Its a fresh and beautiful morning. I just had a walk and am feeling joyous n energetic as ever.

As almost everyday i m set to read the newspaper, just the headlines , treating myself with a cup of tea.

But today as I am reading , I somehow don’t feel like continuing.

My eyes have become moist and i m lying still in the corner of my sofa my arms and my legs folding up ,close to my chest as if trying to hug me.

My mind is blank , thoughtless.

Suddenly I hear some music, and I wake up from my daze ,my lips stretching to complete a smile,not forceful but natural.

Music always does this to me.

It is the music of the clock, indicating its 8.

My tea cup is now cold, as if dead.

I am getting late , I realize.

As I put the shower on the little drops of water pouring down, touching me softly .

I Love the soft touch,  the tender touch, the touch that shows that it cares.

As i bathe, I look at the scratches. I see them everyday. They are glued to my soul.

I have learnt to live with(if not love) my wounds.

They don’t feel so fresh all the time as they are ,today , so green.

As I drive to office, the roads , the turns , the breakers , I feel are no different than my life.

I am unable to concentrate while I drive today. Otherwise I love driving. I love driving myself.

I love being self-dependant in every possible way I can.

I wish I always knew how to drive , may be then my life would have been different.

May be the darkest day of my life would never have come.

May be.

I am already at my desk in the office.

I am a workaholic. I love working. It keeps me busy , not allowing my mind to think of the parts of life that have been hard on me.

“Good Morning” , says my colleague . I smile back.

I look at her , I am no diff than her.

I am as confident and competent like her , as cheerful .

I have learnt to be be happy.

But there’s something that is not the same.

Something I dont want to accept.

The truth.

The truth, I am living with from the past 12 yrs.

I was raped.

I was raped when I was a child, merely 14 yrs old.

My school bus driver raped me.

But I am alive, I am a survivor , u know.

“Asha, where r u lost”, I heard someone calling me.

“This is the 5th time I shouted before u could here my voice. The boss is calling you” ,she said.

I stood up.

I have learnt to move on.

Its 5 in the evening and i m driving back home.

As I again look at those curves in my way I remember the headline in the newspaper today ” 5 YEAR OLD RAPED BY SCHOOL BUS DRIVER “

I was shatterd, disappointed and helpless.

I am unable to judge which is worse — knowing and realizing that you have been raped ,like me ,or this  happening to you at an age when you even dont know what it is, like this child.

I drove to the sea-beach.

I wanted peace , calmness and strength.

Lying back, i closed my eyes , remebered my Lord, and prayed for the baby.

Not sure what to ask for her, the surviving spirit or death?

Cause as I live with my soul anguished and hurt , I sometimes think Death would have been  better.

But I cant do that.

They, my parents, named me “Asha” .

I have to live upto my name.

I have to fight.

I am a survivor,u know.

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