Awakening

                                                  Someone could easily impale themselves and die on those loosely scattered tiny shards on the floor. Mya slowly turns her gaze away from the floor. She is benumbed and just a meter away from it. She rests her eyes on him without giving away any emotions. It is hard to tell whether he is getting angrier or pacified from her listless twisted face. She wishes that those shards laid closer to him.  Few hours have gone by when Akshya finally opens his eyes and feels the room spinning around him. No signs of life, he thinks. He could smell the pungent smell of his own dried blood, he could taste the putrid saltiness of it in the corner of his toothless left cheek. He shrugs off the heaviness from his drooping face.  Mya feels tightness in the pit of her stomach when she hears him shuffle. Two inches, just two inches away from him lay the shards of a broken mirror. She recounts the final moments of her life just then and gives a h

I struggle to come to terms with some cultures. The culture where while some trailblazer women are fighting for their right to light the funeral pyre of their deceased parents, some other women are still using excuses to avoid helping their frail and financially dependent parents. Culture where daughters are claiming equal rights in property, but without shared responsibility.  This is the very culture where they say daughters inherently love their parents more than a son; they say a daughter's love, gratitude and appreciation for her maternal home doubles once she marries and goes through changes demanded by new home/relationship.  Yet, it somehow seems so unloving when some daughters, in that same culture, intentionally hold off help towards their parents in the name of culture. Today, I want to question those unloving daughters why their love is so meagre when it comes to helping their own parents? Why use “culture” as an excuse and I wonder how