Today, when I entered my class there was more talking than usual but what is the news, soon I found it’s about the farewell party and also it’s round the corner. This news excited me but at the same time it pricked me too. After a moment my smile turned flat and a friend who was standing beside me interrogated, what happened? I smiled again and gave end to all her worries. But this was the time my worries started taking place.
Coming back home my mind was occupied and as a result while getting off the rickshaw the cloth in which I wrap myself from top to bottom tangled in one of the springs of the wheel and while trying to hitch, it tore off a little. You might be wondering how clumsy I am. But carrying the big loose black cloth resembling a gown every day is something that boosts my confidence and gives me an everlasting princess feel. Trust me. Why do I wear it? Because I chose to wear it. Initially, I didn’t think that putting that one dress on which reflects my religion will change the outlook of the people around me. They will make the notion of me being as conservative and will take me as a girl who has tied a black band on her tongue also. She is not COOL will be their first assumption.
Anyway I reached home and without taking the meal, I decided to retard to bed. I found myself overpowered with thoughts-the thoughts that made me an introvert all a sudden? If asked I was simply struggling with the question of what to wear in a farewell party. Whattttt? You might be pondering why I am paying so much concern to such a trivial thing. This is right as for anyone else it is a matter of excitement and happiness but unfortunately for me it is a matter of concern only- the worry that altered the question of ‘what to wear’ to ‘why to go in a farewell party’. With this I sat on the bed and with some more thoughts I lied down again.
My thoughts resemble the chains in which the prisoners are tied. The hands and legs tied in those chains and making me difficult to come out of those feelings. The more I struggle to unfasten them, the more I found myself tangled in those strong chains. Yes, I am behind the bars. I am behind the bars of the fear–the fear of what if I didn’t wrap the same gown resembling cloth (Burkha) on the farewell day too? Will I be hailed with questions-the questions that will come as arrows and go start to the heart with sheer intention of piercing it? Yes, I am a prisoner- a prisoner of the fear of being judged. I stop here writing, with my hands shivering and heart trembling again of the same fear (What if the person reading this also judges me).