20th December 2024

Why do I do this to myself? The doctor promised it would heal my wounds, but it's only getting worse! It doesn't help that it's Anya's birthday tomorrow. I ain't invited - I have not talked with her for years now. I can't just show up at her house, can I?

Our friendship flourished rather effortlessly within the first few months of our meeting. Anya wasn't a Science nerd, but she was great at taking notes and making them clear and concise. The foundation of our friendship was built on this symbiotic dependence - I used her notes to refine my gibberish, while she used my knowledge and interest in science to clear her doubts.

I might have initially questioned myself, but as we interacted, I was certain we shared a spark, an ethereal bond. We studied in different schools, so we could spend only about an hour every day with each other. Yet we would make the most of the limited time we had. Then, one day in the early weeks of September, Anya called me up at about 9:00 PM.

"Who is it?", Papa asked.
"It's Anya, Papa.", I responded. "We attend the same Science tuition."
"This late at night?", he scoffed. "Give the call to your mother and let her answer first!"
"What?", I retaliated hesitantly. My gut wrenched at the thought of my parents abusing Anya as they abused me. "Why should she answer?"

Before I was responded to, Papa snatched my phone away and gave it to Maa.

"Hello.", Maa answered.
"No, it's not Shekhar. It's his mother speaking. Who are you?"
"I don't care who you are Anya. You are not talking to my son ever again. He is a prince among men, and a harlot as you won't tarnish him."
"How do I take your word that you aren't a harlot? Who calls a teen boy at 9:00 PM? Have your parents not taught you anything?"
"Do not give me your baseless explanations, harlot! You are never calling him again. Is that understood?"

She disconnected the phone, threw it at my face, and caned me mercilessly with a bamboo stick. The blood in my body boiled as parts of my skin gave way under the merciless torment. Warm blood gushed out of the open wounds. Papa followed suit with his slaps, planted right across my face. The imprints of his fingers traced my bloody cheeks.

As I lay in bed that night, my bedsheets soaked with blood while my pillows soaked in my tears. The anguished had been finally tormented beyond repair.

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I wish I had died before she heard my mother's heartless words,
I wish she wouldn't have called, now we're lying on the sherds;
Sherds of broken emotions that couldn't be expressed well,
Sherds of broken dreams crushed under the crime that befell.

In between their caning and torture, I simply asked them why,
Was it fun to derail my sanity, was there more than what meets the eye?
"No!", they retaliate, "We know what is best for you",
"So you shall study when we command, and will love when we want you to"

She might have been traumatized by life, but she was a mother to me,
But after her heartless gesture, how good of a mother would she be?
Does her heart not bleed with my wounds like a mother's should,
Was she a mother at all, or was she a villain misunderstood?

"You dare speak against me?", her voice echoed through the house,
I saw my mother transform from my angel to a louse;
But then again, my pain was minuscule when compared to Anya's pain,
She would be scrambling to save the bits of her honour that remain.

Why did she call me though, was it something about our next class?
Or was it her heart trying to pass on a message before reaching an impasse?
There is no way I could know the truth, now that she would never look into my eyes,
So this is how my first endeavor at love heartlessly dies!

For posterity now, a corpse would live on to fulfill its parents' desires,
A zombie borne of expectations, deprived of love it aspires;
He lives, breathes, and eats simply for subsistence,
Wishing the Universe takes mercy on him, and relieves him of his existence.

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