Unreadable

Even if I were able to write, what could I possibly write??  A handful of words couldn’t fill those blank pages, left unwritten. Neither a stamp nor a watermark had made their way into this book. And yet the book remained for centuries, accumulating dust. It exuded a sense of secrecy, a feeling of being left away from the eyes of this world.

The world tried to read it but it remained there, narrow minded and unwilling to budge. To it, the world appeared selfish, waiting to exploit its genius writings. He remains yet to be deciphered to everyone’s chagrin.

So in vain the book was set aside; even the greatest scholars could not decipher its mind.

Story of an Indian Girl

The darkness within me grew stronger and stronger. The rays of the harshest sun couldn’t subdue it. My eyes drooped with hunger that I endured for ages. I had laughed with others, smiled when forced to smile, bent when everybody wanted to mould me into their desires and yet survived amidst the swarm of normal people ( as one calls them ).

Yes I am a girl; wanting to break free of those chains we call traditions and values. I wish to dictate my own set of norms and conditions.  I wish to be the master of my own world.

I listen to all the scolding yet do not utter a word. I look at the people riding off in their cars and secretly desire to do the same. I look at the shiny bikes and sensing the blast of air. But I am a girl; I need to keep my desires in control. I am not a boy. Things could have been different had I been one.

I look at the new clothes in the shops and hope to make them mine one day. I want to buy everything fancy but then I can’t buy excess of it. I want to roam the world but it’s a dangerous world out there for girls. Girls are subjects of heinous crimes; it makes me wonder why we were born. Some of my sisters do not get the equal amount of education they deserve because of their fairer sex. Some of them are killed even before they are born.

 Yet I have to be satisfied in what I get because being a girl is all about making adjustments. We were born to please not to be pleased.