse. That day I knew I was all alone.
A few days later seniors confronted me in department. Asking me how I could gather the courage to answer them like that. How could a junior survive in a campus with angry and annoyed seniors. I did not answer them for this. But I merely told them that my data is personal and I shall not share it. And if residential details were so important for our cordial relations, why wasn’t the guy first to be introduced asked to reveal his exact residential location? What was the reason for this bias? And yes, I also gathered the courage to tell them that a person is himself responsible for the safeguarding of his respect.
This all didn’t go well with them. The next thing to follow was a call at hostel. Seniors called me up to their room in hostel. They held me accountable for the humiliation they faced in front of all juniors as well as seniors. But that wasn’t my fault, was it? They tried to make me feel guilty, horrible and get me to apologize. But why should I? I was merely protecting my identity. And I have every right to decide how much of my personal data is revealed to strangers. But they were seniors. Seniors with a hurt ego and a revengeful mind.
Seniors would not have bothered me if it would have been restricted to that. But would that not be too simple a life? For the life of my miseries was destined long.
The seniors in hostel were warden’s favourites. She did as and whatever they said. But I had not anticipated what happened further. In a conspiracy with the warden they created issues for me. Everyday I had a new issue to tackle. For some consecutive weeks I was made to shift from.one room to another citing one reason or another. The warden would not even listen or understand. Tired of adjusting the luggage in a room every week I simply stopped adjusting them. All my luggage remained in my bags. In college everyone had started eyeying me. And my classmates were asked to stop talking to me by seniors. I was made to feel like an outcast. No one to talk to or ask for help.
As gradually as one could sense, isolation was taking its toll. Sometimes I found soothing in tears, on other days nothing. The most painful thing was telling my parents that i was fine and happy. Talking to them in a cheerful voice was the most difficult task.
And one day I climbed up the terrace and jumped. The world won. They had successfully killed all my courage and hope. Only light remained.
When we hear about someone committing a suicide we judge them. That they are weak and incapable to manage and adopt as one should. That they chickened out of something simply because they did not have the guts to go through it.
But then who knows what was going on in their mind? We never get to know the calamity that might have befallen them. We criticise them simply because they accept and show that they are weak. That they are only humans.
No one can just go on and on. Everyone has a breakpoint somewhere. And by idealising what behaviour one should choose we are further promoting suicides. Because when someone knows they have fallen weak or failed at something, they know they won’t be accepted anymore. It is not their weakness that kills them. It is our stereotyping that does.
Walking down the road,
in pursuit of that goal
the cherished longing,
the golden dream
Along the way you try too hard
with a sun shining too bright
And then suddenly you feel tired
all energy, zeal sapped.
You wish the destination were nearer
that you reach before too late
with fatigue creeping in
the distance seeming even longer.
And somewhere you suddenly get sight
There! you found it right in front
Running wild, with all your heart
to find a mirage, mocking.
Broken hearts could not be seen
but they ache even more
They pain of losing out on dreams
the tests of time and tiredness.
I stood up there calming myself,
talking good, giving hope
Staring at a stray paper and wondering
death stared, cuddling!
At that point life seemed hard
consoling, drying my own tears
That low within said, ” Give up.
There is nothing left to live up”
Circumstances rendered a dagger fit
why not use it appropriate?
Why not cut self in two
end the heartsick period and life too?
A thousand reasons to cut and bleed;
to sip a potion of arsenic;
jump from eleven floors or come under a car
to survive, life was praying onto a star.
Sobbing, thinking, fighting a war
light flickering, overtaking dark…
it decided slamming gloom
for a day avoiding doom!
There are better ways to cope than die
Gloom and sun equally pass by
Yet we think over the grief
Extending the period meant to be brief
Splitting black on canvas
Thinking it would help with stuff
And yet pain never ceases to be
Unless you will, nobody can help thee!
Looking down eleven floors
scary, without doors
Everything dark, a dog bark
Red moon, in full bloom
A wandering thought, results sought
pleasure of flying bought
A painful scream, under moon’s beam
things turned red, street wet!
A soul’s end, hell bent
and birth of someone’s repent
On one side, blood shed
on the other, he welled up!