I hear voices.
They constantly occupy my mind.
They fight, one trying to assert his voice over other.
A fight which knows no end,
A fight unheard yet disturbing.
They don't let me be at ease
I crack blatant lies to cover these voices.
I hush them, for I fear the world would not acknowledge them
Their subdued, meek echoes linger afresh,
"Oh, hear us out", they try saying.
I give them a loud banging, enough to drown their gibberish.
I try to make them listen to what I have to say
Their adamant selves find it difficult to comply.
Yet, they somehow seem subdued,
For, they disappear at moments.
I tell them with great compassion,
Voices, please stay by.
But, let me be my own voice first.
And they suddenly cry in unison.
Their task accomplished, they bid me goodbye.
A silence, a pin drop silence
Keeps vibrating.
But, whenever my mind is in chaos, they remember what I had wished for.
They come back to me, and together we form a voice.
I am the eldest grandchild in my family. And being the eldest, I was pampered a great deal by my grandparents. My aama (grandma) and baa (grandpa) always shielded me from every possible dangers including thrashings from maa. I have pleasant memories of evening story sessions as grandpa took me to bed. Aama would oil my hair and tie pony tails which resembled coconut trees that I used to draw. Sundays meant elaborate sessions with my grandparents. Baa would trim my nails, aama would fondle me to sleep. Their bed room was literally my playing room, my story book reading room, my painting room and what not. With time, as I grew, I got a room of my own but their room was still my favourite one. When I left for hostel, I missed them more than I missed my parents. It was in the year 2014, I had come home after my exams when aama received a pressure stroke . She couldn't make it. I had spent a month as he lay sick on her bed. All of a sudden, there was a role reversal. I could
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