We haven’t forgotten 16 December yet and I don’t think this nation will ever be able to. This particular incident shook this entire country. Two years have passed since that day. And after that day, whenever this chilling December arrives and winter reaches its full intensity, I am reminded of all those series of incidents that took place on and after that day. And then, something dies in me. This particular month is etched in my mind as a month of slaughter of humanity.
I wrote this particular letter last December. This is an imaginary letter from ‘Nirbhaya’s’ mother to her daughter in which she describes how her family is doing without her since that day for last one year :-
YOUR STILL ALIVE MOTHER
I know how much you wanted to live,
I read that last message written with shivering hands.
You were such a fighter.
I so much wanted to reduce your pain,
But trust me dear- your mother was helpless, all went in vain.
That last night,
When whole nation stood with you in your fight,
Your father and I sat there at your bedside,
Hoping an iota of chance will reverse this gloomy darkness,
And will get us back our daughter.
Your brothers were busy demanding from God,
to return them their loving sister.
And on that horrific night,
We lost our only source of happiness.
Your brothers and I were inconsolable,
Your father acted strong though he was shattered.
We all cried, this nation cried for you dear.
Everyone said you were brave, a girl without fear.
Now we have come a year ahead since we lost you.
But not much has changed since that last night.
I heard about some change of laws,
But many daughters continue to suffer the same plight.
Your perps have been given death penalty,
One has killed himself on his own.
We were given a flat and your brothers took government jobs.
Many ministers came by to join us in our sobs.
All four of us have resumed our mundane lives,
Or at least we are trying to,
But sometimes we really miss you.
Sometimes when I see your cupboard(it still contains your belongings),
Your clothes, your favorite party dress, your books, your novels, your earrings,
Your colorful dupatta-those beasts must have torn apart ignoring your screams.
Your bridal dress reminds me of some broken dreams.
Now your father doesn't speak much.
He is a strong man-always showing a composed behavior,
But sometimes I see him dropping a tear-watching our family pictures.
Sometimes I see him sighing with disgust while reading his morning newspapers.
Sometimes he erringly shouts out your name reckoning you to bring him tea.
Other times he sobs silently seeing a wedding invitation from some acquaintance.
Now your brothers don’t fight for the TV remote,
They no longer fight for that one t-shirt they love,
But seeing your side of their bed empty-they curse their fate,
Something dies in all four of us little by little.
And when this mind numbing pain of your loss becomes unbearable,
When the deafening silence engulfs us,
We all hold on to each other-becoming each other’s strengths.
Somewhere in my stolen moments,
I wish I could get you back.
Slowly we will make peace with your absence daughter,
Lots of love from your still alive mother!