It was somebody from the village who told me about his illness, that he was undergoing medical treatment in the cancer hospital. I remembered the last time I had seen him, about three years ago at a festival. He was carrying his newborn daughter in his arms, and it seemed as if she was the most precious possession that he had. But I could not believe it. I just couldn’t. He could possibly not know the value of a woman. I just kept staring at the sight. And when he finally saw me, his eyes could not meet mine. They were a pair of self-loathing eyes--eyes without emotion.
Life’s greatest tragedy is that it has decided to put the tag of a sinner on the one who suffers silently. What is suffering, anyway? Is it scratching your wounded soul till …show more content…
It was there, inside my thoracic cavity, beating only for the purpose of it, making me realise that I had to live the years still to come with the same emptiness. My feet were numb. I refused to walk in what they called the journey of life. Whenever I had to, it was out of compulsion that I crawled. It was as if a pseudopodium appearing out of nowhere would pull me forward, and I walked on blindly, my body refusing to get …show more content…
I told him that my father’s second cousin had sexually abused me as a child. The fact that he was family made it worse. He offered me tika and blessings every Dashain; he would always smile at me and give me a crisp hundred rupee note that I later flushed down the toilet. I washed the red colour off my forehead with soap and water, but his touch would never be washed away.
My village was a great place for vacation because there were many streams and ponds--the green of the spirogyra making them seem like flowing paintings. My father and all his siblings left their children at this huge home owned by my grandparents which could accommodate about 25 people at once. We would be like 12 cousins together, always fighting during meals, quarreling about who got the biggest piece of chicken, and reading for signs of grandma’s love in the portions--we would assume that the one with the largest piece was ultimately her favourite.
My grandparents were harvesting paddy about a kilometre away from their house in the village. My cousins were plucking oranges and keeping them in wooden baskets. I had developed a rash that seemed like an allergy and I had come home to put some ointment on my
Life’s greatest tragedy is that it has decided to put the tag of a sinner on the one who suffers silently. What is suffering, anyway? Is it scratching your wounded soul till …show more content…
It was there, inside my thoracic cavity, beating only for the purpose of it, making me realise that I had to live the years still to come with the same emptiness. My feet were numb. I refused to walk in what they called the journey of life. Whenever I had to, it was out of compulsion that I crawled. It was as if a pseudopodium appearing out of nowhere would pull me forward, and I walked on blindly, my body refusing to get …show more content…
I told him that my father’s second cousin had sexually abused me as a child. The fact that he was family made it worse. He offered me tika and blessings every Dashain; he would always smile at me and give me a crisp hundred rupee note that I later flushed down the toilet. I washed the red colour off my forehead with soap and water, but his touch would never be washed away.
My village was a great place for vacation because there were many streams and ponds--the green of the spirogyra making them seem like flowing paintings. My father and all his siblings left their children at this huge home owned by my grandparents which could accommodate about 25 people at once. We would be like 12 cousins together, always fighting during meals, quarreling about who got the biggest piece of chicken, and reading for signs of grandma’s love in the portions--we would assume that the one with the largest piece was ultimately her favourite.
My grandparents were harvesting paddy about a kilometre away from their house in the village. My cousins were plucking oranges and keeping them in wooden baskets. I had developed a rash that seemed like an allergy and I had come home to put some ointment on my