She stood in the shower, stared at her hands cupped together with drops of water falling in them & then overflowing. Small bubbles of water seemed so jubilant & then they died out only to be overtaken by more bubbles. She saw her in the bubbles who were so trusting of the hands that they let themselves fall freely without fear without a thought - only to be let down by the hands. Guess that’s life!
It was her wedding night; she shirked away her husband rather rudely and then had excused herself for a quick shower. He thought she’s shy. Only she knew she was scared. The moment a man comes closer, she cringes, closes her eyes, and relives the trauma. She was 10, just 10 – effervescent, jubilant, carefree just like the bubbles of water she was staring at, just like all kids are – when her uncle had on the pretext of a game when her parents were away raped her. Wasn’t he supposed to take care of her? Wasn’t he supposed to protect her? Her parents had given him the responsibility. Was this his responsibility?
As she grew up, she made herself believe that whatever happened was a horrible dream, only to be reminded of the ordeal every time a man came closer. She could no more trust “man”kind. She knows she has to. She is trying. It’s just that the trust that once came easily now seems “tough” extremely “tough”.