It’s strange that I don’t have childhood memories of a time
when I was very young. It begins with a time when I was 10 or 11 years old. Every
evening, after my homework, my ritual was to invade the neighbor’s house to
wake up a sleeping friend to persuade her to play. Or go to this friend who
stayed two blocks away and had a lush green park where we could play for hours.
As the evening turned darker, I would return home to my hot dinner. If at all,
my mom had to call me home early, she would call the aunt’s landline and that
aunt in return screeched from her window and conveyed mom’s message. At the age
of 10 or maybe younger, I remember going to the nearby market alone for my fill
of candies or chips and I also remember helping mom with some basic errands
like buying the groceries and vegetables. I had my own garden and explored
every bit of the fallen leaves, dug out stones from the mud, played with the
insects and walked bare footed on the grass. I played there alone for hours, and
a lot of times with friends and cousins.
All of that, yes all of that without any mobile phones or staying connected at all times. I am
not here today to rant about how technology or mobiles have snooped into our
lives and spoilt every bit of a slow and simple life.
My concern is a different one.
I so hate to admit that I wouldn’t allow Shreya and Shivansh
to enjoy the simplicities that I enjoyed. These simplicities are luxuries now
that I can no longer afford. The newspaper, every day, has some or the other
terrifying incident that makes me protect my babies all the more. Am I turning
paranoid? Perhaps I am. Honestly, I hate this city for turning me into a
terrified mom and a scared person. I hate this place for the rash and drunken
drivers. I hate this place for the increasing number of monsters. I hate this
place for people ready to stoop low. I hate this place for the pretentious who
think everything starts and ends with their façade. I hate this place for the
callousness and casualness for kids and the elderly. I hate this place of its insensitivity.
I hate myself for hating everything so much and not doing anything about it.
And rapists, I don’t even want to start talking about them. I
wonder how many petitions it will take to stop it all. I’m not sure how many Facebook
posts and shares will make them vanish. As I write this, there a monster walking free and unaffected, making more of
them fearless and monstrous.
