Rain of Abuse- The story

There was once a tribe that lived in their own ways as tribes usually do. They lived deep in a forest, dark green with big leaves that could cover an entire family from the rains that frequented the land. Exotic flowers of bright colours and all shapes peeked out. It was dark and deep and green in the forest. The tribe people had made their home in the middle of this beautiful forest. Their huts near each other, streams of pure cool water gurgling by. The tribes people were beautiful creatures, skin the colour of caramel, long black hair, features that made you look again. 

Our story is not about the forest or the tribe it’s about a child born in the tribe,her name Ekya. Ekya was born in the early morning, she’d clawed out of the womb of a mother, who did not want a child, definitely not a girl child. Her mother cried as she pressed her to her breast. Tears running as fast as the milk down Ekyas throat. 

Maybe it was the feeling of being unwanted in the womb. They say a baby can sense that resentment in the womb and they rebel against it, the feeling of isolation seeping into the womb. Ekya was one of the naughtiest in the tribe. Ekya rebelled against everything, questioned everything. Her father and mother beat her, with the thin needle like sticks from the coconut leaves to the well oiled canes from bamboo trees. He cries were silent but her rebelliousness grew louder in her heart.

Ekya didn’t get along with any of the other children. She hurt them or bossed then around. The only time she sat quietly was to hear the old women’s old tales. Tales of the olden times, tales of battles fought of the dangers that lay outside. Tales of great men. 

Once when the old woman was telling her tales in a hushed whisper surrounded by a group of children. Ekya asked her why there were no tales of women? The old woman looked at her and said why there are child. She then told her the story of Kaya. Kaya belonged to the tribe chief of the olden times. She was beautiful and gentle and kind, her woven mats and baskets were incomparable. One day an outsider came and he desired her. He desired her so much he kidnapped her. The battle that waged between the tribe chief and the outsider lasted several years. Finally the tribe chief destroyed the outsider and brought Kaya home. But the tribe cast doubt on her purity, they doubted if she had not been spoiled by the outsider. They built a huge fire and asked her to walk through it. If she was pure then she would not be burnt they said. Kaya was pure and untouched, she spoke to the gods and walked through fire proving her purity. 

Ekya was disturbed by this, she asked the old lady what about the chief? Did he walk through the fire? 

The old lady laughed and said, ” no Ekya, men don’t need to prove anything. They are warriors and strong, it is the women who are weak” 

Ekya immediately stood up and said, “I’m strong” the old woman irritably asked Ekya not to speak like that. Women should always speak only when spoken to. Else they would be spit on, some rebellious ones even burnt. 

This was wrong, thought Ekya. 

As Ekya grew up the injustice of it all, hurt and confused her/ women could only eat after the men, women had to always look at their feet a mark of humility and beauty when spoken to or when speaking to the opposite sex. When women came of age, they were assigned to a man, to be their protector. Ekya didn’t need protecting, but she had learned to squash down her rebelliousness over time. The only sign of the loud rebelliousness was if you looked deep into her eyes. 

Men were scared of Ekya, she spoke her mind, she wasn’t like the other women of the tribe. Her parents found it hard to find her a protector, but they finally did. He was a tradesman, one who travelled. He didn’t know much about Ekya. He was also not very good looking so Ekya with her dark caramel skin, slender frame, long black hair, wide hips, curvy figure, was a great catch.

Ekya’s protector penetrated her the very first night as all men do to mark his claim on her. The blood stained woven mat hung outside his hut as proof to the world that he had claimed his woman. Ekya was innocent and believed that her protector would take care of her, love her, consider her, his equal.  

The first time he struck her was when she fell asleep waiting for him. She was surprised at his anger and quietly blamed herself, after all she was a wild child. The beatings became constant after that. The verbal abuse equally bad. Soon she started hiding her face from shame. Her body riddled with darkening bruises. 
Her laughter dwindled down. There were times when her protector was kind, loving even. He’d hold her tight in the confines of their home and take her roughly. But mostly theirs was an unhappy life, until, her belly grew with his child and she rejoiced in the life growing in her. Hope grew with the child, she hummed to herself as she cooked and cleaned. Life was almost bearable. 

The fight started over a spilt calabash of water. The calabash had broken, this was a gift from his mother. He started hitting her, she protested and that made something in him snap. He hit her till she fell down and then kicked her swollen belly, till she fainted with the pain. When she woke up her broken body full of pain, she woke up in a pool of blood. Wailing she ran to the river, blood gushing from her loins, the child she longed for gone in a stream of blood and flesh. She spent the night by the river clutching the bloody remains, sobbing inconsolably, alone in the forest. 

She blamed herself and she lost all hope and life, she became like a lotus leaf, shrugging away the rain of abuse. Detached and silent. Nothing seemed to evoke any feelings in her anymore. She started to wither, her hair lanky and unkempt, her skin ageing prematurely. This went on for a few years, till, her protector had to work in the outside world. The work would take him some years. He had to cross the seas. He took Ekya with him, more like a mule to carry their measly belongings. She meekly followed him. 

The new country was beautiful, the people were very different. The protectors and their women were very different here. The women were taken care of, they were treasured and loved and treated as equals if not in higher regard. She was so surprised. This new land with its new ways created the first stirrings of longing in Ekyas broken heart. 


How’s the weather? 

I really hate small talk… I despise it. How’s the weather? So did you eat? Oh man it was so hot wasn’t it? Seriously ?! 

There’s more to life than that! I want to talk about quantum physics, and alternate worlds and Schrödinger’s cat and whether there is life after death or about your fantasies , sex- oh yes delicious sex, or about mystical lands or what would be your super power or who would you do an orangutan or Miley Cyrus  or about the lies you’ve told or about your regrets, the embarassing situations that still make you cringe. DMT , and ayahuasca and sphongle.  Music! Music that makes you feel different, out of body experiences, about how the earth smells after the first rains  and the memories they evoke, your first love, first heart break, about why Donald Trumps hair is the way it is. About magic, about your insecurities, your fears . Everything that’s so beautifully twisted.

Ring of Thorns

This might be a very difficult post. So many conflicting thoughts in this one. 


One word that holds such promise. Promise of love, care, protection, companionship, togetherness, happily ever afters. Growing up, every fairy tale ended with a happily ever after, one grows up believing that. Wait for the perfect one, your knight in shining armour who will sweep you off your feet, rescue you from the demons that haunt you. Your loneliness forever banished, a fresh start, of a journey together, of cuddles and kisses and waking up together , sharing a cup of coffee, snuggling in when it’s raining , of shared responsibilities, of never ever feeling inadequate or unloved. 

But is this true? What if God forbid your happily ever after is a nightmare you are stuck in? What if there is no out? Is pursuing happiness wrong? Are they destined to be stuck in this nightmare broken and flightless?  Torn between leaving and upsetting the delicate balance, that holds a family together. Staying because you have lost hope of anything good ever coming your way. Staying because you believe everything that’s been told – that you don’t deserve any better. 

Where do I end? 

They say babies see the entire world as an extension of themselves. Then they slowly begin to understand where they end and the rest of the world begins. 

As we grow older we start to perceive the world in relation to ourselves. My world is full of things I perceive the way they affect me. My world is full of my longings, my expectations, my desires, my despair, my happiness… It’s how I react and how I don’t react.So in this world the world as I perceive it, does it end? Will it, when I die. Or is death when I actually wake up and see the world in its true form as it was meant to be and not coloured by my perceptions? 


Detached is a feeling  ain’t it? 

  I sometimes switch on auto pilot n sail through the detached plain. Especially when I’m going trough a traumatic event or even a memory of one. 

I close all doors to all feelings for fear of being overwhelmed and when I’m ready I start opening them a crack at a time. I don’t know if this would make any sense to anyone else. 

 I guess we all have our coping mechanisms. 



 There once was a  woman she lived her life in a rain of abuse. There was no protection from this, coz the rain came from the protector. She tried to protect herself, she asked others in her village for some kind of a shade, but they all said this was common and the woman should be strong to withstand the rain on her own. Their legends spoke of such women. Women who sought shade or made a shade for themselves were stoned and spit upon. This woman didn’t know what to do. She became detached,she tried to make herself like the lotus leaf that shrugged away the rain. She began to wither. Then, the protector had to move to another land, he took his woman with him. This land was different, it was a land where girls/ women were celebrated. She looked in wonder as protectors were careful and loving to the women. She longed to be part of that land. A land where she’d be seen as an equal, where she’d be herself, where she could be free. 

Not everyone, not all the time 

  How can we call a person nice or honest or confident? It should be mostly nice, mostly honest or mostly confident. Coz let’s face it, no one is nice all the time nor are they honest all the time neither are they confident. Take me for example, most people would say I’m a ray of sunshine, they don’t know the real me of course. I’m mostly a depressed soul. I see the world not through a grey veil, but I see the world as it is. There are moments when life seems just rosy, there are times when I’ve fallen into pits of despair. But I guess that is life. 

To be free

What’s it  like to be free? Truly free? Free from the chains that hold me down, from the constant abuse that tears me apart? 

Free from you.


Drowning out the noise

  There is nothing more peaceful than sinking into a hot bath with a good book. Life just seems to go at a whirling speed… After I put away the dishes, clean up around the house and my family is fast asleep, I sink into the bath, finally some me time!

I feel the hot water seeping in, calming the turbulence. Like I’m being transported to another realm. Then everything goes in slow motion. Every thought, the world itself, grinding to a slow pace.

Let the chips fall where they may

So I don’t claim that I’m an original. I am a sum total of my experiences, or am I? I’m as random as they come.

My husband snores and my daughter kicks. His snores reverberates in the house, at least her kicks can be dulled by a pillow, but pillows are not always a solution eh? I can’t crawl into my daughters bed every night either.

I lay awake listening to the offensive sounds, the best remedy I’ve seen is to fall into a deep slumber before the cacophony starts. This is easier said than done. It’s like a futile race, no matter how much of a head start I seem to give myself, I look over my shoulder as the he thunders closer and closer till I’m drowned, beat by the dreaded “bolt” snores. They seem to have a entity all to themselves.

I envy those who slumber alone in peace.