My Journey

I’m tired now… tired of running away, tired of people leaving when I’ve begun to love them. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. I’ve seen it all. Or at least I think I have. I can never be sure. Just when I think there’s nothing more to see, my journey shows that I could not have been more wrong.

I was quite young when I was given away; too young to remember who held me first. I don’t know if they smiled with happiness when I was born, or cried in despair when they gave me away. I’ve heard people say they were born as orphans. True, those people were too drunk with sorrow to realize what they were saying, but I feel that to be true for me.

I remember the mansion. I had gone there with the man who first held me. It was big, and old, with fine chandeliers and a long staircase that took him and me to the upper floors. There was a woman there, and she smiled seeing him. “Come, I was expecting you,” she had said, her teeth stained red by betel leaves and a big round dot of red on her forehead. I felt him push me toward her, and I went. She looked at me happily. She took me to a room, and pushed me inside, locked me up. I was afraid then, for he had never locked me up before. And from the window, I could see him walk away, leaving me alone for the first time.

The mansion was my first home, and thanks to accursed luck, it was also my home for much of my life. Once in a while, I would be let out of the room. I would be given to a man, who’d take me home with him. That was when I would see the world. I would smell the fresh vada-pavs as we went past a roadside thela, and hear the bells of the ice-cream vendor’s bicycle. I’d see little children ride past on bicycles, and feel the salt from the sea breeze. It’d be only till we’d reach his home. There again, I’d be locked in a room very similar to the mansion’s room. After a while, he’d take me back to the mansion. Every time, it would be a different man, and somehow, I would end back where I started. No escape. The woman didn’t mind. “She’s like my lucky charm,” she used to say.

I was saved, if you could call it that, by a policeman. He saw me with a man, and left him no choice but to free me. When I saw the man reluctantly let me go, I thought I was saved. But my journey continued. The policeman took me home. He used me as he saw fit. He gave me to another woman, and the woman put me in another room. It was long before I saw the light of the sun again. With every hand that touched me, I felt more dirty. The silver lining, if you could call it that, was that I saw the world. I saw that the world had kind people, and I hoped that, someday, I would be rescued by one of them.

I realized when I was rescued, to my misery, that even kind people had no intention of setting me free. They’d treat me kinder, but use me nonetheless. I realized then the reason why I was born… to be used. A luxurious life wasn’t in my destiny. I saw others like me sometimes in much better places, and a tinge of envy would rise within me. But, no, not all was dark in my world. I had a comfortable life for a while. I played with children. The sea breeze felt much fresher then than when I was going in and out of the mansion. I fell at the feet of God when I went to the temple, and prayed that He cleanse me of all my sins, and of the sins that I had seen. But like I said before, just when I had begun to love the people I was with, they’d leave me. I’d grown old, but other people were still happy to see me, use me, and make me dirtier than I was.

I’m tired, but I can’t help but wonder if I’ll see more people before I die, see more places. Luck hasn’t favored me on my life’s journey so far. I’ve only been to a few places, and seen a few smiles. I’ve never been out of this city. I pray that even if I don’t go out of this city, I never go back to that mansion again. I’ve seen enough of that place, that red-mouthed woman and the men that go there.

After all, even a hundred rupee note can get tired of seeing the same hands over and over and over again, right?

The Blogging from A to Z April Challenge was first held in 2010. The challenge is that we have to post every day of April, except on the four Sundays. April 1st is a theme with letter A, 2nd with letter B and so on till April 30th which will be Z themed. This year, I’m planning to do short pieces of fiction (not a series), or a poem based on a word with that letter.

To write 26 days in a month on a theme, a moral support is quite useful I feel. This year, I’m taking the challenge along with my friend Bhavya. We’re writing on the same themes each day, and giving each other the themes on alternate days. Day 10, the word chosen by me was JOURNEY, which inspired the post.

(11th April 2014)


Poetry & writing are to me, a breath of fresh air in a life that is sometimes covered by the smoke of sorrow or self doubt. They also become the sweets I share to celebrate when life offers me a reason to. But most of all, they are to me, my life. For each word I write is a piece of my heart, a thought that just had to find its way into the world.

36 thoughts on “My Journey”

    • No. No one should have a life like this, Sfoo. You are right.

      In the end, I am just talking of a 100 rupee note. And what I imagine its journey might have been like.

      But no one should have a life like that.

  1. Took me a second read to understand what the mansion related to…..but a eventful journey described by the 100 rupee note itself….We all do use money however nice we try to be with it….we still use it….and that is the perspective of the note, that it is meant to be used…..Brilliantly done once again 🙂

    • Eventful, yes. We do use the 100 rupee note, though we try to keep it safe, and yes, that is the perspective of the note. Thanks, Jb.

  2. I am loving ur narrative style. It has deep emotions , pain and is visualizing!
    The story and the plight of the girl to be set free made me sad!

  3. I caught the twist before it came, this time 😀 🙂 Now specifically the ‘100’, but the general idea that it was money speaking 😀

    Lovely narration, Leo 🙂

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