A thief is born...since its a girl child!

One of the common saying in India and China is guess what,

“A girl child is a thief”

Another saying of Indian culture is.

“Bringing up a girl child is like watering a neighbour’s tree”

Sample another of our sayings in religious texts

“A son needs to be born here, let a girl child be born somewhere else”

I know this is a often repeated subject, but this is just an outpouring of angst, reignited because of an award winning documentary on girl child..the only similarity between India and china is when it comes to female foeticide or infanticide..India’s sex ratio is at 941 and guess what is for china..close behind 944..

I am a girl, and I have a right to life..the most fundamental of all the rights in the world, yet that is the one that I am denied. I laugh when I realize the irony of it, for I am the giver of life on this earth and I am the one who is not allowed to breathe. Over time, my parents have got new innovative ways of killing me, and I am made to sleep in the womb forever.

But sometimes I wonder, what if I had survived? A life of discrimination, of being a burden? At first I didn’t really understand why the preference for my brother, why was I made to leave school, why was I not allowed to go out after dark, why was there always a sarcastic remark when I asked for something, why was I said to be someone else’s property?

But then as I started understanding they were doing me a favour by killing me early..otherwise I will be raped and killed, with such unbearable pain, to teach me a lesson for daring to live my own way, or I will be traded in the dowry market worst still I will be burned alive..these are just some of the situations where I still get peace in death..

Just sometimes I think..why dont I have a right to live, to live with dignity..Are there any answers??

What is it?

The shy smile for unknown reasons

The silent giggle for the strangers

the warmth of the farway horizon

as it seeps into the very being..

is that it?

The whispers of the mystical breeze

The rustling of the old yellow leaves

The songs of the falling raindrops

And the myriad patterns of the dark clouds

Is that it?

The questioning looks at the mirror

And the splashes at the puddles of water

The multiple glances at the colours

And the heartfelt prayers..

Is that it?

I don’t know what is it

I fold my hands and I bow down

To utter a humble thanks

For letting me feel all this

Whatever it is..

For it connects me to me

And above all to you..