Are we human, p.1
Are We Human?, p.1
Are We Human?
By Hiranya Borah
Copyright 2017 Hiranya Borah
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This book contains only three poems based on social and cultural evils leading to criminality.
Thanks to my readers and friends and above all my family for their constant support to write something usual and unusual. I love them all.
I do not know;
From where I came from.
I am told, I was born,
As a child to a human couple;
Like any other mammal,
Through a natural process,
Starting from a simple mating of two adults.
I was inside the womb of a female body;
Later on I came to know;
She was my mother.
I also grew
After taking first sip of milk,
From my mother’s beast;
As my first food;
And I began my journey of life;
Like any other mammal on this earth.
After few years,
I am told I am a Hindu;
Few years later,
I came to know about my caste,
When I was abused by a classmate,
While I was in a metropolitan college.
I met a girl couple of years ago;
I did not know her caste or religion.
I fell in love with her.
My love was true for her;
Her love for me was true.
We also wanted to reproduce;
Offspring like any other mammal;
You call them children;
I want to call them;
Only offspring to keep on my lineage;
For reproduce another generation of mammals;
We call them Human;
Without caste and creed.
But her parent thought otherwise;
She was thrown out of home;
My mother says;
She is not from my caste.
I took her to my place;
My father kicked both of us out of his home;
Both the family accused us;
We brought disrepute to our families.
Someone from her family killed her;
Someone call it, honour killing.
I want to join her,
I do not know where;
I do not know,
From where twenty five years ago I came;
Without clothes, religion and caste;
Not even with repute and dis-repute.
But I want to go to the same place;
There is no caste, no religion,
No honour and no honour killing either!
He told me to remove my frock.
Two years ago;
My father used to remove my cloths;
For giving me a bath;
Or for changing my dress.
I cherish those days of mine;
With my deceased father.
He kissed on my bare body.
That reminded me of my deceased father;
Who used to kiss on my bosom,
I used to giggle on his every kiss,
He used to place on my small body,
A body of three year old daughter.
He forced me to spread my legs.
That reminded me of my deceased father;
Who used to spread my legs;
To clean my private parts;
And to dry it by using the best of the powders.
Still I used to recall,
Powdering of my whole body;
By his tender hands.
But he left me alone;
With a selfish mother two years ago.
She only loves herself;
After taking control of all property of my deceased father;
Kicking out parent of my deceased father;
Married to her secret lover for years;
Within twelve months’ after death of my father.
She introduced her new husband;
As my new father for the rest of my life.
Yes, he became my father for the rest of my life;
A short life of only one year.
Instead of drying or powdering;
He inserted his finger in it.
I cried aloud in a piercing pain.
He laughed aloud which sent a simmering fear in my heart.
I stopped crying,
Or as I lost all sensitivities in my tiny body.
I lost my sense when he abused me thoroughly,
Blood was oozing out;
He became a worried monster.
He strangulated me;
Before he smothered my face beyond recognition;
With a hard object.
He dropped my lifeless body;
Inside the septic tank behind our house.
I could have thanked him;
For sending me;
To meet my deceased father;
At a place where tranquillity and peace;
Rule the minds and spirits.
But I could not thank him because
Even the rampaging lion,
Who kills the offspring of the earlier lion,
Perhaps never abuses sexually the young females.
My father was waiting at the golden gate,
Of a small cottage;
By opening his arms to receive
His beloved small and tiny daughter.
Now, there is no stain of blood;
On my white cloths.
There is only fragrance of a perfume of pure love of a father;
On the white dress, my father had given,
Two years ago, on my third birth day.
With a smile in his face,
Hugging me in his chest,
This is the place,
Where a daughter can live with her father forever,
With head high and without any fear.
I was ugly, I was rustic,
I was blunt, I was powerless,
I was money-less, I was worthless,
I was less of good and appropriate words with appropriate meaning,
I was hopeless in all aspects,
Even then I was priceless for my family and friends
A few Years ago,
My husband and young children
Used to love me.
I was always positive to face any eventuality in those days.
I always tried to use a positive sentence
Even after realizing I was in a hopeless position
Or at a hopeless situation.
At all times,
I used to laugh at myself more than others;
Because I was supported by my families;
Whenever I looked at them for their support;
Financial or mental.
But time has changed.
I am reminded by my near and dears every day,
I am ugly, I am rustic,
I am blunt, I am powerless,
I am money-less, I am worthless,
I am less of good and appropriate words with appropriate meaning,
I am hopeless in all aspects,
Now I am useless for my family and friends.
Few Years ago,
My husband had left me
To face my changed children
Who used to love me when they were young and vulnerable.
Time has changed,
People are changing,
Minds have been changing.
I am no more positive to face any eventuality now-a- days.
I no more try to use a positive sentence
Even after realizing it may invite trouble.
I forgot to laugh at myself any more.
My children think,
I am a burden and I should make an early exit;
From their life and from this world.
As my death refuse to come at an early date,
They decided to abandon me to die,
Without any medical aid.
Even then my death refuse to come.
One of them suggested;
She can be sent to an old age home.
Who will pay?
There was a silence in the room.
Another suggestion came,
Can we keep her inside her room without food and water,
Till she dies.
Finally, I called one of them and told
Drop me at the flooding river,
At least I shall not die,
Without water for days together!
I shall think;
That is the Ganga jaal,
You have put on my mouth before my death!!
The author is a Government servant and a man of vivid experiences derived from his official postings across the country, travels across India and numerous visits outside India. He is presently placed at New Delhi.
His earlier publications are:
1. Random Thoughts through a Coloured Prism
2. Dilemma of a Young Mind
3. Funny Statistics and Serious Statisticians
4. Melody of Fragrance
6. Few Cities through the Lens of Hiranya Borah
7. Guilt: Gift of Winter Spring
8. Beautiful Ghost
9. Great Fighters: Grace of God
10. All Blurred
11. Putting kids to sleep
12. How to become unpopular
14. My grumpy Face
15. Love and Worries
16. Discussion of own Birth: A Taboo
18. Indecent Love Affairs
19. My Fair Lady
20. Waiting time
21. Two Stories
22. My Mother: Dashami Borah
26. First Attempt
27. A father
28. The Portrait
29. Snapped Thread
30. Only He Knows
31. The Stupid Mother
32. The Same Old Story
33. The Old Scoundrel
34. Third Attempt
35. Some of my First Days and First Nights
36. Snubbed Twice
37. Have You Met the God?
38. Frequent Flier
40. Forgive and Forget
41. To Win or to lose
42. Call Girl
43. Beyond Blood Relation
44. Lady with a Black Car
45. My wife
46. Complete Woman
47. Diwali Gift
48. Romance with a Lady
49. Open Heart Surgery
50. My First Love
52. Pebbles on My Way Home
53. My First Bengali Book
54. Murder Mystery
57. Make a Habit to Thank God
58. Killing of a Bird
59. The Hero
60. Fantasy versus Reality
61. The Party
62. Road Rage
63. Death of a Friend
64. Cannot Live with Memory Only
65. None Cares for Me
66. A Tribute to My Guru
67. Two Professionals
68. The Choice
69. The Elusive Spouse
70. First Encounter with A P
71. Plane Crash
72. Plane Crash Part-II
73. Plane Crash Part-III
75. A Bag of Currency
76. Suitable Groom
77. Head Hunters
78. My Dear Sister
79. Selection While Waiting at the Airport
80. Oh Shit
82. He Got Back His Wife
83. Beautiful Faces
84. Elder Sister
85. Good Morning
87. Pass on your Death to Someone Else
88. Colour of Holi
89. Why blame others
90. A Forbidden Issue
91. Hat-trick of Failures
92. Agony of Writers
94. Three Directors
95. An Unusual Love Affair
96. Birth Day
97. Do not Tell Anyone
99. Late By Ten Years
100. Murder in a Foreign City
101. Strange Life
102. I love You Darling
104. Lady in the Park
105. Do Anything, I Shall comment
107. Art of Flirting
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Are We Human? by Hiranya Borah / History & Fiction have rating 2.8 out of 5 / Based on17 votes