THREE BLACK BAGS

Broken bangles, scattered hair,
Smudged colors all over her face,
Tears left their mark ages ago,
SHE thought SHE was loved,
SHE thought SHE was brave,
Now she leads her life like a used rug
That just lies in a corner
What did SHE do to deserve this
Cant SHE run, can SHE never save herself……………………………………….


“Excuse me maam, please identify your baggage, excuse me miss, are you alright?” The Customs Officers’ voice echoed in her ears as she shook herself back to reality. The airport looked like a happy place. She was happy, unlike the last time she was there. Once again she was leaving the country, her mother, her home, her family. This time it seemed different, she felt free yet at the same time she felt numb. Life was full of beginnings and endings, however, the two go hand in hand and are always linked by that thin chord called hurt, pain, desire, wounds and scars left behind by the latter. Who would have known this better than her, at twenty two life had taught her to think like a middle aged person, life had made her learn and react. It was playing games with her, it had taught her the art of being comfortably numb, so numb that it almost confused her to the point of being dazed.
Exactly a year ago she had packed her whole existence of twenty one years into three black bags. Her parents had chosen a suitable match for her and she, like a good daughter, had agreed with their choice. She was excited, like any bride to be. She was a little worried. She had wanted a career, a different life than what she was going to be living from now on, but she was happy, that’s the way life was meant to be from what she had seen.
Her mother had brought her up single handedly, with an alcoholic father being of no help. She had been taught to be fiercely independent and had been made to work towards a career. Suddenly none of this seemed to matter anymore, she was now to be a good daughter and then after a good wife.
Her only fear, her only worry was, “what if he is like my father? What if he doesn’t love me? What if he mistreats me?”, all this she made her self believe could not happen to her as well. God would surely not be that mean again. Her mother had suffered enough, maybe this marriage would help sort out her troubles as well. Money was never a problem in her life, it was the lack of love and she hoped and wished that her husband to be would fulfill this need, the comfort factor, the feeling of being looked after, the feeling of being respected and above all, wanted.
It was a grand wedding, everyone was drinking, dancing and making merry, everyone was happy. However, something was missing, something just did not feel right. It was time to leave, time to say her goodbyes, most newly wed brides cry before leaving their parents home, but her eyes were dry, she was numb, uncomfortably numb.
They had now been married for a week, she was yet to see him smile at her, she was waiting to be hugged with love, she was waiting to be touched with affection and caressed with passion. She had always imagined her first time to be magical and full of passion and love, maybe she had read too many love stories, and maybe she was a dreamer. Maybe all this was just a paragraph that was put in stories to make them sound good. This surely wasn’t what reality had in store for her. Sex was a task, she was made to feel like an object, one not of affection, her body was admired in a fashion that made her feel sick. Every touch made her soul want to cry out for help. She had lost the most preserved bit of herself to an animal, love was a myth and life was now a burden.

“Leave, get out now, leave my house now”, this all that she got to hear from him. Just because she was not ready to share him she had to suffer his abuse, his torture. There was no one to help, nobody to confide in. Each smile was a façade, each giggle was put on. Her eyes reflected the sadness in her soul, the pain in her heart.
The move took courage; she packed her bags with the bare minimum and left. Was it all over or was it yet to start? “This too shall pass”, said her mother, whose comforting embrace pulled her back to life. Insanity was knocking on her door only she knew how she was avoiding it. Death was welcoming her with arms wide open, only she knew how she was ignoring it. One slight cut and it would flow out of her in a stream of deep red, this torturous life. Something kept holding her back, she didn’t know what.
Blames, names, mean and horrible games, it took all that she had to end it all. It was finally over. She was free, free from the binding chains of a torturous marriage, free to live again.
She packed her life to start over again, in her Three Black Bags. Life was beginning again. SHE had saved herself.
“Excuse me maam, please identify your baggage”.
“Oh! I am sorry, these are mine.” “Yes these THREE BLACK BAGS are mine”.