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Suri

 Suri was in seventh standard, she was a silent child. Or a child silenced by the brutality of the world she found herself trapped in. Adolescence had brought her parts of herself that she had not been warned shall grow. Hair grew everywhere on her. She often woke up amid nights out of breath, having a wild dream of her being all engulfed by the ugliness of undesired hair and being set fire to.

She was the daughter of the peon at school studying free at staff quota amid rich groomed girls who got their hair removed from fancy creams her parent’s could not afford.Whenever she would try to mix in, or would take part in class discussion, or just be with the students during lunch break like any other child of her age, some one would suddenly point out “Hey! She has a full moustache!” or “Look at her hands, so hairy, she’s a full bear” and everyone would burst out laughing.She was too young to use razor on her limbs or face her parent’s said. And once when she had tried she had got cut. “You are beautiful as you are” her parent’s had said.

She went to the teacher to complain. The madam very politely put her hand on her chin and lifted it to look into her eyes. Suri had an ecstatic feeling that finally her misery shall be put to an end. The teacher spoke “You’re a big girl now, body hair don’t look good, do away with them” and went away, with no promise of tackling her bullies. Suri wa infuriated first and immediately heartbroken, she rushed home and start crying. Her mother was still out serving as domestic help to others, and father with his after school odd jobs. Suri always went alone home and stayed alone too. She told her parents. They told her again that she was beautiful no matter what anybody would say. But they would not understand how embarrassing it could get in her classroom and how it held no significance before the laughing herd of notorious classmate.

But today it had been it. The boy had went too far “Is your mother also hairy? I wonder how she got your dad to…Oh! Wait were you adopted?” Suri burned with fury. She slapped him in the face. “Suri” the same madam came yelling “How dare you!” she yelled and slapped Suri, “But he abused my mommy” she wanted to explain “You should’ve come to me whatever it was he did, you cannot hit people” “My mommy” Another slap. “You too behave properly” she told the boy and let him go. Suri sat in the silent corner silently as usual, for the rest of the day.

“Oye, Wild Bear of Bear Mommy…sad!?” the boy teased her as she tried to unnoticed leave the school. Everybody laughed. Again.

Don’t be the madam. The victim must not need to play helpless to have you by their side.

Our fascination with non-violence is a mere bubble of righteousness that feeds our insecurities to always stay on the ‘right’ side. To justify the ends but also the means is perhaps a doctrine almost always cited at the wrong time.

The entire idea of peaceful protest arises from the need of the governments to ensure that protests remain ignore-able and controllable. Support Farmers.

-Vatsala Mishra

The views and opinions expressed by the writer are personal and do not necessarily reflect the official position of VOM.
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