Tilted

Yet to see the light and yet to respire, the defenceless little fellow feared of being annihilated. Trapped in a cage, she heard sounds beyond the wall: whispers and screams, advices and threats. "Abort" one said, "while it is inconspicuous"; "disgrace" and "dishonour", muttered some other. Sometimes the chaos was followed by violent jerks and she would wake up later, feeling choked and dizzy. Other times, a soothing song would follow the ruckus- like a melody sung by a Nightingale to pacify the distressed princess stranded all alone in the void. The rhythm and cadence of it instilled hope and reassurances of better days.

Four years since the air first touched her cheeks, and four years of her mother being treated like a witch, a mewling infant came into this world. The spectators rejoiced and welcomed him reverently like a gallant prince returning from war. Winds blew and time raced; all along the baby grew strong and his sister, wan. Common guardians the two had, yet when asked about limits, he stared up to the sky while she extended her hands sidewise. He was a hero irrespective of the fact that a huge number of folks provided him with services. And she, a burden! Never mind the fact that the number of times she sought for assistance could be counted with just one palm. His wishes were commands, hers were requests. His follies were shrugged off, hers were penalised and looked down upon.

Turbulent thoughts and without a guide, she walked miles, all alone, faltering and then rising up again. Her hair concealed her face; and, her countenance was like a wilted plant refusing to meet glance. She wore loose shirts hoping to cover her blooming breasts. She had reservations against herself and constantly doubted if she was okay. This was bound to happen considering how she was ridiculed and laughed at over trifle matters such as braces and blood stained skirt! She lacked clarity and contrary to her believes, it wasn't her fault. When society behaves in contrasting manner, smiling in one instance and sneering in the next, it cannot be expected from a perplexed teenager to be sorcerer capable of changing her colours in accordance with the mood of a bunch of hypocrites.

It's been awhile since she accepted the drudgery of moving boxes as a recurrent event in her life. The last landlord excused himself with culture, claiming she was a disgrace and that she should immediately let someone put a leash around her neck. The landlady prior to him said that she was as lonely as a cloud and as attractive as a rose. But our young lady came a long way: she taught herself to hold her head high, and her dignity, still higher! Life was tough- the path she travelled in reached a point where it was filled with gravels in some places and quicksand in the rest. Nonetheless she carried on, and in the journey she acquired bruises as well as titles and accolades. None of this mattered to some however. The society yelled that scars were dirty and achievements were mere baits to entice bachelors. In the end the things she could ever be were: an ornament, a cook, a means, and a shame.