I Have Not Been Taught To Complain - Chapter 1

I unbuttoned my blouse and looked at the mirror. It was me, bruised and battered. My pale skin was marked with purple scratches, my eyes were sweltering red. Red because of the crying I had to go through. Well it had become a daily routine now. I was raped, again.

I looked into the closet and took out the first aid box, my only companion these days. It contained a roll of cotton, a Dettol bottle and few pills. I soaked a small amount of cotton with Dettol and applied it on the first mark on my chest. Dettol burns, and my soul burnt too.

I needed a good bath. In two hours time my husband would come home for lunch. I had to be presentable. I love him, a lot. He is my protector, my savior, the man who has given me a new surname, along with food and shelter, the man who is supposed to be my Lord of worship. He is the man who has every right on me. He can do whatever he wants to me; after all I am his wife. He is the stronger species, I am the weaker one.

Last night I resisted. I was punished. My husband raped me. I deserved it, ‘cause I am a woman.

I have not been taught to complain. I can only tolerate.


Chapter 2
Chapter 3