A fine day, I gathered up the pieces of my broken courage and lodged an FIR. He never got caught but media had a new spicy story to tell. It started with a small channel and newspaper soon boomed over every channel and newspapers. People started candle marches.
In a month, my name changed from Agrima to Niharika. Now I had a new identity which wasn’t mine. I tried to console my own soul, when I couldn’t console my mind. Things were going upside down and I wanted to die. I spent endless nights with my wet pillow and used to sit under the shower for hours. Soon I became a hot topic of debate over kitty parties and news channels.
One day when I was planning to go to school after the incident, my mother asked me to stay strong and face this world. I thought about this incident in my school, about how people visualize raped girls, and how they sign a mark sheet of girl’s character on the basis of what she is wearing and how a girl becomes a slut in a minute when she is spotted with a boy.
Nobody in my class came to me or talked to me. Silence of being alone was killing my heart.
What would other raped women be facing? How much pain they have buried in their hearts of fist size? My mind traversed over a million of questions about this society, this culture, this country, and about my life. I started taking tuitions to keep my mind engaged. I started teaching helpless children free of cost. They were my only way to escape from reality.
A lady in her mid-forties came to thank me for teaching her only son for free and told me her story. Her husband used to beat her almost every night, sometimes it was hot press and sometimes it was broom that left a scar on her impeccable white skin. She belonged to a nice family. Her husband raped her when she was pregnant, repeatedly for months and when she told her parents about her husband and his demonic deeds, they refused to accept her. “A husband can’t rape a wife” they said to her and asked her to stay with her husband. She struggled, she bore but she never felt safe in her own house. She was worried about her child and left her husband’s house and started living in a chawl.
“I feel good when I share things with you” She said.
“You can come here every day” I smiled.
More ladies joined us soon, and our group started enhancing. There was something heart throbbing in each story I heard.
Empty mind is devil’s house but sometimes this empty mind can give you so many fruitful things. Sitting idle in my living room, I thought of starting an organisation which can help rape victims. I wanted to pave a road for them.
“The facebook page of NGO has more than a million likes, I wonder if anyone of them knows this heart throbbing story of the founder” I said with lump in my throat.
“I hardly care about it, I do not want sympathy and neither have I wanted anyone’s fake support. I am happy with what I have” she looked away outside the window. “Do you know the truth of this life?”
“ummm… no” I said.
“Even tree loses its green pretty leaves in the sheer coldness, the moon doesn't glow when clouds surround this universe. You are never alone in this world. You have your soul and your mind. If you have control on your mind, your heart will melt in comparison to its power. And if your soul is pure and pristine, no one can put any blot on you. Your heart is a twisted heap of emotions and your body is nothing but a brume full of flaws. You will leave this place and will find an apt place in heaven one day” I jotted down every single word she said.
She waved her hand and I saw a boy dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a white shirt. He came
towards us and Miss Agrima introduced him to me.
“Meet Divank Sharma, my fiancé”
“Baby we are getting late” he said and held her waist from back. He whispered something in her ears and she smiled.
“It was nice meeting you” she said and left the place.
Being loved is a true feeling, but seeing two people deep in love with each other is more than anything. Love knows all your flaws and mistakes but still it exists there. The thing about love is not intimacy but faith and trust.
In a month, my name changed from Agrima to Niharika. Now I had a new identity which wasn’t mine. I tried to console my own soul, when I couldn’t console my mind. Things were going upside down and I wanted to die. I spent endless nights with my wet pillow and used to sit under the shower for hours. Soon I became a hot topic of debate over kitty parties and news channels.
One day when I was planning to go to school after the incident, my mother asked me to stay strong and face this world. I thought about this incident in my school, about how people visualize raped girls, and how they sign a mark sheet of girl’s character on the basis of what she is wearing and how a girl becomes a slut in a minute when she is spotted with a boy.
Nobody in my class came to me or talked to me. Silence of being alone was killing my heart.
What would other raped women be facing? How much pain they have buried in their hearts of fist size? My mind traversed over a million of questions about this society, this culture, this country, and about my life. I started taking tuitions to keep my mind engaged. I started teaching helpless children free of cost. They were my only way to escape from reality.
A lady in her mid-forties came to thank me for teaching her only son for free and told me her story. Her husband used to beat her almost every night, sometimes it was hot press and sometimes it was broom that left a scar on her impeccable white skin. She belonged to a nice family. Her husband raped her when she was pregnant, repeatedly for months and when she told her parents about her husband and his demonic deeds, they refused to accept her. “A husband can’t rape a wife” they said to her and asked her to stay with her husband. She struggled, she bore but she never felt safe in her own house. She was worried about her child and left her husband’s house and started living in a chawl.
“I feel good when I share things with you” She said.
“You can come here every day” I smiled.
More ladies joined us soon, and our group started enhancing. There was something heart throbbing in each story I heard.
Empty mind is devil’s house but sometimes this empty mind can give you so many fruitful things. Sitting idle in my living room, I thought of starting an organisation which can help rape victims. I wanted to pave a road for them.
***
“The facebook page of NGO has more than a million likes, I wonder if anyone of them knows this heart throbbing story of the founder” I said with lump in my throat.
“I hardly care about it, I do not want sympathy and neither have I wanted anyone’s fake support. I am happy with what I have” she looked away outside the window. “Do you know the truth of this life?”
“ummm… no” I said.
“Even tree loses its green pretty leaves in the sheer coldness, the moon doesn't glow when clouds surround this universe. You are never alone in this world. You have your soul and your mind. If you have control on your mind, your heart will melt in comparison to its power. And if your soul is pure and pristine, no one can put any blot on you. Your heart is a twisted heap of emotions and your body is nothing but a brume full of flaws. You will leave this place and will find an apt place in heaven one day” I jotted down every single word she said.
She waved her hand and I saw a boy dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a white shirt. He came
“Meet Divank Sharma, my fiancé”
“Baby we are getting late” he said and held her waist from back. He whispered something in her ears and she smiled.
“It was nice meeting you” she said and left the place.
Being loved is a true feeling, but seeing two people deep in love with each other is more than anything. Love knows all your flaws and mistakes but still it exists there. The thing about love is not intimacy but faith and trust.
“Being born a woman is an awful tragedy. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars – to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording – all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.”
- Sylvia Plath
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