There are days when I wake up dreaming that she is somewhere in the next room only to realize that a nightmare would be less disappointing. There are times when I would call ‘John’ (my son) as ‘Arun’ (my brother) and ‘Rachael’ (my daughter) as ‘Abitha’ (my sister) - to later realize that deep inside it must have felt orphaned as it feels I am taking care of my siblings instead of my children. There are those moments when I stay awake, stay hungry or stay helplessly in pain not knowing why.
It is not easy; especially when two kids who meant the world to us, suddenly become the crux of mine. As I try so hard, too hard, to contain the fear, pain, anger, despair and darkness, not wanting to become the demon I am portrayed as, it feels like a rat pushed to a corner and asked not to fight.
The trauma the children try to hide, to make sure I feel alright, is something they do beyond their tender age that makes me suffer even more. There was a time when John woke up in the morning and blurted out, ‘Five more days…’ and instinctively stopped. I knew he was counting down the days left his mother told she would be back the day he last met her for a few minutes when he begged her not to abandon him again. Yet, everyone else seemed to know that the noose around her was too tight and held by forces too dark for her to see.
Made to hit the core of selfishness in the name of ‘empowerment’, (mis)guided by pseudo-personalities following pseudo-science, manipulated beyond understanding, some people don’t know the traps they have fallen into and the prison they have shut themselves into in the name of seeking freedom. Sometimes we deserve what we desire I suppose.
Another day, another nightmare, another peep into the last trouble in Pandora’s box, our day will begin as it ends, with disappointment, with subdued emotions and passive expectation…
