Dear Ruqaiya,

As the fuming Sun’s rays knock down upon your eyelids, and as they jerk open unwilling and afraid, I hope you have the strength to embrace a world, which can no longer let the light in. I hope that at least your dreams were pleasant and that the reverie lasted longer than your miseries.

I wish to hold you close and drown in your warmth.

I want to trace your curls that you keep hidden from the world, all the way to your shoulder and back.

I want to kiss you under the moonlight. I want to kiss you when the dawn breaks.

I want to stroll the parks with you, hand in hand.

But Ruqaiya, I beg you, don’t ever come back to this world.

On every remark these imbeciles make about dragging your sisters out of their graves and urge the listeners to rape them, my skin crawls and my body cringes under the veins that pulsate in disgust. I really wish that I could strip the listeners off their cheers and applause, and bury them in their own filth. Ruqaiya, even though I long to see you, words cannot tell you how relieved I am to know that, even upon your death, you won’t become one with the soil that hates you so.

 

Wherever you are, I can never know how better or worse it is, and I can only hope that it is the former. I envisage you are somewhere where they do not determine your worth based on your color, creed or sexuality. Ruqaiya, I feel so worthless. I wish to be bereft of my manhood, which was unable to protect you and defend your honor. Why should I be alive, when I couldn’t ward off the demons that forced you to flee from your own mother? As your brothers are turned to zilch and their abodes destroyed, I can only watch. As they rip the clothes off your sisters and strip them off their honor, all I can do is look away. I am really ashamed to tell you that I am sorry, I am unable to change anything.

 

The parks we once grew up in are a graveyard now. The seats that once looked upon the sea in all its glory and cherished the fulfilling of love in all its splendor, are now scared to be occupied again. They wish for nothing but to be engulfed in the sea’s rage. As I watch the barren swings that shiver at the slightest touch of the wind, and the rides that will never see another child of innocence, it scares me to even think of you. As the bodies are set on fire, and the curator bath in the ashes, what if they trace my thoughts to you?

 

Oh, Ruqaiya! I am so enraged. How dare they ask my sisters to cover up their bodies, when they are so repelled by your entirety clad in black? How can they not notice that the leaves are shrinking and that the flowers are refusing to bloom in your absence? Are they that deprived of cognizance? Or have the filth running in their veins and their futile brains mistook the nature’s range to be in their applause? I want to laugh out loud, at these lunatics. But I have forgotten what it sounds like, so have the world.

 

Ruqaiya, I am so, so scared. There is no time that’s safe anymore. They are everywhere, their dirty hands have become one with the light as well as the dark. Last night, George and Alex couldn’t resist embracing their love in the perceived safety of the dark, and I could only do so much to not ask them to stay apart; the world is deprived of love Ruqaiya. How could I vanquish something that is striving to breathe? As dawn looms in and their bodies float adrift in the Ganges, my heart stops. But my face is stern, devoid of expressions; my spine is straight and the body devout. And across the street, amidst all the retarded applause, I see you. As our eyes embrace in silence, you impart the strength in me to keep the stance, telling me that our beloved brothers are united in spirit.

 

For once I’m happy to know that I’m no father to a son or daughter that could never see the beauty of the world. They haven’t sinned enough to live in a world that has hatred towards love, prejudice against religion and disgust at acknowledging one’s sexuality. Though my eyes have seen, and in my heart I know, I long to hear from you, Ruqaiya.  I wish I could tell you that it’s all going to be okay, that it was all just a dark dream. I wish I could tell you to stop running. But don’t you dare! It’s a dark, dark world that we live in, Ruqaiya. And there is no better time than now when I can cherish in the knowledge that her end is near.

 

Lovingly yours,

Abhey

 

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