It was an event less day in the busy streets of Bombay. The high-pitched women bargaining for 3 rupees and eardrum shattering cries of unattended children surrounded me in the worst ways. I was beginning to question why exactly did I choose to sit outdoors in that cafe. I mean the view of the lake was beautiful but the constant typing the teenager had done on her phone was starting to kill my mojo considering she was like 2 feet away from me. But my annoyance survived for only sometime till I saw a young girl, maybe 2-3 years younger than me, approach the cafe.
From far away she looked like she was limping, her clothes dusty and her hair all over the place. As she came closer it seemed she was approaching me, and surprisingly I offered her a seat at my table. I think she was as taken aback as I was with my gesture because not all Mumbaikars offer a hand to strangers, since we doubt almost everyone. Well. With shaking hands she took the seat and up close I could see her features well. A herd of pimples lay on her cheeks and her hair was dark with a brown that showed in the rays of sun. Although it was frizzy and haywire it somehow suited her. She had a mole on the underside of her chin, but it was her eyes that caught my attention. They shone with a dark shade of brown bordered with a caramel coloured rim, but they had an empty void in them, hollow and sad eyes that stole all the energy from her face. She looked so broken. Her clothes told me that she was from a good house, but her posture told me how lost she was. I pushed a spare glass of water towards her, a feeble attempt to break the heaviness in the air. She looked at me, a weak smile that she tried to portray, sighing as she accepted the glass. I didn't know how to break into the awkwardness, but she beat me to it.
"I was a happy child you know. Never like this, flunking tests and locking myself in. I transitioned into this..this..this..ghost of a person after...after.." she stammered and tears pooled in her tiny eyes. I never realised until then how our eyelashes are accentuated when we cry. I let her cry. Over the years of dealing with similar things I know sometimes you just want to..let it out. You don't want people to tell you that things are going to be okay when its equally possible they won't. You don't want to hear "Stop crying it's okay" when you want to scream and throw something around. You want to be left alone to face the harshness so you can come to terms with it. You want to speak out loud how you feel and be angry and sad at the same time. I sat there, willing to tell her with unspoken words that I'm here to listen to her.
She was having a conflict with herself, thinking if she should go on or if she should just walk away. I mean I get where she is coming from. It would be completely bollocks for me to just tell my story to a random stranger, but she thought otherwise and spoke again trying to regain her stance and sound braver than she felt.
"Sometimes I sit and go through the photos of us. He was a good man. I was his princess and he always pampered me with gifts and tickles and hugs. We had this ritual where I kissed him before he headed to work, and then I would make this weird face since I would taste the aftershave he put, and let me tell you, that was bitter!" She giggled at that thought. There was this lightness in her voice like she was talking about a place where she was so joyous and happy. "And then when mom would shout at me for small things I would call him and he would pretend-shout at her and then tell me to call again if she troubles me." The corners of my mouth tugged into a smile. I could relate to her. I was living my own memories again, the amazing ones.
"But I don't know what happened." Her smile fell. She was coming to the difficult part of the story. "One day he was this awesome dad and the next..he..became someone else. He threw things and he went mad on mama. I used to cringe from him and hide away. He kept telling me that I failed as a daughter..but I don't know what I did." She remained stoic, staring into the soft lull of the stagnant water and brushing her hair away from her face. I wanted to say I knew how she felt, I knew that pain and that loneliness. I knew how it was. But I didn't want to interrupt so I let her go on. "I would keep quiet and see the torturous exchange between him and my mother. The bitter words and the harsh meanings behind them. I would try to protect my brother from it but there was only so much I could do." She spoke with words shaking at the end. She was scared and she was tired. She slid down further in her seat. "Then I met this amazing guy and he helped me, supported me and made me happy, till I became the nagging problem among us. My sob stories and my pain taking away the attention from what we were, or what we were supposed to be. And then it went downhill; the one thing that mattered to me, I royally messed it up.. " She smoothed her wild hair and her crumpled shirt, willing to bring some decency into her clothes and trying to harness the rawness in her voice. "... And then he just left...I understand why, I was too much luggage...I was not the girl every guy wants to have. Even though he was so much better than the rest, I was the one, the problematic one. And so I ran away today, away from the horrors of my house and away from the heartbreak of losing him. Away from the fact that my dad was gone, that I am shattered from the day he changed. Away from being strong for my mother and brother just so I could deal with how I felt for once. But I will have to go back."
Realisation dawned upon her. I saw the unfurling of her eyebrows and how her posture went rigid. Her eyes wheezed with sadness but she somehow looked determined. "I get it now, I know he can't accept me, no one can, I'm too damaged for anyone to handle. I'm too broken for anyone to fix." With a fixed stature she rose, nodding at me for appreciating the time I took to listen to her woes. She left then, with an expression that showed that she found an answer, one that broke her furthermore. No words would budge her from her decision, she was too sure of what she was worth, and in that moment I wanted to tell her 'All of us are damaged, in ways different from others. But our brokenness doesn't define us, nor does it judge our worth. Even the most lost souls find solace somewhere, even the most damaged ones find love somewhere.'
From far away she looked like she was limping, her clothes dusty and her hair all over the place. As she came closer it seemed she was approaching me, and surprisingly I offered her a seat at my table. I think she was as taken aback as I was with my gesture because not all Mumbaikars offer a hand to strangers, since we doubt almost everyone. Well. With shaking hands she took the seat and up close I could see her features well. A herd of pimples lay on her cheeks and her hair was dark with a brown that showed in the rays of sun. Although it was frizzy and haywire it somehow suited her. She had a mole on the underside of her chin, but it was her eyes that caught my attention. They shone with a dark shade of brown bordered with a caramel coloured rim, but they had an empty void in them, hollow and sad eyes that stole all the energy from her face. She looked so broken. Her clothes told me that she was from a good house, but her posture told me how lost she was. I pushed a spare glass of water towards her, a feeble attempt to break the heaviness in the air. She looked at me, a weak smile that she tried to portray, sighing as she accepted the glass. I didn't know how to break into the awkwardness, but she beat me to it.
"I was a happy child you know. Never like this, flunking tests and locking myself in. I transitioned into this..this..this..ghost of a person after...after.." she stammered and tears pooled in her tiny eyes. I never realised until then how our eyelashes are accentuated when we cry. I let her cry. Over the years of dealing with similar things I know sometimes you just want to..let it out. You don't want people to tell you that things are going to be okay when its equally possible they won't. You don't want to hear "Stop crying it's okay" when you want to scream and throw something around. You want to be left alone to face the harshness so you can come to terms with it. You want to speak out loud how you feel and be angry and sad at the same time. I sat there, willing to tell her with unspoken words that I'm here to listen to her.
She was having a conflict with herself, thinking if she should go on or if she should just walk away. I mean I get where she is coming from. It would be completely bollocks for me to just tell my story to a random stranger, but she thought otherwise and spoke again trying to regain her stance and sound braver than she felt.
"Sometimes I sit and go through the photos of us. He was a good man. I was his princess and he always pampered me with gifts and tickles and hugs. We had this ritual where I kissed him before he headed to work, and then I would make this weird face since I would taste the aftershave he put, and let me tell you, that was bitter!" She giggled at that thought. There was this lightness in her voice like she was talking about a place where she was so joyous and happy. "And then when mom would shout at me for small things I would call him and he would pretend-shout at her and then tell me to call again if she troubles me." The corners of my mouth tugged into a smile. I could relate to her. I was living my own memories again, the amazing ones.
"But I don't know what happened." Her smile fell. She was coming to the difficult part of the story. "One day he was this awesome dad and the next..he..became someone else. He threw things and he went mad on mama. I used to cringe from him and hide away. He kept telling me that I failed as a daughter..but I don't know what I did." She remained stoic, staring into the soft lull of the stagnant water and brushing her hair away from her face. I wanted to say I knew how she felt, I knew that pain and that loneliness. I knew how it was. But I didn't want to interrupt so I let her go on. "I would keep quiet and see the torturous exchange between him and my mother. The bitter words and the harsh meanings behind them. I would try to protect my brother from it but there was only so much I could do." She spoke with words shaking at the end. She was scared and she was tired. She slid down further in her seat. "Then I met this amazing guy and he helped me, supported me and made me happy, till I became the nagging problem among us. My sob stories and my pain taking away the attention from what we were, or what we were supposed to be. And then it went downhill; the one thing that mattered to me, I royally messed it up.. " She smoothed her wild hair and her crumpled shirt, willing to bring some decency into her clothes and trying to harness the rawness in her voice. "... And then he just left...I understand why, I was too much luggage...I was not the girl every guy wants to have. Even though he was so much better than the rest, I was the one, the problematic one. And so I ran away today, away from the horrors of my house and away from the heartbreak of losing him. Away from the fact that my dad was gone, that I am shattered from the day he changed. Away from being strong for my mother and brother just so I could deal with how I felt for once. But I will have to go back."
Realisation dawned upon her. I saw the unfurling of her eyebrows and how her posture went rigid. Her eyes wheezed with sadness but she somehow looked determined. "I get it now, I know he can't accept me, no one can, I'm too damaged for anyone to handle. I'm too broken for anyone to fix." With a fixed stature she rose, nodding at me for appreciating the time I took to listen to her woes. She left then, with an expression that showed that she found an answer, one that broke her furthermore. No words would budge her from her decision, she was too sure of what she was worth, and in that moment I wanted to tell her 'All of us are damaged, in ways different from others. But our brokenness doesn't define us, nor does it judge our worth. Even the most lost souls find solace somewhere, even the most damaged ones find love somewhere.'
This is dedicated to all the people I know, the damaged and the undamaged ones, the beautiful ones with their scars and their marks. You are all always worth it. You are amazing.
It is a horrible realization that there is a harsh truth somewhere in this! I love it! :)
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