Showing posts with label Story. Show all posts

A measure of affection


The first time he told me he loved 
I laughed.
He couldn’t be serious.
We had met just a short while ago
We didn’t know each other enough
It was way too fast
How could it be real?

I was 21
I believed that for love to be real and true
He had to know my favourite colour
How many siblings I had
Or at least where my hometown was
So I rejected his affections
So we could know each other more
Now that I think about it
that was when the twinge began.

I watched him wait
I watched him give up
That twinge grew into an ache
I couldn’t understand it
I had made this decision 
And I knew it was the right one
So why was I feeling this way?

It would take a handful of years
When I was much older and a little wiser
For me to consider that maybe I had it wrong after all
What did the duration of time matter in the grand scheme of things?
What did my favourite colour have to do with who I was?
What did knowing the size of my family or the land my ancestors came from 
have to do with the depth or truth of our relationship? 
Where did I even get these parameters from?
How did I learn to use them as a way of measuring affection?

He knows my faith, he knows how to make me laugh 
and he sits with me in favourite spot everyday. 
Aren’t those things better and more important 
than my love for mostly pink but sometimes red?

I don’t know yet truly. I don't have the big answer.
I’m just writing these thoughts down as I have them..

1852 040722
Juicy Raindrops! ♡

Inspired by a conversation with Ahsia.

Oh billy!: From the ram's view point

We aren't just any old animal farm with pigs and hens and goat. We are THE animal farm. 

Old Roger has said that for as long as there are humans who eat meat, the farm would always be in business. The highlight of the farm depends on what season it is. During Christmas and Thankgiving -turkey and pigs, during the Eid celebrations chicken and ram. The farmer caters to all sorts. 

Now we who are grown and fattened for the season love it. We are fed well, not used for manual labour on the farm and groomed too. This we know is a requirement by the people who buy us as per their religious rules. So we are treated very well. 
Then we see the world. From our little farm out in the hicksville we are transported to all parts of the country. From busy market places to  makeshift trading posts - we are sold or bartered to the family that will take us home. 
But we are not all so lucky. Every once in a while, a few of us don't get sold or bartered and will have to be returned to the farm. For us, there is no greater tragedy than being a "Reject". According to the whispers, Old Roger was a reject from last year. He has rope injuries on his hind legs and wobbles when we walks. He always has his head down and only really looks alive when he is telling of the tales of his journey around the county. But the inevitable usually happens. One of the young sheep in their innocence asks: "It sounds so wonderful... Why did you ever return?” And then Old Roger would return to his default deadpan self. Our mothers would tell us to be good when we were young or end up a Reject. That, for us, was the boogeyman under the bed. 

The big day came. A week to the Eid festival, we were all shipped to our trade posts. I was taken to a market in a place called Kaduna. The road had been a wonder to behold. All those lands and open spaces- with no fences or barriers. When we went into the bigger towns and cities making drop-offs, i smelled the strangest smells and saw the most colourful of places. We all looked out the gaps of the trailer and marvelled at the things we saw and heard. 

Eventually I was dropped off myself. But life wasn't as easy as we had thought. The flock from our farm were kept in paddocks next to flocks from other farms and there was a lot of rivalry and competition as our human owners tried to woo the customers by offering the best prices and claiming that their animals had the best look. It wasn't looking good for our farm because up until a day to the Eid festival, only 9 of us had been sold. We were all starting to worry and young Albert was downright mopey because his chances were even slimmer being as small of stature as he was. But remarkably, he was the next of us to be sold. I overheard the humans say that the economy has been terrible and the currency of the nation had been greatly devalued therefore most customers couldn't afford the high prices of goods anymore. This didn't bode well for us. 

On the morning of the Eid festival I saw a little human girl looking through the paddock holes at us - as we lay sad and dejected. The farmer had said the night before that we would have to all go back to the farm. We were all to be Rejects. But the little girl.. she looked what the humans would call “cute”. When our eyes locked she smiled at me so I let her try to touch my ears. Then she pulled away and ran off only to return with an adult human male. She pointed to me and said "Daddy let's take this one." 

So they were last minute buyers then? But the way the older man looked me over, I knew he wouldn't want me so I didn't even bother getting up to preen for his attention. But the little girl was relentless. She stamped down her foot and declared that they would take me or no other. The farmer, seeing a possible sale, came over and started negotiating prices with the human man. The farmer is a professional haggler and finally a price was agreed upon. It was much higher than the price the farmer had hoped to get for any one of us this late in the day. I know because I had heard him and this foreman talking before. The farmer would have accepted up to half the price the human man paid. Maybe now he will finally be able to afford to send his youngest daughter to school. This has always been a bone of contention between the farmer and his wife, who has always insisted that their daughter be sent to school even with the farmer arguing that he couldn't afford the extra expense. My mother used to say that it was unnatural for me to listen to the humans talk but they have always fascinated me. Especially their love and devotion to money. I still do not get it. I have seen money before, it doesn't even look all that delicious to me but I guess to each his own. 

The foreman collared me and I was loaded into the delivery vehicle they aptly called a 'pickup' that would take me to the home of the humans who had bought me. As the little girl walked by me, she smiled her victory as if we were in cahoots. I had to appreciate her gusto. 

On this drive, I was filled less with that crazy excitement I had felt when leaving the farm and more with a sense of calm contentment. It had been a close call for me, I am aware I could have been a Reject. Except here I am being unloaded from the vehicle and being walked to the block where I will be nobly sacrificed. This is what I was meant to do. This is my pride and all my mother wanted for me. 

I see that the butcher is there already sharpening his knives and preparing his equipment. When I am brought to him, he looks me over with a critical eye and gives out instructions for how I should be held down. They needn’t bother, today I won't be going anywhere. The human man is given the knife to make the first cut and I hear him telling someone to take his daughter away. But my little defender would not have that so instead she ran forward to stand in my line of vision and stomped her foot again. Her father grudgingly subsides and she smiled that smile of hers again. 

The first feel of the knife at my neck hurt but after that I didn't feel anything anymore. The butcher took over and as the human man returned to his daughter, I heard her say:
"Has billy gone to sleep?"

I didn't hear her father respond and I don't even know if he did. My last thought was that she had named me after a damn goat. 

First Love.


You know how I love my stories right? I love all kinds – particularly love stories (you just made a face, didn’t you? Well, boohoo!!!). Today, I remembered one such story I’d once been told and decided to share with you. 

(Note: Slight embellishments might have been made by my overly active brain).

Enjoy!  - J.
 --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

*Sim card blocked*
"Well isn’t that just great?"


Freya tossed her phone on her bed and fell down right next to it with a deep sigh. Back in the country barely 8 hours and everything was already falling apart. From her position on the bed, she glanced at her still packed and unopened suitcases. Why the hell had she needed three whole suitcases anyway? She was only home from college for a month after all.

Still dreading the unpacking process looming before her, she heard a knock on her door. She shouted, “Come in” without looking up, expecting it to be either her mum or sister.

It was neither. 
“So you really are back?”
“OMG! Jackson!”

Freya was out of bed and in her cousin’s arms in a second.
“Hey Kiddo! I thought you weren’t due back till next month?”
“Yeah I was, change of plans. What are you doing here?”
“Came to pick something up. Your mom said you were back here. Actually I could use your help getting some of the stuff out.”
"Sure!”
Freya helped her cousin move several boxes out, where she met his friend, Trevor. Turned out Jackson, who lived like a gypsy, was moving some of his stuff from Freya's house to his other cousin’s (paternal) house which was also on the same street.

Jackson took the last box down leaving Freya behind with Trevor. A very boring and quiet Trevor, she mentally added. Jackson returned after what felt like hours with Bruno and Gabe. Bruno was his cousin while Gabe was a friend of the family.

Gabe instantly began flirting with Freya, who actually told him to “calm down little boy”. This elicited a round of hearty laughter from the group because although Gabe didn’t look it, he was 24 and in his final year of med school while Freya was almost 19. After being on the brunt end of their jokes and innuendos, Freya was quickly becoming impatient. Bruno and Jackson then went away to see Trevor off which suspiciously took much longer than it should have. This gave Gabe and Freya some time to talk. (Freya had pretended not to notice when Gabe had practically shooed the others away).

A little while later,  Freya came to one conclusion which was that Gabe was insane; there was no other way to put it. His attitude towards her wasn’t one of someone he had just met. Instead he talked and acted as if they’d known each other forever. At some point he actually started throwing pistachio nuts in her direction. And of course, she threw them right back. This led to a 'battle of the nuts' in which no one won.. and then they both laughed like loons.

Serious conversation followed and they spoke about a range of topics… school, family, and well, life. He hadn’t yet chosen a specialization but was leaning towards surgery. He was the youngest of three boys and his dad had passed away when he was 9. She, in turn, told him about college and some other stuff she never thought she would be telling a virtual stranger. But though he was a stranger... He didn’t feel like one. That, she thought, explained the little twinge of disappointment she felt when she saw Jackson and Bruno finally return. Gabe asked for her number and she told him about the blocked sim card so instead he collected her twitter handle pending.

And that was the first time…

They wouldn’t meet for weeks after. But then they would and this time, it would be right. He would woo her and she would fall head over heels in love with him. Flowers, candle lit dinners, walks in the park, stolen kisses… all the trimmings. Their first kiss would be sweet with just a hint of that fierce passion. Ah, the butterflies and the deliciousness of first love! When she got the flu, he actually went to the pharmacy and made her a "flu pack" - containing all and various cold and flu medication. He would later confess that he had grabbed any bottle that was green in colour because that was a good, healthy colour, right? :)

But summer will then end and both of them would have to return to school.. on two different continents. At first they would try to make it work. A dozen phone calls a day, regular messages.. But then their schedules would get busier. With tests and assessments around the corner, planned Skype dates would be forgotten and missed and feelings will begin to dim to simply glowing embers. Eventually, calling it quits would be better than the burnt feelings and rain checks.


Back in school, Freya would make a new friend. And that is how I will come to know of Gabe. My friend Freya’s first love.


How did you meet your first love?

The Story of Beauty: Clarissa's tale (Part II)

PART ONE HERE

Dr. Schneider looked up from his chart to watch Clarissa as she attempted once again to work along the wall from one end of the room to the other. She was making remarkable progress, he thought. In the weeks since she had begun to show voluntary motor skills, she had shown a marked progress every time he saw her. The damage inflicted on her system had been so much that like a child, she would have to be taught everything anew. She was learning to walk (without aids) and a couple of the nurses have been teaching her to write. Just yesterday she had successfully written her whole name on her own. These were all good signs, however there was one hiccup: Clarissa still hadn't spoken a word. Scans of her throat showed that barring some slight swelling noted upon admission, which had cleared now, her vocal apparatus was fine but Clarissa wasn't speaking at all. She didn't even make sounds, not even when coaxed. This was the one point that troubled him. The longer, he thought, that she went without speaking, the harder it will be for her to ever speak at all.
---       ---     ---     --- 
Hope and Donald watched as their daughter ate her dinner. They'd been here for over two months now and her improvement has been a balm to her parents who never left her side.

As Hope wiped the sauce from her daughter's face she couldn't help the shiver that went through her. They knew the whole story now. The arrested boy had confessed everything. It had been premeditated. They'd planned everything. They'd tricked her daughter into coming with them. They'd raped her. All three of them. And then they'd tossed her body in a land fill, leaving her for dead. But her daughter hadn't died. No, her daughter had survived. Her little fighter.

She knew that the doctors worried about Clarissa's lack of speech. They didn't say it but she saw the look that crossed their faces whenever they asked if she'd spoken yet. Hope didn't mind much. He daughter was alive and she was beyond grateful. She didn't need any more miracles.

A knock on the door had both parents turning. It was the lawyers. Hope and Donald exchanged a look and Hope nodded. Donald left the room to meet and converse with the lawyers. Hope knew what it was about. She and her husband had discussed it extensively and had made their decision. The lawyers wanted them to press charges. To go after the delinquents responsible for hurting their daughter, to go against the chairman... and had their daughter not survived, Hope knew that she would have. She still wanted to really. But she and her husband had made a decision. They were leaving the village behind as soon as their daughter was better. They were going to go start a new life elsewhere. The parents' of the boys involved had pooled together and were taking care of all of Clarissa's medical bills as an apology and plea in one. Hope didn't care about their apology because she knew it was actually a bribe, and the only reason she'd agreed to let them pay was because her daughter would have died without the specialists in the city hospital and she and her husband would have never been able to afford even a consultation fee.

But this was the end. She would never be able to live around these people again. And she didn't want her daughter to have to suffer it either. So they would be leaving and pressing no charges. And that is what her husband had gone to tell the lawyers now.
---       ---     ---     --- 
Talia has been a lawyer in this town for ten years now. She had seen her fair share of rape cases and not all the victims had been lucky enough to live to tell the story. But in the last 6 months, the number of cases had nearly tripled in their frequency so she and 12 other female lawyers had come together to form an association of sorts to defend helpless women from abusive men, who sometimes happened to be their husbands. Talia and her friends had had no idea just how hard it would be though. The women, those who survived the trauma, either didn't want to press charges or downright denied that there was a problem at all. Some were passive and others were scared, but Talia and her friends didn't lose faith. And then Talia had heard about Clarissa. She'd raced over to handle her case and had been with the family every step of the way. She'd sensed their hesitance in the beginning but was winning them over now. She truly believed that.

That belief was exactly why she couldn't believe the words that Donald was saying to her now. She made all the arguments:   
"Moving doesn't help... It could happen anywhere.."
"It could happen to some other girl who might not be so fortunate.."
"They had a full confession from one of the boys and though he had later retracted his confession and now all three boys were denying the accusations made against them, there was still DNA and forensic evidence..."
"They could WIN this!"
She kept making them, but Donald only sighed. It all went over his head. He was tired. He only wanted his family. He asked if she had any children of her own. She replied in the negative and he told her that when she did, she would understand the decision that he had had to make now. With that he smiled faintly at her, thanked her for everything, walked back into this daughter's hospital room and quietly shut the door behind him.

***      ***      ***

What would you do in their shoes? Fight or retreat? Take in the factors as much as you can and please let me know what you truly think. I'm curious.

- J.

The Story of Beauty: Clarissa's tale (Part I)

This short series was inspired by true life events which occurred  just last month (January 2014). It filled me with such rage and despair and helplessness... I had to write about it. So as you read this, keep in mind that there really is a Clarissa out there. And not just one either. 
Keep that in mind. 

                        **                         **                        **                         ** 

Clarissa knew what poverty was. She's always known it. She'd worn the hand-me-downs and sometimes gone without. Her best clothes were the ones without holes in them. But Clarissa wasn't poor. She had parents who loved her and a roof over her head. Wise at 16, Clarissa considered herself rich. 

But it was January and a new school term was starting and though they'd managed to pay her tuition fees, Clarissa didn't have school shoes. She knew what would happen if she went to school without them. The teachers would threaten to whip her (and some times make good on the threat) and the other kids would laugh. The worst thing that would happen though was that the principal would send her back home. Clarissa liked school. She liked the learning and knew she was privileged to have parents who considered education a priority. Betty's parents didn't feel the same so Betty joined her mother in the market place everyday. Clarissa didn't complain.  

Her patience paid off. The Sunday before the Monday when school would resume her father came home with the money for her new school shoes. Clarissa was ecstatic. And the very next day she went out to the market to get her shoes. 

She never made it to the market. 

A trio of boys that hung around the neighborhood invited her over to hang out. Though she really didn't want to, this had never happened to her and she felt lucky and honoured even that they wanted to hang out with her, of all people! She'd try it out just this once. Just for the novelty. They went over to the residence of one of the boys, they talked and even offered her a drink. It was just Fanta not some exotic drink she didn't know, so she accepted and drank her fill. 

It was all so fast. One minute she was smiling at something one of the boys had said and the next she was tingling all over. The tingling got worse. Something was very wrong. When she turned to alert the boys of that fact, she saw their faces and realisation dawned. They'd done this to her. It was written in the expectant look on all three of their faces. Clarissa tried to move, to get up, to get out. But it was to late.  Whatever they'd dosed her with had kicked in and her limbs weren't responding. 

They didn't even have the decency to wait for her to pass out. She felt the hands that began pulling on her clothes, but thankfully, not for long. Whatever was in her system made her numb and unresponsive. She couldn't feel their groping hands or even the tear of her maidenhead. The last thing she saw was one of the boys switching places with the other so that he too could have his turn violating her. And then she passed out. Her shoe money still clutched in her hands. 

She awoke to darkness. Fear wrapped itself around her like binds keeping her trapped. But then she began to hear faint sounds and then like the volume suddenly being turned on real loud, she could hear.. And there was a lot of noise. She tried opening her eyes but they wouldn't open and neither would her limbs move. So she laid where she was. She finally deduced that she was in a hospital. She could only hear foreign voices. She was so tired. 

Darkness again. 

              --             --            --            --             --

Clarissa woke up again and this time she heard a voice she knew. One she loved. A quiet one. She heard her mother. And after a beat, she heard her father too. She tried to call out to them but she still couldn't speak. She realised that someone was speaking to her parents so she listened. She caught bits of the conversation:

"High concentration of Ketamine, a powerful horse tranquillizer"
"Raped.. Might be permanent damage even if she lives"
"Lucky she's alive.. Though unresponsive."
"Don't want to get your hopes up.."
"We will do our best.."

Unresponsive? She could hear them! And this time when she tried to open her eyes, they obeyed. For a long time she could only see white, blinding light and then the room began to come into focus. She saw her mother first and she saw when her mother saw her. Because though she didn't say a word, tears flowed like waterfalls from her eyes and then she reached for my hand. She squeezed and I tried to squeeze back.. But I couldn't. My mother sniffed really loudly and caught the doctor's attention. He came over to my bed and started checking my wrists and eyes. I didn't know what he was looking for but I hoped he could see that I was still in here. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him because he smiled faintly at me before leaving the room. 

For days I couldn't move, talk, eat or even blink. The nurses and my mother would take turns dripping some solution into my eyes so they didn't dry up. The doctor would come to check me and leave. A lawyer and some police officers also came but my father spoke to them outside my room so I have no idea what was said. My mother never left my side. I noticed that she seemed to have aged 10 years in the 2 weeks I have been on admission. I wondered how my parents would pay for all these health bills and as I looked around the hospital room it occurred to me that they definitely wouldn't. This wasn't the hole-in-the-wall single bedroom house that passed for our local hospital. This was obviously a big hospital in the city. I felt shame at having caused them so much worry and problems and I reached out to touch my mother's hand... Wait, what? My hands were responding. Only slightly but they were moving. I touched my sleeping mother and she came awake instantly. She took one look at me and hugged me before running out of the room and returning with the doctor in tow. 

              --             --            --            --             --

Clarissa's mother, Hope, wasn't a particularly religious woman. But as she watched the doctor check her daughter's vitals she prayed very, very hard. Hope had always wanted kids but as Fate would have it she hadn't been able to sustain a pregnancy to term. Clarissa had been both a blessing and a miracle. She didn't want to lose her daughter. She couldn't. So she prayed again as she had, persistently and endlessly, over these past couple of weeks. 

The doctor completed his examination and scribbled something on his chart, which when Hope tried to read, made no sense to her at all. The doctor said some more tests had to be run and left. I sat back down in my chair next to my daughter's bed and cooed her back to sleep. 

Her father, my husband - Donald - came in a couple of hours later. I told him about Clarissa's earlier activity and for the first time since this nightmare begun, I saw life in my husband's dark eyes. I wanted to go to him. To hug and comfort him, and have him comfort me too but I knew that now wasn't the time. Oh my husband, my handsome hardworking husband. I love him today like I've loved him for 20 years. He is my One. Even though my mother disowned me for leaving to marry the man I loved.. I wouldn't have it any other way. 

He turned weary, tired eyes to me and reached for my hand. We walked outside our daughter's room and he told me about his latest meeting with the lawyers. They wanted him to sue. One of the boys had been caught and for fear of life in prison, he had given up the identities of his two other comrades. One of whom was a cousin to the local Chairman. No one stood up to the Chairman and survived unscathed as he was both wealthy and powerful. As much as the police wanted to help, no one wanted to be the one to arrest a relative of the Chairman. And honestly all my husband wanted was peace and to have his daughter be better. Me? I wanted blood. Truck loads of it. However Donald had made me see that this wasn't a battle we wanted to fight or that we had a chance of winning. I guess I would have believed him if I hadn't seen my exact feelings mirrored on his face - no matter what words his mouth spewed. 

In the back of my mind, I know that he's making sense. That what he is suggesting is the best and safest move. I just wish I could focus more on that than the violence running through my veins. 

              --             --            --            --             --  
(The story continues... PART II)

The story of beauty... Marina's tale

Lemony Snicket once wrote that a book's first sentence often told you what sort of story the book contained. This is no book but the same rule applies. The first sentence of this note is,
                                  ''Carefully, she dropped the knife''.
There are no happy endings here so don't expect any. This is the story of Marina.



Carefully, she dropped the knife.
Already she could feel the warm liquid on her skin
It was comforting.
She leaned her head on the wall behind her
and shut her eyes... For the last time.



Over a decade before
Marina had been born into this crazy world.
Growing up she had never had a father who dotted on her
or a mother who called her ''cherie''.
No one knew when she'd had her first step
and no one cared that she had 6 toes.
She'd grown up in an orphanage with 50 other kids.
No one knew that she never ate lunch
because the school bully 'taxed' her.
No one noticed that she'd had blisters
and no one cared to kiss her bobo's.

Surprisingly though Marina grew up into a fine young girl.
At twelve, she had her first hang-over.
At fourteen, her first kiss.
By the time she was sixteen,
She'd lost all her baby fat and become a little lady.
She had 2 warnings, 1 suspension and detention almost everyday,
but no one was more optimistic than she.
She'd read a handful of books and
She'd learned that every cloud had a silver lining.
Her prince would come and steal her away from her foster parents
and he would cherish her for all of eternity.

Then she met Josh.
who was attentive and sweet.
It was summer, and he brought her flowers.
Typically, she fell head over heels.
Her prince was finally here.
Marina had had no one to tell her
that high school seniors were after just one thing.

At seventeen, Marina was 3 months pregnant
and Josh was no where to be found.
Her foster parents were mad.
She couldn't go back there.
So back to the orphanage she was sent.
All the other girls sniggered and pointed when she walked past.
Lost with no friends, Marina spoke to her unborn child.
She made promises that it's life would be better than hers.

That was what kept her going.
She began waitressing by day
and studying by nightfall.
Her pregnancy became more evident
making it hard to go to work.
But Marina wouldn't give up.
She worked up until the moment she felt the sharp pain
and her water break.

20 hours of labour later,
Marina gives birth to a premature daughter
whose lifetime was approximately 23minutes.
Distraught, Marina became depressed and bed-ridden.
Her only visitor. the dishwasher at the bar where she'd briefly worked.
Over and over in her head, she replayed her life story.
That was when I met her.

Young and fragile-looking.
But she was far from fragile.
Though I was older than she was,
Her eyes said that she'd seen more than I had.
In fact, Marina had seen it all.

After gently coaxing, she opened up enough to talk to me.
While she spoke it was as if time itself had stopped for her tale.
When tears filled my eyes, she laughed!
The first I'd seen and it transformed her face.
She was more beautiful than I'd initially thought.
After her mirthless laughter,
she said to me, "don't cry on my behalf
for I will get my due".

Marina died 3days after- Suicide.
She'd been found in the bathtub
with both her wrists slit.
On getting to the site, I was outraged.
How could she have been so stupid?
But that was before I saw her.
The paramedics and everyone else
were too busy seeing what they wanted to see,
that they missed something rather important.


On her face, was a smirk.
A genuine smile!
She looked almost haughty in the tub.
Like she pitied US and not vice-versa.
Then it made sense.
Her due - was her death.
In her reasoning, she was going to a better place.
I had to smile back at her.
Then I said a little prayer for her.

That night when I got home
I thought about Marina.
She'd taken her life into her own hands,
She was strong!
People needed to know her true tale.
Not the rumors and fabrications.
I pulled my laptop towards me
and started typing.. ''Carefully, she dropped the knife..

Many people will read Marina's tale
For the thrill or to feel superior over her.
Others, so they can scorn her,
Even in death.
Only one out of a gazillion,
will see the true message
behind the story...
The legacy she had left behind!
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