Unforgiven – 4

(Ok, I know it’s getting a little old asking you to check out the story in bits and pieces. But stay with me here. Maybe it’s going somewhere good. Maybe not. Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3)

I loved to travel and every weekend, I left my body behind as my mind traveled the vast spaces between different possibilities. Each face had a story to tell which somehow got distorted by the lips. It was easier to read the eyes instead. A person’s habits spoke a great deal about their character though they could disguise it easily under the cloak of pretenses. I opened my mind to everything that could be, and my thoughts were filled with visions more real than what my eyes showed. Those were the moments when I felt truly alive. The rest of the days were just a series of inhalation and exhalation.

No, I did not take a vow of celibacy though the absence of any information on my sexual activities is very obvious. I don’t mention it because I don’t like to kiss and tell. While I have read a lot of books extolling the virtue of abstinence, it is not something that I believe in. I have yet to experience Godhood and till I do, I will enjoy myself every chance I get. But to talk about it would be like talking about all the other routine things that I do and are taken for granted. It is normal to want to connect with someone; it is abnormal to put it in crude terms for someone else’s entertainment. So that’s all that I am going to talk about on this topic.

Give me a moment here. I think I might have just gotten derailed. I started off telling you about one of my favorite superhero traits. Isn’t that what got you hooked on to this really sad, mundane story in the first place? Well, here goes. As a young girl I was expected to touch the feet of my elders as a sign of respect; and if one of those respectable gents tended to have a roving hand, well, I was supposed to ignore it. After all, those much older than me can do no wrong. Especially true if they are extremely wealthy or influential. Things like what his hand did on my bowed back and head were part of a story that should die a natural death and be buried in a secret corner of my heart. Everyone else turned a blind eye, why couldn’t I?

The older I grew, the more I realized that while age adds a ton of physical deformities, there is no proof of it making a person wiser. So I stopped giving people the chance to feel me up; I would give them just the same amount of respect that they gave me. My parents were obviously at their wit’s end and couldn’t understand how to convince me that in our society such things were to be taken for granted. It wasn’t out of any fear that they wanted me to not talk. It was because shame is the prerogative of a woman. Why would I want the world to know that something shameful had happened to me, though my only fault was existing. After some time, they gave up on trying to help me fit in where I didn’t want to.

I had a mission now – to right what has been wrong for so long. To respect wisdom and not age; though contradicting the glint of silver in the hair was difficult in the beginning. My principles came with an assortment of punishments from holding ears to being caned. They tried to force some sense into my mulish mind but all their efforts accomplished was to make me more determined.

My natural wariness warned people that I knew what they were up to and they complained that my eyes saw right through them and displayed clearly that they were not up to the mark. Everyone has an inherent need to be accepted and respected. My inability to provide them a shard of pretense to hide behind left them feeling too exposed for comfort. Soon I had a lot of peace to give me company instead of the incessant chattering that goes with being a socially accepted person.



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