Tag Archives: Being there


4 Mar

His rage.

Her fear.

He grit his teeth, blood pounding at the temples, roaring in his ears. His nails dug into the rough skin of his palms. He felt this uncontrollable urge to destroy, to rip, to break something.. He opened his eyes and saw her looking at him. She looked puzzled at his reaction and it was reflected in her eyes. He saw her hand stretch out and nearly touch his arm, before he slapped it aside. She flinched. It wasn’t what she had done. It was how she was reacting after. As though she was innocent. That brought on a fresh wave of anger and he slapped her across the face, hard.

This man, with eyes like hard ice, mouth pinched, clenched fists and a barely reigned in temper was a stranger. She felt a frisson of fear travel down her spine as she looked at him. He seemed cold and.. There was an elusive restraint in his stance. His corded muscles were all chained back . She didn’t know what to do or what he would do to her. She clenched her palms close, she felt her hands turn cold and clammy as the feeling took over, her nails digging into her palm, leaving red, crescent-shaped marks. She hoped she would be able to get through it, unscathed, this time. As she released the breath she had been holding, he slapped her. 

He was starting to feel the rage build up and he started hitting her, repeatedly. He wasn’t able to get past what had happened. The red haze he was seeing the world through didn’t seem to be diminishing.. If anything, it seemed to get stronger. It got to a point where he didn’t realize why he was reaching out to hit her.. It became a habit. A body in motion, keeps moving..

She wasn’t scared of the pain. The part of her that came in contact with his hand, felt raw. She had never been exceptionally fair-skinned, but now as she looked on, she could see her skin turn pink and then an angry red with the force of each strike. It burnt for a while and then it gradually receded. It was the feeling of complete helplessness that scared her. 

He had done so much for her. How could she do this? Did she not understand the concept of honesty? Of trust?

These hands had once held her hand and helped her. Been with her. But now, all they did was beat her. Physically, the bruises would fade, if they ever appeared. Emotionally, it was a different story altogether. Every time his hand made contact, it slowly ate up her insides. Of not being able to do anything to stop him. She hated how her heart lurched every time he lifted his hand and yet she couldn’t do anything to stop him. She hated the feeling where every thing she did was wrong. She hated spending every waking moment in fear, anticipating when he would hit her next.

He told her then, what he thought of her. How low she had fallen. And how he didn’t think she could become better. That she was doomed to a life of hardship and infidelity.

She let it all slide. Everything, he said, she let it go. She had never found it important to air her opinions. She let people say what they wanted, she didn’t interfere with their opinions or individuality. It became apparent to her, that he assumed her opinion was the same as his, because she didn’t argue or wage a war for beliefs. She had always been introverted and rather private about her wants, needs, desires.. Was being different, wrong? The sun and moon, different and yet cherished for different reasons. You won’t be able to see colors without the sun neither would you know warmth, but without the moon, wouldn’t you burn?  

She disgusted him. She was a pathetic excuse for a person and she didn’t deserve any respect. Gradually, it came to a point where, he would start hitting her with anything that was around. She became the reason for every thing wrong happening in his life.

She didn’t want much anymore. Just a life without him or at least, far from him. Away from this crippling fear of not knowing what might happen. Away from this feeling of utter helplessness. Just to be herself. To be able to breathe, laugh, read, walk normally. To not look over her shoulder every moment to see if sh did anything wrong. Was that too much to ask?

It was an awful day to begin with. He got there in a hurry. He started hitting her, without any preamble, with blind rage.

The blows seemed harder today or had she become weaker? 

He pushed her on to the glass.

It hurt. Her insides hurt. She felt her legs give away and she slid down the wall. She didn’t want it to hurt anymore. Please make it stop, she prayed.

She always stayed passive. She never fought back or tried to stop him. And that always egged him on. Her silence. Her ability to take it all in.. It got to him, like nothing else did.

She just wanted to be. Maybe it would be okay if it stopped. Maybe it would become better then.

He left the room then after giving her a look of disgust.

She had gotten so used to him striking her, she had forgotten what it used to be like.. before..

He came back a while later. The room was dark. He had forgotten to switch on the lights. As he felt around in the dark for the switch, a small pang of unease hit him. He brushed it away, as stupidity. She deserved everything that happened.

This felt surreal. The pain wasn’t there anymore. It felt as if she was floating somewhere. Had they gone on a holiday?

As the lights came on, he noticed that his steps had been a bit squelchy. He looked down and he then turned a full circle, in the same posture.

More than him hitting her, it was the fact that nobody tried to stop him that nearly always got to her. That maybe, nobody stopped him, because it was just her.. Or was it because she was really wrong? Or was it because they were scared too?

She was sitting against the wall. If not for her blood, he would have thought she was asleep. Her eyes were closed. He walked up to her and reached out. His hands shook, ever so slightly as they reached for her. He watched the whole thing happening as if it were from outside himself. Is this what they call an out of the body experience? She couldn’t have just bled out. She was stronger than that.. Wasn’t she?

She felt a small something at her shoulder. She tried opening her eyes, but they just wouldn’t. She was exhausted. She knew it was him. He had probably come back in anger. She opened her mouth, to ask him to give her some time to be able to stand.

She was getting colder. He felt a frisson of fear, for the first time. He started calling her, when it struck him that her name sounded almost alien on his tongue, after not having taken it in .. a long time.

“I am sorry, I wasn’t good enough.”

Her whispered apology was the last thing he heard her say. It was then he remembered that it had been so long since she had spoken or laughed or been happy. He had forgotten what she looked like.. As he saw, really saw her, he felt disgust at himself. She looked almost waif-like. She had a lost of weight in the past few months and she looked tired. She had purplish bruises under her eyes and her face looked  He wondered how he had never noticed it. Every last bit of anger, hate, revulsion seeped out of him and filled up the entire room, mingling with the blood until it turned into something dark.. Almost tangible. The walls were closing in. He couldn’t breathe. It felt as though somebody had tied a noose around his neck and it had been tightening gradually.. Until he realized the hands that tied the noose were the same hands that couldn’t stop hitting. His guilt became a living, breathing thing; dark, ominous and as ravenous as a newly born child. Little did he know, it would perpetually be hungry. It slowly started eating him up from the inside, never stopping. Because like someone once said, a body in motion, keeps moving..

And right there, with her whispered apology, she destroyed him.



This was written after I read about a really bad case of domestic violence and I just couldn’t sit still. To anybody who has ever been at the receiving end of any form of domestic violence, you have to get help and tell somebody. You don’t deserve any of it and no matter what anyone (including the voice inside your head) says, it is NEVER your fault! And for those of you who silently see it and do nothing or pretend like nothing is wrong,would you be doing nothing, if it was someone from your family who was being beaten? Or would you want a silent spectator much like yourself, when you were being beaten? Friendship is more powerful, more comforting and more courageous than people think. I think it is one of the few things that reinforces belief, faith and hope.


© My Rickety Typewriter, 2014; Vintage Ink.
No part of the text – partial or complete – may be copied/ reproduced or transmitted without prior permission from the author. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.



1 Jun


That void, it never goes away.
The ghost of their presence, always around.
When you are happy or sad and turn to find them it’s only then you realize they are gone.
You go around like you are okay, but you wonder what would they say or do if they could see you now.

Would they smile and run their hand over your head?
Would they laugh and tell that they are right here?
Or would they allow you to hug them and cry.

You can’t even cry now, can you? Because it’s been so long, people have expected you to have moved on.
But you don’t know how.
You don’t know if you should cry because somewhere inside, you are glad they are free from pain and are away from this darkness.

If only you would come back, but for a moment ..
If only you would come back, I would tell how much I love you and always will.
If only you would come back, I would show you how grateful I am for having been in your life.
If only you would come back, I would tell the world how much you mean to me.
If only you would come back, I would hug you and never let go.
If only you would come back, I would fight the world for you, for without you, where is my world?

If only..

For all the times you have made me smile.
For all the times you have wiped my tears.
For all the times you have pulled the blanket over me.
For all the times I have eaten off your plate.
For all the times I have hugged you.
For all the times you have told me it will be alright.
For all the fights we have had.
For all the times you took care of me.
For all the times you told me you will always be there.

Sometimes people tell me this kind of intensity will only burn me down.
Be more mellow, they tell me.
But they didn’t know you, did they?
Why aren’t you crying they asked me the very day you left.
What could I tell?

That I could still sense you?
That I was always ensconced in your warmth, safely?
That I couldn’t believe you were gone?
I will make you proud, I promise.

P.S. This is because of you, Kruthika Maheswar.

Reading that poem of yours made me cry my eyes out.

P.P.S- I don’t know why I posted this. Be gentle, please.

© My Rickety Typewriter, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Vintage Ink and My Rickety Typewriter with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.

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