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From the concrete jungle, from the flamboyant apartment buildings stacked like matchboxes to the sky, from the smoke-spewing, horn-blaring vehicles that were always moving, day and night, as if constant movement was the only goal in life, then from people, people, people – people with no love for one another, no mutual trust, no harmony, no smiles of recognition even – I had desperately wanted to be free from such a suffocating environment.
Suppose there comes a situation where the husband’s body is full of sores, with pus and blood oozing out from them, it is said that even if the wife uses her tongue to lick these wounds clean, she will still not be able to completely repay the debt she owes him. If he is a drunkard, or a womaniser, or if he harasses her for dowry every day – even if all these ‘ifs’ are true, he is still the husband. No matter which religion one belongs to, it is accepted that the wife is the husband’s most obedient servant, his bonded labourer.
monyet babi
‘Yes, my grandmother used to say that when a wife dies, it’s like an elbow injury for the husband. Do you know, Zeenat, if the elbow gets injured, the pain is extreme for one instant – it is intolerable. But it lasts only a few seconds, and after that one does not feel anything. There is no wound, no blood, no scar, no pain…’
FUCK MEN IVE HAD ENOUGHHHHHH
not a single curse word can describe my hatred FUCKU
FREE HER PLEASEEEEEEEE WHTHE HELL
LET THE FIRE RAIN FALL IDGAF
TAI LO BAU
‘What is there to happen? My back is broken. These children, the home, samsara – do I have even a minute of free time? If I bear one child per year, what will I become? Don’t you want me to live long enough to be a mother to these children at least?’
u broke and ugly man DPMO
For his own satisfaction, he will even bring down God. He will bring up the Qur’an, quote from the Hadith. But if he is told to give something to feed that poor woman, then he begins to shirk his responsibilities.
He is langoti yaar, after all, a man, everybody’s best friend. His past does not rise up to dance in public. The present doesn’t touch him. The future doesn’t move him, nor is it a mystery. He does not have to remain shyly in the shadows. He does not have to say who he belongs to. He does not need to seek forgiveness, not ever at all, because nothing he does is a mistake.
kill him
your death will be in My Hands
Why don’t scholars tell women about the rights available to them? Because they only want to restrict women. The whole world is at a stage where everyone is saying something must be done for women and girl children. But these people, they have taken over the Qur’an and the Hadiths. Let them behave as per these texts at least! Let them educate girls, not just a madrasa education, but also in schools and colleges. The choice of a husband should be hers. Let them give that. These eunuchs, let them give meher and get married instead of licking leftovers by taking dowry. Let a girl’s maternal family
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Twisting the Qur’an and Hadiths the way they want in front of a helpless woman is not justice.’
i need a GUN
‘Nothing good will come your way. You will be born with a pig face on Judgement Day. May black cobras coil themselves around you. May you not remember the Kalima on your tongue when you die.’
It is said that a woman does not have a permanent house: she has to live in her father’s house, her husband’s house or her son’s house.
she had always been allergic to children.
When there was so much poverty and misery around, was there a need to be inhumane too?
if there are people to help the rich, the poor have God.
monyet
NAJISSSSS
Those who want to die don’t walk around talking about it. But if you had any concern for this family’s honour then you would have done that instead of coming here.
IMSICKKKKKK YALL ARE SICKKKK
As evening started to lose its light, lamps were lit around the house. But the lamp in Mehrun’s heart had been extinguished a long time ago.
Material things had become priceless, and human beings worthless. Behind those material possessions, people’s feelings were on sale. Things decided the relationships between small people with big shadows.
One should eat pain and give happiness.’
Money from the pockets of poor people was, just like them, broken, shattered, crumpled, wrinkly, diminished in essence and form. She had at times felt that even if the poor were given crisp notes, the money would turn into something strange and ugly; now she became sure of it.
When you so leisurely created the animal kingdom, the delicate threadlike parts inside flowers with gold coating, these marvellous ponds and lakes, rivers and streams, did you not have the time to peep into my heart and see my fears, my wishes, dreams and disappointments?
He was getting attached, while my identity was melting away. Even my name got lost. Do you know what my new name was? His wife. My body, my mind were not my own.
My body was his playground; my heart, a toy in his hand. This way, like this, I used to apply balm, to attempt to repair my heart, but he continued to break it at whim.
my happiness and sadness are not borrowed. They are not to be performed. They are to be experienced. You are just a detached director. When one of your own characters assaults my mind, have you no duties as a director? Grant me one solace at least. What is my fault in all this, tell me?
Thank you for your marvellous gift; you gave me the power and determination to forget. The cool breeze of old memories was peaceful over the desert of life.
If only you had told him, just once, about the difficulties of giving birth, he might not have uttered these words. As easily as clearing one’s throat, as easily as pissing to relieve pressure, you have created a simple being that is arrogant and happy, and now you are indifferent. Should he be made uncomfortable with blood and flesh? Should the salt of his bones be ground and fed to the womb? Should he live in between not just the flesh and blood but also a pain so intense it breaks the ribs? If only he had had these experiences. No, I don’t have the opportunity to ask these things, because
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Giving nothing to the world, getting nothing from the world, with no awareness of social relationships, nameless, less than a person, I was only his wife, that is, free labour.
You gave me the strength to bear a lot of pain. But you should not have given him the cruelty to cause so much of it.
It is in your name that he does this, because I am your incomplete creation, hey Prabhu? Can you hear my grievances? Are my cries reaching you? What will I do… what will I do…
