CANDLE IN THE WIND (Short story)

CANDLE IN THE WIND

‘Mind of a modern man is a lifelong porn serial. He is the hero of every episode and almost every woman he sees, are his new heroines.’

What a truthful comment! Sumangala thought while going through a comment by a prominent cultural leader. Every page of every daily tells the stories of sex abuse of poor minor girls. 

Every sex maniac spends money for personal enjoyment. But, every newspaper owner mints money just by running filthy stories in pretext of news! Client and the pimp! What kind of dirty world is this? Its better abstain from reading to avoid hypertension in every morning!

‘God! What is happening to me? What is irritating me just like a grain of sand trapped inside an oyster?’

‘Write… write… write it out,’ her inner voice commanded. She picked up her daughter’s writing pad. Words started flowing like a torrent.

‘Every woman has to resist the attacks against her. She has to groom herself to face any tough situation in life! The woman of seventy five years, raped by her blood relative of thirty five… The five year old minor girl whose body was hidden inside a hole in a tree trunk… what resistance can they offer? So the argument on resistance is baseless’. Her pen started flying like a meteor approaching Earth with immense velocity. Go… hit… and powder everything…

‘How to groom a woman? The world has been discussing this matter from time immemorial. It’s enough… Let’s stop all discussions… She doesn’t need any of your suggestions… advises… Let her groom her life… Let her be free from chains…

Now, there is immense material available to corrupt our boys… internet, movies… advertisements… let’s start discussing how to groom our boys… just to avoid innocent minor boys ending up in jails for attempting sex abuse.’

O! What a relief! Artists are the luckiest people for they only can enjoy absolute happiness… Bliss after the pain of creativity… Sumangala understood that simple fact immediately before closing her pen.

♥

It was a lazy Sunday and I was still on bed. My wife was busy surfing in the internet for some information for a student project. Suddenly my phone started ringing.

‘Suma is on the line,’ my wife told while handing over the phone to me.

I switched on the loud speaker after watching the curiosity on my wife’s face.

‘Hello’

‘Hi Premji… Good morning… Sumangala here’

‘Hi Suma’

‘Are you sitting in front of your laptop?’

‘No. But, why?’

‘I have posted my first article on facebook’

‘That’s interesting. One minute Suma’… I told her to hold the phone and collected the laptop from my wife. Immediately I located her post.

‘Premji, did you go through it?’

‘Yes’

‘How is it?’

‘Interesting thought..  Being the father of two naughty boys, sure, I will accept your suggestion. Anyway, congratulations! Someday, you will become a wonderful writer’

‘You are flattering me!’

‘No way’

‘Premji… You know one thing… While I was writing this article, my daughter… she started pestering me… Mummy… Mummy, shall I go and play with the next door boys? I let her go. But, thoughts about her were ruling me while I was writing… You know, she is just five years…

Which game are they playing? Who all are there to play with?

Premji… you know some sort of anxiety… some sort of uneasiness… I don’t know how to name it… See, I know every boy near my house… They all are well behaved, very nice boys… children of very reputed parents… still that uneasiness… it continued till she came back. It starts from the very moment she goes out any day.’

‘Tell her, it is called ‘mother syndrome’… the oldest of all syndromes,’ my wife laughed while watching our sons, playing outside, through the window.

PREMJI