Where are we heading? I ask again

I feel a shiver down my spine as I read about the father who murdered his own daughter. It feels creepy to exist in this world, where a man is killed and chopped into 300 pieces by a jealous lover and a father who kills his own daughter out of suspicion.

Yesterday, I came across a blog about the need to have children and adoption being the last option considered by infertile couples. The writer argues that people value their own blood even though love has nothing to do with blood.

But what does one do when there is no love at all, or if there is so much love that it kills.

Arushi Talwar was a young teenager, who openly spoke about her father’s illicit relationship. The enraged father could have sat her down and talked to her. He could have tried talking to her, as any good parent would. But he didn’t. If the father suspected Arushi of having an affair with the servant he could have again tried talking to her, but how could he tell her what she was doing was wrong, when he himself was in an illicit relationship that Arushi openly disliked. The young girl might have shown a better sense of judgement by disliking her father’s affair, but her young mind could have faltered when she got close to the servant. Who knows?

The servant, who also knew of the father’s affair could have played around with the delicate mind of the teenager, forcing her to get close to him. After all, Arushi was a vulnerable teenager. Who knows what was going on in that young girl’s mind?

All we know is that she is dead, and whether he father is guilty or not, the fact is that bad parenting killed her.

Do we think that being a certain age and being married is our license to have a child? How many couples think about financial, emotional and social responsibilities of having a child before they have one? If they don’t then why does it surprise us when we hear of an enraged mother throwing her 4 year old out of the window or a 14 yr old girl killed by her own father?

Having a child could be the greatest joy, but what follows is a huge responsibility of shaping that young mind to become a responsible, compassionate and a rational human being…

…Starfish

While walking down a clean beach early one morning, I came across an almost dead starfish. It was stuck in the sand, stagnated. There was an urge to pick the fish up and take him home, and match it with the starfish in the book- 1001 words. But as I went down on my knees to pick the blue-grey wonder, it moved its tentacles, begging for another chance. The sea must have heard it; the chilly early morning sea wave splashed its transparent self onto the beach and washed the starfish back with it, freeing it from the sand that held it. The sea must have wanted me to have him too; another wave splashed on my foot a tickling feeling. And there it was; the star fish at my feet, resigned to its fate, stuck in the sand, motionless.

I picked it up, and stared at it. I decided to walk with it on my palm through the waking village. They later told me that it was very rare to find a starfish in Malvan. I saw no meaning in it. Until the angel who was taking care of me then whispered to me, ‘It is here to remind you my girl, that no matter how big your problems seem to you, they will always be small as compared to the universe. Look at this little starfish and think of how big his problem was, being stuck in the sand. Look how small it was to you-his problem.’

The softness of its body had changed into hardness within a day as the experience in the world outside the ocean dried it up. But it sat there, to remind me of my negligible existence in the universe!

 

Writer’s dream

I want to write
Breaking free from the chains
That bind me down
To me

I want to float away
Far from the reach
Of these constellations
Into a land of my mind

I want to break open,
This cage of my soul,
And explore new horizons
And let the writer be born.

Born free of me,
Free to tell the stories,
Some them my own,
Carefree…

Free of my existence,
And existence of its own…
An existence without a face
An existence defined by the constellations
Of the stories I wove.