Rough flesh rubbed across tender skin

It bribed her with a chocolate bar

It caressed her locks

It was the beautiful reaper of her childhood.


It left her a scar, a bruise

It pulled out shreds of dignity, of innocence

She looked right and left and all she could see was darkness.

She screamed into a void. 


The next morning,

As she let go of her mother’s dupatta,

In her head, was a war :

To tell or not to tell?


She pulled down the pleats of her skirt,

Trying to avoid every gaze

For there was a different feeling

A different me.


I could walk, yet I was crippled

I could see, yet I was blinded

I could scream, yet I was silenced


The only ray of hope was within me. It was my voice. I saw the school counsellor’s office. I opened the door. It felt like stepping into a dimension of safe conversation. That was a whole new turn, just saying it out loud and sharing my experience made the greatest difference.


My voice no longer staggered as I spoke out my name, my story.


Written by : Ridhima Singh (K.R.Mangalam World School GK2)