The Uncomfortable Leftovers

I have heard and read several times that you can’t grow to your full potential until you are healed from within. That healing occurs on the emotional level, at times at the subconscious level where we have almost no access. The scars can be too deep, most of the times we don’t even know how to deal with it. Often it surfaces much later in life in the form of social withdrawals and ’emotional black-outs’.

I usually write about life, travel, relationships, and love to have a bright conversations on spirituality and on different philosophies of the world. However, today I write about a different subject, and let me tell you at the very outset that I am not an expert on this, I just want to share my experience which has been lying still with me. They say, when you write your heart out and face yourself it gradually heals you from the core. This might be true, the more I write, the more I can feel the peace within, the happy me. I won’t say ‘happiest’ because I don’t have anything to compare my happiness with, that’s why the very moment when I am expressing myself its the ‘happy moment’. Let me pull you back to the topic, and let me share something which I have just shared with few. The experience, which confused me, and when I understood what happened, it disgusted me. When I shared it with my partner then, now my fiancé, I felt a baggage which I was carrying since ages was put down. I felt better. Today I write with two intentions, firstly, to heal myself completely and, secondly to make you understand the importance of sex education among children, because the wounds inflicted in the initial years of life can go a long way to deter the emotional development in a person.

I was 6 years old then, and was doing  my favorite thing at that age, playing in the garden. Mother called me from the kitchen handing over a bag to me, ‘Bulbul, take this bottle gourd and go to Putul mama’s (uncle) house and give it to him’. That fall bottle gourd was flourishing in the garden, the plant climbed the roof and it sprouted the whole surface. Mother would always send me to distribute her garden produce to our neighbors. I hated it. I took the bag and went to mama’s house, it was just one block away. I knocked the door and called,

‘Putul mama, are you there?’

‘Bulbul, come inside, come this way to my room’.

‘Putul mama, mom has given you this’.

‘Oh Bottle gourd, that so nice of her, thank you’.

‘You are welcome, ok I will go now’.

‘Don’t go now, come here and sit beside me’.

I said, ‘ok’. What followed thereafter bewildered me for many years to come. He pulled me and started kissing me, I wanted to get out of his grip but I couldn’t understand, I thought may be he was just loving me, like elders do to their younger ones. I was wrong, he locked his lips with mine and I lay there for almost quarter of an hour, his grip was so tight that I couldn’t move, I felt strange. I felt uncomfortable. I was abused.

The same instance was repeated one more time, and I didn’t had any idea what was going on. Finally, when I realized what it was, I just thanked my stars that I wasn’t raped, but wait a second…was I not?

That fellow was like a family member to my parents. He and his elder brother used to stay as a tenant with my parents in New Guwahati where I was born. I have fond memories with him too, but that was shadowed by what he did later.

That incident later proved to be a catalyst in empathizing with my fellow sufferers who have gone through all abuses in life. Those days, we never heard of sex education, but again it becomes so clear the importance of it. Parents can start educating their children the importance of different touches, there are different touches, everyone cuddling your kid might not be done with a good intention. This especially applies in India when the adults have all the freedom to hold the kid and shower their love, but intentions might vary. I remind you again that I am not an expert in this field but my personal experience I just shared is just one common incident out of many. I never gave myself the chance to speak about the incident with my mother, I still couldn’t. I know she would understand but I would leave it like that.

I was a born introvert (as I always say that), and still I am, I enjoy my company the most, reading books, writing my thoughts, but that incident, subconsciously, also made me indifferent to some emotions, I have figured out many and still discovering few.

A child is as vulnerable as her innocence. When that innocence is diluted with complexities of human lust it leads to a hidden emotional filth that is repulsive. Healing takes time, one is fortunate enough to find someone to help shed the burden, I would say that is a blessing. But this world is full of derivational complexities, may be unconditional love to the self can ease a little bit of pain. As I write about this incident I feel so powerful because I am aware of the emotions and not being controlled by it.

I guess we all have the ability to heal ourselves.

Dedicated to all the children of God!

 

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Seeking the Zen within!