Growth : A Personal Retrospection

 

I asked myself over and over again. What was growth? How far did I come? How much more to go? Where am I going? And was this the right way, the right pace? At some point in my life, these questions that were in the back of my mind started echoing more clearly and had blurred my vision. It came to a point where the simplest of tasks such as getting out of bed seemed like moving mountains. It blinded me enough that I anticipated and dreaded each moment I woke up from my sleep because living was a nightmare. And once I find myself living, going back to sleep and dreaming was an even bigger struggle, for my brain was never one to falsely hope for things. And so each day, I ask myself, what is growth? And was I ever growing in this endless cycle?

I asked my body, "What is growth?", to which she replied, "Growth is gradual. Growth is gentle but growth takes some pain. Most of all, growth is beautiful. I spent years to grow you into the strong and beautiful woman you are now." I found it hard to believe so I asked my present self, "Are you any different from what you were in the past?" She replied "Yes, but you've lost focus and now you can't clearly fathom how far you've come. Find your happiness and come back." 

So I traced back to my past selves, solving the puzzle of who I was. I was always passionate about music. I asked myself from last year what she was happy about. She told, "I'm happy that a few good friends are listening to my music since I started a new channel. It's not much but I love that I'm able to sing more freely now." 

I went back to my teenage self and asked her the same question. She said , "I'm happy whenever I shock people as I start singing. Most people say I don't look like a singer but I'll never get over their reaction when they see me sing on stage. I'm happy I'm breaking stereotypes here! You don't always have to look like a singer, you can always sing like one! "

I admired her enthusiasm, despite having to face a whole lot of judgement while she was following her passion. She was strong enough to take them lightly. Moving on in my retrospection, I met myself from the age of 11. I could tell that she was excited about something. I asked her what made her happy. She replied, " Today, I was able to record my voice on the computer. I finally get to hear what I sound like! I've discovered that I have a beautiful voice. That I could sing! I want to be heard. I want to prove this world wrong. That I can actually be good at something! "

Tears of empathy flowed down my cheeks as I held her close to my heart and asked, "Why would you ever think that you were not good for something?"

And slowly I realised that she was a part of me as well. In fact, these were all parts of me that I never healed from. Parts of me that were left scarred and I never looked back because I was too caught up in my own journey with no destination. I realised that each time I was happy for myself, it took huge pillars of strength to keep me that way. For in every stage of my life, I was judged for who I am. 

In fact, it didn't take me long to realise that many of us were going through these questions everyday. Even though the world looked beautiful in the rose-coloured glasses of social media, I had to take all the strength in me to believe that my worth was never to be confined to numbers alone. Today, in this virtual space where we constantly share our progress in life, I want young girls and boys to know that growth was never a competition. Growth is beautifully painful yet giving. It shouldn't make you feel regretful of the things you never became. It shouldn't make you judge yourself based on other's opinions. It should help you understand your shortcomings and make you a better person; but most of all, growth is different for everyone. For someone who loves music, I never got myself professionally trained. I might never have a career in singing, but as long as it makes me happy, I'll be a gypsy wandering in art itself and I'll make the most of it, despite however people choose to see me. And I wish that you too would find that kind of love for your passion.

 I came back to my present self. She asked me, "So tell me, are you any different from what you were in the past?" ; to which I replied, "Yes, because I have come this far and no, because I still keep the same fire in me to keep going..."

The Journey

 

The first step of freedom is the most difficult to take. Going further away from loving your cages, to finding hope in the dewdrops of new beginnings just outside your shell of comfort can be overwhelming. As the scorching heat of the sun hits you with each moment away from where you came, you yearn to walk back home, a way that is more familiar to you than what is ahead and what is yet to come. It is harder but sometimes facing your fears is the greatest victory to cherish than the rewards themselves. You'll have to walk a long way and the path will only be yours to take. There is no one who would pave the way and turn the boulders of life if not you. And as the journey continues, it will be harder to do even the simplest of tasks. You'll trip, you'll fall, but make sure you rise back up. Set small landmarks, achieve small goals and find pleasure in doing so. As twilight takes over, you begin to admire everything around you that is part of your journey. You become less self-conscious and realise everyone has their own journey to take. At the end of the day, you will find solace in the peace of the night. Wherever you are, you've come a long way. Don't turn back.

Elements

 

Elements

Fire burning deep in me,

Making history 

everyday I breathe

Water, flowing peacefully

Graceful and serene 

that I chose to be.

I'm everywhere,

As free as I can be. 

Still you wonder why 

I cannot be seen.

Is it true?

That you're caught up in your dreams.

Won't you ground yourself on me?

Feel the warmth beneath your feet. 

I'm the elements, I'm everything.

There is no part of me 

that you'd find as incomplete.

For I'm a gentle breeze

with a fire burning deep.

A short and simple song I wrote. This was inspired by the different emotions a person would go through in life. Fire, depicting the anger and desire to rule over everything. Water, the state of being calm and graceful, even in its journey through rocks and rivers. Air, the yearning to be free from everything that limits it. Finally, Earth, resembling the state of being content and grounded to everything around.

A Letter To All The Dark-skinned People...

To all the dark-skinned people,

I felt the need to share my own experience on being dark-skinned myself. And so I write this to you. Life isn't fair to us. The world isn't fair. Fairness is what is fair for the world. In a world where an average human would unknowingly watch fairness cream ads at least a dozen times a day on the TV, we live in the unfortunate side of having dark skin. Is it really our fault that the advertisements show how bad chocolate coloured skin looks on young girls and boys? Is it our fault that they show how their products wash off the "dirty" skin and miraculously reveal the pale white skin underneath? Was it as easy as scrubbing off with some soap and lotion? Then why couldn't I just scrub it off? At the age of seven, I asked my mom why I was being called "Blacky" and she replied, "Whoever called me by that name must have darkness in their eyes. They must really be in a dark place if they feel the need to call a child by that name." Then why did they call me "tar-black"? Why did they call me the "N" word in my school days? There were lots of questions, growing up with the "wrong colour". Many assumed that I belonged to a lower caste, just because I was dark-skinned. Things didn't even seem to make sense at this point. The idea of colour mixing with religion just didn't seem to work. Its like mixing apples and oranges!

Fairness isn't a necessity, but try telling that to the millions of Indians who think fair skin is a must for being beautiful. The idea of anything being white is just so convincing. Even the dark-skinned gods have been painted blue. Different brands of fairness creams (which promote obvious racism but surprisingly nobody seems to mind it anyway) has a trend among youth and even children. Imagine growing up knowing that your skin colour is officially cursed everywhere you go and you can't do anything about it.  Almost everyone around you is subconsciously programmed by the idea of "white is holy". Nobody wants to see a dark-skinned person at all. The world around me was busy scrubbing off the dark in me. I tried everything to fit in ; papayas, potato bleaches, face masks,  literally anything that would stick to my face and reveal "my true beauty". Sometimes my parents would convince me that I'm beautiful in my own way. That facade fades off after a while. I look in the mirror and see a liar staring back at me. Hiding under facemasks and makeup. Mom and dad were supportive, but they always tell such beautiful lies to make you feel great. The public had treated me differently. In my teenage years, I strived so hard to be accepted by all. Of course, there were outbursts and depressive days when my parents tried to support me, but the rest of the world was shoving the truth into my face.

All my life I thought it was my fault that I was ugly. It turned out I wasn't ugly at all. After some self reflection I realised I had some great features; a pointy nose, sharp cheekbones and doll eyes with long lashes; I couldn't exactly find out why people called me ugly. And then it occurred to me; the chocolate brown skin. It took me a while to realise, how horrible the world had treated me just because I was dark-skinned. I put on makeup and pretended I was like the rest of the world. I edited my photos to overcome my "ugliness". This gave me  neither happiness nor satisfaction. Soon people started calling me out on using makeup. They told me how unrecognisable I was with makeup and editing apps and reminded me of how awful I looked in real life. This is when I gave up. At this point, I realized that, no matter what I did to be "beautiful" the world will always find some flaw in me. Since I couldn't wash the dirt off from their eyes, I washed my makeup away. It was easier. And it finally gave me the freedom to be just plain, old, me. That day, I embraced my body, and told her how precious she was to me. Sometimes, this is all you need to know. Take pride in whatever colour you come to this world. There's always room for more flavours in a tasteless world where people have the only option of choosing vanilla. To all the dark-skinned people, you may be as dark as chocolate, but so are you sweet.

The Space Between Her Legs

"But why? Why can't I wear shorts just like him?" She asked her mom, pointing to her eighteen year old brother who had his hairy leg exposed in front of her.

 "Because you simply can't! You're growing up, young lady!"

 "But he's all grown up too!" She snapped back. Her ten year old innocence didn't have the slightest idea of what possible harm could be caused from wearing shorts. 

Two years later, she wonders why the school changed her uniform from a pinafore play-suit to long, uncomfortable skirts. And like how mom told her back then, she was now all "grown up". She didn't know which was worse; losing blood for an entire week or walking the walk of shame in that skirt where her thighs would occasionally bruise up rubbing against each other while she managed to move like a handicapped zombie through the waves of meaningful stares that followed her on the street. She just couldn't understand why the ever-so-dominant men couldn't stand the sight of her blood. After all, she was the one losing it. "If men are scared of my tiny legs, and if I'm powerful enough to bleed for a week and they can't stand seeing the sight of the blood a twelve year old could lose, then I must be a powerful young lady!" That was a time when the rebel in her felt like a fugitive from the law. 

At seventeen years, she was just learning to love her churidars when people started giving her innuendos like "I see you're all ready to wear a sari in a few years." "Is there an age to wear a sari? Why?" She thought.

It was three years later that she found her answers. Twenty year old her was looking into the mirror, to see how effortlessly a thin piece of clothing was exposing her feminine features. The curves of her body that had been hidden even to herself all these years were so explicitly open, like goods kept in a public market.

She finally manages to reach her office in time, though she had trouble running in a sari to catch her bus. In time, she realizes she had no choice; this was tradition and she simply had to be accepting it. It was her first day of work and she's already received more compliments on her body than on her performance. "Hmm...tradition..." She pushed the thought away.

It was 7:00 pm when she finally finished work and was walking down a lonely lane back home. At the corner of her eyes, she could see the vultures of the night drinking her beauty as she walked past them. She wouldn't have been alarmed, if one of those vultures weren't following her. She felt her heart beating faster with every step she took and every step that echoed behind her. He was closing in now and in one swift move he caught hold of her swaying garment, disrobing her. 

She ran and that point, she didn't for once care what the society wanted her to look like. She was half naked, a damsel running in distress in the eyes of such pathetic, flesh-thirsty beasts. She realized no matter how much she bent to the norms, she was following the so-called "tradition " that chained a woman's freedom even to her legs. However, she was glad that he took that cursed piece of garment from her. While the rest of the world watched her running across the street, she found the freedom to finally run without having to hop about in a sari. In fact, she found freedom in her nudity and she knew for a fact that this was not what the society expected from her. The public would celebrate the story of a rape victim, making her look like she was the one at fault but she wasn't hurt at all that night. She was perfectly happy that the monsters of the dark helped her get back the rebellious child in her. 

There's a space between her legs. A space that defined the purity in her. A space that men are so concerned of; probably much more concerned than a woman should ever be. Overtime, they made these rules, covering them up with the name "Tradition". In any religion, in any land on earth, these traditions have never once allowed a woman to spread her legs. Why? Because the idea of "spreading her legs" is unimaginable to these dominant yet pathetic beasts. And eventually, he defines an attire for her. One that covers up this space. One that is just convenient enough for her to show off her seductive features and yet one that simply does not allow her to take giant leaps. Had she been wearing a pair of skinny tight jeans, it would've definitely earned her enough time to get away; for those men who wear them would know the struggle of getting them off. Why did tradition make it so convenient for him to just grab the only piece of clothing she had? "And to think all these years, shorts weren't safe for me!"

That night, she was brave enough to break her chains. Being a lady, didn't have to compromise with her comfort. If people find her body to be obscene, then it is high time they have to change their mindset about a lady for she is definitely someone who works with unnerving courage even in the midst of all chaos. How funny would it be to judge a heroine based on her armor! And today, here she was, walking down the aisle to her own marriage; wearing shorts to the bewilderment of all.

Women: Victims Of Inequality

Women: Victims Of Inequality

“She's not working. She's just a housewife." He announced with a smug face. ‘He’ has predefined the fact that any work done under the four walls of his kingdom will never amount to the work he does in his air-conditioned office.’ He’ decides on how much she gets paid . ’His’ ignorance has set rules for her to follow  ; rules that force her to cover up her boldness , rules that trap her in the shell of ‘safety’ , rules that cover her eyes with a scarf , forbidding her from seeing the light . ‘He’ could be any man who sets his daughters' limits from the time she is born. “ Is it a girl or a boy?” They ask; “Is it a burden or a boon?”, they mean. Her childhood is biased to kitchen sets and Barbie dolls and to the color pink . She is forced to cover her tender body ; for in a cruel world like ours , even her five-year old innocence would be threatened by ‘him’. She is introduced to different people who would control her but never have they shared their power with her. She finds herself stooping down ; in  her  family , in her society , all her life. Her courage is questioned when she is forced to hide in the shadows and never to come out alone at night. Then, ‘he’ seals an official bond with dowry  , lands and everything except her ,believing that marriage was a ‘license’ to bring down her dignity .The once daring beauty is brought down to a calm and reserved lady , serving her family. To her dismay, she is yet again introduced to  her kids as a mere ‘housewife’ rather than a ‘homemaker’, a mother , or a symbol of respect. Her existence has always been doubted and yet they cannot imagine a world without her .Despite the stabbing words she is enduring , she still holds a heart of gold. She is kind , concerned and caring, even to the ones who hurt her in her four-walled darkness .Her love remains unconditional even when her clothes lay tattered as he stamps her down with his foot. Isn’t it a sad truth that he’ll never know her love? For she will always be hidden under the safety of her scarves……..

Innocence

The feeling that evolves,

from the hollow stare of Truth,

is a power that you hold,

when there is nothing you can lose.

From the childish face of God,

to the time you'll pass away,

its a feeling you hold on,

till you start it all again.

It comes from all the stories,

that once Granny used to say.

But now its ended steeply,

on qualm hearts that often break.

A sun that once shone bright,

has now, a darker mind.

The shadow of doubt, comes alive.

It creeps in the Truth we deny.

There are mistakes and regrets,

But there's something more than pain.

For the harder part of soul,

is not guilty, nor the same.

Nothing is at stake,

in those impassive eyes of Truth.

And nothing can ever break,

the silent power that rules.

If everything you've tried,

has fallen all apart,

the one thing that remains,

is the goodness in your heart.

A time for you will come,

and it comes with all the reason,

to prove that they've been wrong

and that you've always been innocent

But till misery makes you numb,

till torture makes its way,

till there's nothing you can fall from,

you'll have to keep a constant wait.

And as the broken trust, lay shattered.

Crystal clear, from all your fears.

The mighty Truth, lives after

you and all your years.

If all they do is accuse,

then let them set ablaze

the questioning fear that burns them,

their glory and their name.

For a time will come for you,

and it comes with all the reason,

to prove that they've been wrong,

and that you've always been innocent.