SolitaryReaper

An Ugly Duckling

Theepa — Fri, 21 May 2010 23:53:49 +0000

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My memories start since I was thirteen.Of Course I had some child hood memories. Memories that I pretend to have forgotten.Painful memories of a sad little girl, rise from the bottom of the heart ,whenever I am depressed. That sad little girl felt like an ugliest duckling in the world. She felt inferior to anything and anyone. Good schools,good friends good hearted aunts and uncles to take care. But everything failed in taking care of the little heart . It suffered to its maximum. It still hurts to think that one Mrs. Fransisca, an English teacher in my Grade 6,refused to let me garland a chief guest because I was ugly. A trained catholic teacher of a catholic school run by the nuns, played a big role in shaping up who I am. Despite all of them, I turned into a different woman. Not exactly the “Phenominal Women” as Dr. Maya Angelou described, but for those dark corners of my heart I turned into a pretty smart woman and not ugly anymore. One of the Doctor colleague said, I am a ‘it girl’, which I could not grasp the meaning very well yet. I could not help the negative side popping up once in a while.

So,as I purposefully push my childhood memories to the bottom deep corner of the heart, my memories begin since I was thirteen. Was it so special to be thirteen.Who cared? Even my mum would not have realized I was turning thirteen. What is the difference? Being an eldest of five, It is no wonder my existence remembered. My daughter turned thirteen last year. How proud she was to be thirteen. We talked to her of being thirteen. I took her shopping and bought her new clothes a teen age girl needs. Both me and my husband bought her a “promise ring”, to remind her who she is in crtical moments. She is happy to be thirteen. She will remember them all her life.Lucky her.

It may be the thirteen that made everything memorable or the war that chiseled everything. 1983 July 23rd midnight.

Hearts to be Healed

Theepa — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 01:31:38 +0000

“The war has been ended”

The declared

(Ooph! silent! do not ask

When, how and Why)

Happiness!

Peace!!

Let them both long last!

Three decades of war

Stole their sleep away

Both the killers and the victims

Heavy eyelids can rest in peace now.

Unwanted deaths….

Sacrifices the youngsters made…

The lost eye of the next door kid…..

The father of the seven kids

With his amputated leg,

The girl still goes to school

A blank face

Happiness hunted away

by a group of brutals

On that cold dark brutal night.

Everyone , everything forgotten.

Victims- known for their hopitality

Enemies known for their brutality

Celebrated their harmonity

End.

Still a murmur

With the dusk seeping into the day

an unknown terror seeps into too.

Nook and corners are filled with fear.

Last night,

a bomb exploded spreading

shrapnels in to thousand hearts

Screamed my daughter in her dream.

A supersonic walked on four legs,

previous day in my husband’s dream.

The other day,

Corpses rose from their pyres

Headless, Limbless

In my dream.

Those who over there!

On your path to heal the world,

Just look at that tear drop

Just below the Indian continent,

Waiting to be cared, healed

That’s life

Theepa — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 04:41:18 +0000

Simply said.

That’s life.

My thirteen year old said

“”Appa, it did not hurt when I danced.

But it hurts now”

My eight year old said

” That’s life acca” to his sister.

“Things hurt after we did it”

How simple!

Why we adults donot get it?

Before we involve in anything.

Long live humanity burried in the safety zone

Theepa — Tue, 19 May 2009 13:25:21 +0000

My senses took along leave.
Sitting at the computer
Looking at the websites
My senses took a long leave.

Back to reality,
We don’t bear to have a kitten suffer
We don’t bear to have a puppy starve
But, what are they?
After all human kids.
Practically with a brown skin.

Let them suffer
Let them starve
Let them die.

It is not Somalia or Ethiopia
For a kid to be eaten by a haunting vulture
At least the dying kids have
So called terrorist hands
That can burry them decently.

How lucky the kids are!
They are injured in a safety zone;
They are dead in a safety zone;
They are burried in a safety zone too.

Long live humanity!!!!

Concrete Forest.

Theepa — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 01:50:18 +0000

Walking down the concrete pavement
I wonder
How remarkable these concrete facilities called ‘HOMES’
Tall, short, lean and stout
Differ in style,
Differ in value
Of course the status differs too.
Walking down the concrete pavement
I wonder,
How amazing these passing metal creatures called ‘CARS’.
Array of colour,
Variety of styles,
Variety of shapes,
Diversity of status indeed.
Walking down the concrete pavement
I wonder
How amazing these celluloid puppets called ‘HUMANS’
Variety of colour
Range in sizes
Diversity in types
Not to mention the vast range of status.
They dance
They sing
They talk
They hug
All in different stages
All with different masks.
The string they are tied to
Is held with one hand
Called “MATERIALISM”
Walking down the concrete pavement
I search around the concrete forest
For a thing called”HUMANITY”

Humanity Waits…For What?

Theepa — Sat, 14 Mar 2009 02:06:48 +0000

I wonder with aching heart.
Are those pictures true?
Are those horror leaking pictures
On the websites and newspapers
Of my people back home
And their beautiful coastal villages, true?
The beautiful memories of bright, white beaches
Blurred with the ruined images of villages and shores.
The pleasant memories of those innocent peoples
With a warm welcoming smile
Of those pretty little houses
Along the long white beaches
Surrounded by the green coconut palms and trees
Blurred with the reality.
They might be killed.
They might be injured.
The innocent faces might be turned into deformed features.
The tiny kids, by age and malnutrition, might be dead
Or have lost their limbs.
“Not a single kid should be killed by poverty”
The greatest thought hangs in their air
Unattended.
In the tarpaulin huts
Surrounded by the heat, dust and germs
The fire of hunger burning their stomachs
The fire of fear, hopelessness,
And sorrow hurting their hearts
My people accused of being a Tamil:
Accused of seeking freedom:
Accused of yearning for their rights
Are being punished.
Human rights, Humanities,
The religions of the world
Those preaches love for the foe
Just waits!!!!
Just waits!!!!!!
For what??
Until they be killed??????

Just Want to Hear

Theepa — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 04:56:03 +0000

Past midnight….
My eyes close exhausted
After a long fight to embrace sleep.
The last thought of that moment
“How are they doing?”
Dawn…….
Lids opened lazily
After a long fight to be closed
Bearing the burden of the dreams
Bad dreams of course
The thought of that moment
“How are they doing?”
Heart misses a beat
Exhausted
Beating like a drum whole day.
Mind freezes a moment
Totally blank.
What to think?
What is there to think indeed?
The unknown answer to my query
Creeps in to the mind and body.
Numbness……
Thoughtlessness…….
I just want to hear,
They are ok.
They are still alive.
They still have something to eat.
They can still hear despite the bangs of the shells and bombs.
They can walk with their own legs.
They can eat with their own hands.
They can still see but unfortunately the cruelty
Wide spread in front of them.
I just want to hear
My friends…….
And their kids…Ami,Kaja,Ara, Arthi,Athirai and Arooran
And all the other people are fine
Despite being a Srilankan Tamil.

Would You????

Theepa — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 04:06:46 +0000

We had a dream.

Beautiful with rainbow colours,

Rising from the hearts of

Hundreds of thousands of sufferers.

It spread over the sky.

Touched the horizons.

Where ever we went

The dream spread it wings.

Bigger…….bigger……bigger

The long gone freedom,

The long gone peaceful days,

The dears departed,

The beloved demised

Watered the dreams over the decades.

Here we are…….

Again…….

At the “ZERO POINT”

Displaced and threatened.

The hope we carried,

All along the dark ages

Bearing the thorns of war,

That, kind hearts

Or nations of humanity

Or the omnipotent divine eternals

Would bring as the freedom,

We sought for decades,

Vanished.

Cluster bombs shattered the dreams

The betrayals

Of the next door neighbour

Killed the hope.

Some drop of hope

Left in the heart

For the moment to see a drop of tear,

Sympathizing us.

Shed a drop of tear,

Drop a ray of hope,

At the foot of our dying babies

Would you?????

Top of a Ladder

Theepa — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 04:03:02 +0000

Being on top of a ladder(litereally)

Using a heavy metal bar as a hammer

I hit very hard

Using all my strength of my thin body

And all the hatred in my tiny heart

“Bang” one for me

For being manipulated

by the external factors

“Bang” one for the world

For being unfair to all the endeavours

“Bang” one for the others

who always exploit you

To be on the top of the ladder.

Let Me Rest for Five Minutes or Chemmani Awaits

Theepa — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 02:22:59 +0000

“Let me rest for five minutes” the words still haunt me over and over. The deepest, saddest, cruelest words, I have ever heard. No one would interpret the underlying meaning of those words. They are not merely words. They are drops a heart bled; they are painful droplets a body shed; they are blooded tears from a dried pair of eyes; they are the cry of a wingless bird that wanted to rest in peace; they are the words caused by a dove of peace that spread its wings widely over the political sky. The words disturb the core of my senses when I am awake. Terrifying dreams lengthen my sleepless nights. Horror of those words danced around me, over my head, below my feet and inside me.
“Let me rest for five minutes”
“Let me rest for”
“Let me rest”
“Let me”
This is how her words died along with her they said. The words screamed in my head. A whirl of panic sunk me in its darkest, deepest waves. The words have not lost its strength and power even though years have passed. A decade of journey through the time machine has not succeeded in lightening the memories. Still fresh and terrifying, they haunted the mind, body and even that beautiful village
Chemmani*.Once a beautiful village, still remained beautiful with a camouflage of being peaceful. Underneath that peace and beauty lay the midnight horrors.
Even there was peace in the country literally, there was no peace in the minds and hearts and surroundings. Not only the midnights but also the dawn, dusk and midday were frightening. The vast Chemmani plain was chilled with the morning dew, mist of the dusk and overwhelming fear. The air was filled with frightening memories, haunting spirits and the rotting smell of corpses. The skin was always printed with goose bumps. The tiny dark hair on the brown skins stood straight like a bullet ready to be shot fast.Even the dogs sensed the restlessness of the minds and the air. They howled in the nights nonstop.
Adding terror to the environment, there were stories of hearing screams at midnight. People who went out in the night came back fear stricken with stories of seeing dark mysterious images. The truth awaited in the dark to be revealed.
Jaffna peninsula is a mango shaped hometown of Tamils within the mango shaped Srilanka. An ancient city of Tamils, where their traditions, culture, customs and religion were preserved for centuries. Once praised for its high level of education, English speaking people and high percentage of civil servants. Jaffna’s peace and tradition were intentionally destroyed by the state military after the capture of the peninsula from the freedom fighters in 1995. In all the countries where family is the basic structure of the society, and where women are the heart of the families, virtue of the woman is the firm foundation for everything. The military intentionally destroyed the virtue, the self respect, the esteem, of our women. Our families’ foundations were found deep down in the wells, or in the bushes, or on the beaches pushed away by the waves.
Corporal Somapala, a soldier in the Srilankan military, was arrested being accused for the military’s human right violations in the peninsula. A corporal, not quite innocent, but not to be accused for obeying his officers, to escape the blow of the punishment, revealed the truths that were buried in the dark. Shocking revelations echoed all around the island. Media flashed the truth to the outside world. A mass grave in the beautiful plains of chemmani was dug out. Mankind shocked to the core. Finally, Krishanthy and her family came out of the darkest grave with other four hundred skeletons.
Krishanthy, named after the flowers bloom in December, a month she was born, really was delicate as a flower. Being a only girl of a well educated, sophisticated family, she was brought up well protected from the external harms of the society. Her only brother Pranavan adored his little sister as a fairy princess. Dark curls of hair hung loose as bunch of grapes around her eyes. Beautiful little brown eyes danced with excitement and joy. She was known for her intelligence around the village. Her family, friends and neighbor hood knew she would get the very difficult entrance to the medical college, her life long dream.
On her way to the final exam, the gate way to her life time ambition to be a doctor, she was stopped by the soldiers at the check point. Soldiers were ordered to bring her inside the camp for a thorough checking even after she produced her student identification. Without the presence of a lady officer, a it was said in the UN charter, she was thoroughly checked not only once, but for forty times by forty men. A small build seventeen year old girl with a delicate body soft as a flower was thoroughly checked all over her body inch by inch for forty times by giant like army officers. Born in a culture where sex before marriage, even the knowledge of sexual act is a taboo, she panicked with shock. She had never heard her mum saying anything about what to do when a man lay on top of you. She never heard of sexual intercourse and what would it do to her. Will it hurt? Will it pain? Will it be interesting? Is it acceptable for the army officers to use her like that? The pain went through her answering all her questions when she screamed for mercy.
“Ah…leave me alone. It is hurting……Please”
Her words were left in vain each time a man entered her. First she begged not to touch her. Then she begged them to touch her gently. Finally she begged them to let her rest just for five minutes.
“Let me rest for five minutes.” The beasts never let her rest a second.
“God, let me die in peace”, she prayed god to help her each time her legs were held apart. God never responded.
“Anna, help me anna, they are torturing me.” She cried to her brother believing he would hear her. Instead they gagged her mouth with a piece of cloth.
She lost her blood; she lost her voice; she lost her hope in mankind; she lost her belief in god; finally she lost her senses falling into the darkness. Still the checking went on. On and on. Finally,she closed her eyes not to come out of the fort of darkness, not to come out of the cruelty that tortured her body and soul, and not to come out the burial ground dug inside the camp compound.
A jungle fire would not spread as fast as Krishanthi’s arrest news. Her mother fainted hearing the arrest news. What would have happened to her, if she had known that Krishi was already buried? Pranavan screaming “Krishi…..” brought all neighbors to their house. Next door neighbor, a friend, volunteered to go with them to the camp, not knowing he would not see the next day’s sunlight. The army, sensing the threat in the threesome, took them inside for an investigation. They were never seen afterwards. When they finally returned it was from the Chemmani grave, not from the army camp. Poor family died not knowing their beloved Krishi lied in the same grave. Krishanthi lied peacefully resting in the grave not knowing her mother and brother joined her in the death path to protect her all the way along.
Graves opened their mouths gaping for a release. The rotten smell spread in their air. Horror and terror seized the environment. People avoided Chemmani road, but could not avoid the frightening chill of their hearts. Commissions were formed; media screamed for justice: the nations condemned human right violation; Somapala was released with the other accuseds not being able to prove guilty.
Chemmani awaits, with its terror stricken plains, justice to be dug out. Fear stricken faces await to be protected by humanities’ hand. Krishanthi’s are still waiting down in the wells, buried in the zero zone, thrown in the forests, and preyed to the fish, to be found out; To be rested in peace at least for five minutes.