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Suicide Letter
by
Ranvir Singh Parmar
This is my end; like the end of a moth, troubling only till alive; like the end
of waves, enchanting only till falling and breaking into droplets, some big,
some small, taking numerous paths, still cohering and retreating back to the
depths of the ocean, again to rise and provide everybody with another
breathtaking view. But I will never rise again. My end will be like the end of
the day, neither troubles, nor enchants, just ends.
I hate this life, this femineity, the trappings of flesh on my chest, the
feeling of insecurity between my legs, the sensitivity of my womanly wrist, the
monthly growth of nails on my fingers, these never ending monthly cycles. I hate
my lips for their show of vulgarity, their sleek and slim figure which catches
everybody’s eye. I hate my eyes for their innocence which makes me look
vulnerable. I hate men, their walk, their gaze, the kind of clothes they wear,
their dance. I hate the smell of their skin, which some idiotic women spouting
gibberish, entitles it to be very virile and dynamic. I hate their clamorous
laughter and virulent jests they make while boozing, surrounded by the rings of
smoke which their noses keep emitting, intermittently. I hate their long stature
and fleshless buts, the drunkard path they follow, their vagabond nature, their
inability to carry emotions the way a woman do.
I hate old people for displaying such patience with life, their smile despite of
bereavement of colors from their life. I loath smiling faces, no matter if they
belong to children, their shouts, cries and hullabaloo they create, all day, all
night. The kind of damage they do to my hearing organs and mental peace is too
big in front of that ugly duckling smile. I detest routine and monotonous voices
of daily life. I am too overwrought to live, too heretical for this world. I am
not narrow, nor I hurtle to conclusions blindly. I have taken panoramic view of
the world, it contains nothing of my interest. I feel this frustration around my
eyebrows, this anger engulfing my nose, this grimace has made me ugly. I have
lost the art of dressing different expressions for different situations. My face
has gained the appearance of a hot tava , blackened like a burned roasted
chicken, spoiling even the taste of beer, and making one vomit
I have got decayed alive, rotten so badly even flies refuse to lay their eggs on
me. I am a humus which if used over the garden, not only daffodils and primulas,
even rocks will corrode. I will emit toxic gases, miasma will make the
atmosphere noxious, resulting in the deaths of swans, shelducks, and turtles.
God curse me! For I can even fade the emperors look of an Himalayan Monal, can
burn to ashes peacocks beautiful feathers with just a second of stare. My ears
are not capable of feeling pain in someone’s bleep, and neither can appreciate
the dulcet sounds of the birds at dawn. My infernal thinking, and inside
evilness will shine as a black spot on those elegant white marble pagodas. Rooks
are better for they get place to sit on them; but me to even get close, will
shadow them all, kill their beauty, and provide the devils another place to
preach.
I am an insect who should be squashed beneath Himalayas. I am the most offensive
isotope of humanity; an ultraviolet part of sunlight; a shame for I hate my own
self, a pain for I hate others self. Call me a broken nail which no mud
sheltered and resulted in the death of a beautiful bird when she mistook it for
a grain of rice. I am that sadistic beak of the bird which deserve punishment,
as it dropped the scarce food bird was bringing from so far away for her hungry
chicks. Me, the unfaithful scabbard of that brave soldier, me who jammed his
sword in the middle of the duel, me who resulted in his death. I killed the king
of that supreme empire who never lost it to its enemies and always stood
unswervingly to face any trouble, for I was his cannon who fired back.
Yes, I am a betrayer severe than Judas. Though I hurt no man on this land, nor I
ever ditched anybody’s love for no person ever loved me. I ask the question why
green leaves make crushing sound when I unknowingly trudge them under my feet?
Why wind go so dry to form scratches on my soft cheeks when I go out to gain
moisture from it? Why should I love? If I am not even capable of growing flowers
in my little mud pots. Its years I am trying, but seeds refuse to sprout, they
refuse to accept water from my hands, these senseless arrogant mothers. God
curse their children!, all flowers of this earth. Let no child ever can prick
any flower, let no lover make his beloved smell their scent, may no petals add
to the beauty of the lake by floating on its wrinkly surface, may no flower beds
are left to enjoy the trampling during first night of lovemaking.
May God also vanish all the birds and insects from this land. Why they refuse to
sit in my balcony? They don’t sing for me. They always pass my window a haughty
stare, birds stop chirping, afraid I will listen to their talk. I am deprived to
hear bees murmuring and pigeons cooing. Why I never got a pleasure to see
colorful birds mating on the branches of the tree, outside my window? Why they
never shed their translucent feathers in my verandah? Why they don’t let me see
those magical artistic figures of nature, those feathers? see them changing
colors in the sunlight, greenish-red, shades of orange, pink, blue.
One live but only when one gets love and respect from nature, from every
minutiae of its creation. Forget people, even insects refuse to accept my
existence. Why the ants don’t dig burrows in my door hinges?, Why the mosquito’s
don’t lullaby in my ears?, Why my ceilings lack the privilege to provide land to
spiders empires?, Why flies don’t irritate me, enter my nose, enter my skirt so
to leave me jumping?
You humans have made me feel leftover, isolated, alone. I looked for love among
insects, birds; among wind and mountains; among leaves and trees; among the
touch of different seasons; in the depths of oceans and its multifarious colors
and lives. I need love from almost everything, but couldn’t gather even from a
handful. This is the reason I never want water droplets to evaporate from my
skin, I feel a sense of touch, a shiver which spreads on my spine, and reaches
my groin, as if a virgins skin is touched with a rose. I don’t want these drops
to evaporate. I feel hurt when I see them falling on the tiles, their place is
on my skin, to reside there, forever, to cling to me in all weathers. Why they
leave me ? Doesn’t they feel the same need for me as I feel for them? Why its
always me who is in need of others, why not others?
The mountains I wish to visit suddenly experience earthquakes, oceans I wish to
sail tastes the grunt of severe storms. No comets strike the earth, not because
of any Jupiter, but because of me, all nature’s creation feel repulsion from me,
and it is the biggest force in this universe. Every person including great
scientists, astronauts, need not be afraid of any heavenly disaster as long as I
am on this earth. But I am not going to live forever, I am soon going to end my
life, yes -soon; only then this earth and its mean creatures will feel my
importance. The oceans will then want to carry my weight; the mountains will
compete to shower their beauty on me; birds will sing to the point they damage
their vocal cords, pull feathers with their beaks ignoring any pain, to rain my
house with them; insects will damage their teeth and turn blind by digging holes
in my walls. All just to call me back from the heavens, but this insignificant
lady, this wretched women, this heartless
brute, will never return. Let the earth be reduced to a ping pong ball, let its
all life be left in the heavens to float. This world hurts and is easy to leave
like a branch leaves its tree, but the tree never moans for its fallen branch,
this world will moan for me.
Just I wish none of my footprints be left for people to worship, no path to call
me back. I am blessed with no talent, nothing, no interest to which I should
cling too. Even the paper I am writing on is slipping away, it also hates my
touch, just like this pen. Everything wants to slip away from me, this pen,
letters, words, meanings, alphabets, this life. So I am ending my life, and may
god never in the future create a creature like me. But I accuse this world for
my death. Any kind hearted seeking revenge should punish this whole world.
THE END
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