Nobody taught me to speak,
hence I can’t mince words –
I also have to tell, rather quickly, my tale,
for time doesn’t stop and guillotine doesn’t fail,
I can hear the shouts of the crowd,
people who’ve gathered about,
desperate for the sight of my young blood,
upper-middle class children –
would be made to drink from it – I am certain,
to lull the demons inside,
that’s what the priests say,
it kills juvenility, venom against venom,
really, that’s what they say,
but let me not get ahead of myself,
and begin where it all began.
The setting is a one room house-
in a slum in north delhi,
where I was conceived –
in dickensian poverty.
I was at peace with not-living,
I was free,
before a young couple –
decided to have me,
people call them my mother and father
none took my consent,
and thus, I began the journey of life-
unwilling and reluctant,
due to my father & his wife.
no wonder, I caused my mother much pain,
because there was never any food inside of her,
I kicked & gnawed at her insides, she wailed in vain,
just for her not to have me,
I caused her to to nearly die,
while she gave birth to me,
You see – that was an act of protest,
against introduction into this world,
which was, anything but worthy of –
a little child like me.
I am the offspring of the mighty man,
but like all others, the most helpless at birth,
most of my growth took place,
not in the comfort of my mother’s womb,
but, thereafter, in this giant sphere,
which was anything but hospitable,
I was raised on my impoverished mother’s thin milk;
the toxic gruel of poverty, desperation and disease,
for my parents, My introduction into this world –
was an act of triumph of unmitigated hope
or callous thoughtlessness to the
consequences of their action,
This lack of control of impulse,
would go on to be the defining feature of my life,
legal battles, television debates would
be fought and lost over it,
my dear friends –
it would have a bearing –
on the course my life would take,
and the choices I would make.
I was raised on staple diet of
violence, abuse and hunger,
I never knew control,
i’d flung myself to the first
sight of bread crumbs,
leftover rice, or,
on a good day,
sour curd.
the lack of control would
come back to haunt me,
as we’d see later.
I was abused by countless men,
multiple times, don’t ask when,
to the point,
that I started valorising
my own violators.
I stopped fighting back,
in this resignation
was a realisation
that I deserve it,
and all those,
who are weaker,
those who’ve lost the
lottery of fate.
I never knew mercy, compassion,
a hungry child is incapable of empathy,
the emotional telepathy,
the exercise of being in someone’s shoes,
he never knew any shoes,
and can hardly see the world for himself,
for what runs in his system is not blood,
he is nourished with envy
running through the course of his being,
at the injustice of this world,
at the monstrous inequities.
No wonder, I never knew,
the finer aspects of living,
of civilisation,
of the rules set by men,
who had either abused,
or watch me being abused,
while they fed, clothed their
children with a nourishing
touch, a benign love,
I wasn’t a member,
banished like a leper.
never one of them.
I never wanted to be born,
being not-living is not as undesirable
as for you.
Kill me, make me free !
– The author wishes to remain anonymous.
The Talking Books Magazine 