Skip to main content

A hawk or a butterfly!

"A butterfly, I would want you to be" , these words keep reverberating in Nafiza's mind. Years! It's been years but the intensity of these words inflict her bruised heart.

"Abba", how much she had longed to hear this word escape her lips but how could she deceive her bruised heart. Well, when was it last that she was made to believe that she could have a family of her own, with both Ammi and Abba. How much she longed to take rides to the school with her Abba, and how dejected she felt each parent's day to see the vacant look at Ammi's face whenever anyone inquired about him. She could see it all, that something was so not right, for her Abba was a mystery to the world who appeared shielded by the moon and disappeared before the sun could reveal his whereabouts. She as her neighbour once told her was a child of "haram". She was fascinated by the word and raced her way to reach Ammi, she could see Ammi go pale while she asked for the meaning, that very day Nafiza knew it wasn't good to be called a child of "haram".

Years rolled by and with each passing year, Nafiza felt her longing to be with a picture perfect family replaced by hatred. Yes, she hated her Abba not because he had one sudden day decided to cut ties with her Ammi but because he had taught her to dream, to be a pretty butterfly proud of her hues.

She wanted answers to her questions and those questions took form of letters, some letters are never written to reach people, they rather address one's inflictions. Her's were born out of pain which cluttered her drawers.

Today, as she ran her fingers over those blots of dried ink colouring her pain in those yellowing letters, she stopped to read out some lines which ran as,

I am a butterfly
Pretty are my wings
Abba, says I can fly around
Be with flowers and catch sunlight in my smile
Smile at the sun and run with the moon.
…

Ah! What a fool she was to believe in the charms of  being a butterfly, Nafiza crushed the letter in disdain. The butterfly in her was long dead, it's flimsy wings no longer charmed her. She now was a bird, a hawk: alert, bold and never submissive. She knew to hunt down her insecurities surprising herself each time. She was beautiful because she was bold, she wore her own skin which though bruised by time knew to heal.

For the last time she wrote a letter to her Abba and refused to sign it as "your butterfly", for she no longer was his butterfly, she was a hawk, an unbeatable one.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Checks and balances of life!

I wasn't always who I am today. It took a lot of courage to break past my shell. Oscar Wilde  had once stated that knowing what you want to be in life becomes a curse because you invariably become that but not knowing is liberating, there are endless possibilities of who you can become. I too didn't know who I was going to be. Today, I realise it was liberating. I never knew i could find my voice some day. Now that I feel liberated,it becomes difficult to remain confined. We need to grow, evolve into better beings each day. We need to grow past the "checks and balances" of life. I remember Fuller here,  Fuller has asked us to be a part of a process of this evolving planet. He wants us to be "verbs" not "nouns"!  Here is a tale of an introverted me who knew not what to expect from life .  ....... I would talk less at school, not attend socialising events, avoid looking at stranger's eyes while on the road. In short, I wanted to be invisible to t...
Post a Comment
Read more

Uncovering whispers

Isn't it strange how love binds people who are polar opposites! I have always believed love to be a faith which grows deeper each day as it is based on trust and the ability to hold on just like the waves hold on to the sea. The story is about two love birds who got caught in the web of love. He resembles the morning sunshine, shy yet bold enough to fight past the night's gloom. A deafening silence engulfing his soul. She is a tempest who gave his silence a shattering jolt. And just when the word impossible could have defined the bond they likely could have shared, the word split itself into " I am possible!" and a possibly, "I am possible" love story took birth. What interests me is the way they stand together,  I have seen them fight, seen them suffer but that suffering has it's beauty of it's own where one cries and the other feels the pain (Okay, that was a cliche!) I was always attracted towards stories which had pain in the sense that it mad...
Post a Comment
Read more

Voice

A wail escapes from the bottom of my belly But as I part my lips, it escapes as a frozen breath Speak, the teacher demanded! A throbbing heart, I could hear it ringing deep. The world would trample you in its way, my mother sighed. She could see the bruises of the cane on my palms. Why couldn't you tell the answers when you knew it by heart? she wanted to know. But, Maa I did try..I did , I stammered. My tears choking my half eaten words She pulled me closer, wiped my tears and as she freed my hair from those tightened plaits She spoke of a rule which I was to abide by. You need to win over words, you need to make those words a game Ah I said, I do try but I have to struggle hard They ring in my mind but don't escape my lips She smiled at me and said you need to trust yourself! Ah, I said I would try. And I did try over these years But they still ring in my mind forming loops of their own And the moment I open my lips, they die And I try again from the start ...
Post a Comment
Read more