Zenobi Confesses

  If I'm Comfortable, Why Aren't You? From the time a woman is born, she’s told how to walk, how to talk, how to sit, smile, eat, behave, and even breathe. Society whispers rules into her ears: be polite, be gentle, don’t talk too much, don’t talk to too many men, sit properly, dress “modestly,” smile but not too much, be pretty but not “easy.” Why does the world get so uncomfortable when a woman is comfortable in her own skin? If she chooses to wear sleeveless, she’s judged. If her body is visible, people assume she’s asking for attention. If she talks to men freely, she’s labelled. If she wears makeup, she’s called “fake.” If she doesn’t, she’s deemed “unattractive.” When she’s slim, she’s told to “put on some weight,” and when she’s curvy, she’s told to “lose some.” It never ends. Let me say this clearly, being comfortable in your body, your choices, your clothes, your weight, and your way of speaking or not speaking is your right. You don’t need to shrink for anyone’s c...

Ever since I asked him to sing, he would always sing this particular one, ' Chaudhvin Ka Chaand' . I thought it was for his beloved. But no, now, when I look back, I know it was for me. The lady born on a full moon. I still remember his last bedridden days, how he used to ask me to sing, but I was so conscious about my voice that I wouldn’t. So he would sing for me, the same song, again and again. The biggest heartbreak of my life was seeing my first love bedridden, with a feeding tube through his mouth, adult diapers, and no control over his body. My man... it was hard. Later, we appointed a home nurse because Ammuma couldn’t handle him alone anymore. Parkinson’s made him hard to handle, it’s a bloody, shitty disease. Even the nurse couldn’t handle it and yes she left. One weekend after school, Ammuma and I decided to give him a proper makeover. She bathed him. But before that, I shaved his beard....carefully. I had done it before, so I was a bit confident. Earlier, when ...

When Memory Faded, Love Stayed My childhood was filled with his laughter, his stories, and the quiet strength that surrounded him. My appupa wasn’t just a part of our home. He was the soul of it. He was my best friend. The man I adored more than anyone in this world. After school, I would run back home with little chocolates tucked safely in my uniform's pocket, saved from birthday treats. Sometimes, I would buy an extra one just so he and I could have one each. That was our little ritual. A moment that belonged only to us. One August, just as Onam was nearing, something happened that quietly broke my heart. I woke up and saw him trying to talk to my ammuma . He was asking her something, but she couldn’t understand what he was saying. He got frustrated. He called my uncle and struggled to speak. No voice came out. And then, he cried. Not like an old man, but like a little boy who suddenly felt lost in his own house. That day, something inside him shifted. He began to walk differen...