Wednesday, 15 February 2012

I hate writing

I hate writing... because it always bought tears and shame. I hate writing because it is confusing. I spend twenty years choosing a topic to write. Not that the topics were scarce, but choosing the angle to narrate them was the difficult part. Because life can be narrated in so many angles and I no longer know which emotion I should use to encounter an incident. You see, my emotional gland is not an automatic gun, it is a manual one.
Three years I have spent choosing the language to write.  And today I am tired of acting the fallen angel. So I am spending this day to ponder “why am I afraid of writing? “
It is really a wonder how words are put together in different forms to form music or film or any forms of art. I am 24 years old and I still ponder about things. I consider it as an achievement, (though others think I am stupid and slow) because some people I know stopped it a long time ago.
I am a coward. I am afraid of love, music, and romantic movies ...anything that brings the emotions out of me. Don’t waste your time trying to read my mind. Gone are the days when I was a difficult poem to read. Now I am a piece of paper lying on the street, waiting for God to write something on it. Now I am willing to be anything... but something.
I can’t stand the pain of being a writer. But I can’t be a normal person either. Like a eunuch I lie between the two worlds. My pain is not created by the world, but by the conflicts inside me. I found little solace in God...well, I blame that on church. I being a typical catholic can think of God only as a punishing, strict and unreasonable big father. Well, that is the image I got from their Sunday speeches.
I scrutinize every word I write.  I would think in other person’s shoes, wondering how they will judge me after reading it. And I don’t want to be judged. I am not writing for anybody... not even for me to read later. I don’t even know whether there is any relationship between the paragraphs. I don’t read what I wrote before. And I am not thinking hard for a topic. Maybe I will delete it after posting. But I write because I feel so...  
I don’t know whether I am happy or not now. Explaining things makes me sick.
Life is like a movie which does not have a villain in the end who explains why all this is happening to you... he just shoots you and leaves. And you lie there bleeding and wondering ...what the heck? 

Monday, 6 June 2011

No more soumya

Today when i saw the visuals of some brave men beating up that dog which killed our soumya, i was actually crying. i don't know whether anyone who read this understand my feelings, but if i dont write this i will never get any peace of mind.
I remember the first time i heard about soumya. I was staying in elamkulam, kochi in the upstairs of a house with my friend aiswarya. We had done degree together. She was working in al diwaniya furniture together with soumya.They were best friends.Soumya had a very strong personality, unlike her fragile body.  Knowing soumya, i have no doubt that soumya would have fought that animal till her consciousness was knocked off.
When i got transferred to calicut, i had to leave aiswarya alone in the flat and soumya was her sole courage. They were always together and that was my consolation. Rest of the story you know...
Life have never been the same for us after that terrible day. Aiswarya was with her in hospital. We haven't slept or eaten for days. We prayed for her day and night. At last our dear one succumbed to death. I think she died for good. Think of living again with those memories. Yes, i thank God she is dead.
After her death, Aiswarya was afraid to walk alone.Most of us had emotional breakdowns. I think not only Govindhachamy, but all the other people who remained indifferent in that compartment should be hanged.
Oh God.... how i hate this indifferent attitude? God, I want to shake up all the people and shout at them... WAKE UP.......... WE ARE DYING..... WE ARE RAPED.... WE ARE MURDERED.... WHERE ARE YOU?
And just when we thought justice was going to be delivered what is happening? Our sister was stripped, raped and killed brutally by an animal and we are going to relieve him again prowling on our streets? Shouldn't we be ashamed?
For us, Rape has become a common word like 'Gandhi' or 'India'.
One day i was travelling in a bus. It was rush hour and a women entered with a 2 year old child. The child was seated near a stranger in the bus, a usual sight in buses. The stranger dismounted somewhere and when the child came back to her mother her private parts were bleeding.( does a 2 year old child have a private part?)
We are sick, brothers and sisters, we are sick. All of us. Some for doing this kind of insanity.Some for letting this happen without taking proper precaution. And most of us for not responding.
This is an opportunity to stand together. Revive ourselves. Even though our Soumya had to become a scapegoat let us take a pledge. No more Soumya in front of our eyes