Why I often Feel Like an Object…

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From the way I look to the way I see, from the way I hear to the way I speak, from the way I dress to the way I desire, from the very way I choose to the very way I make a choice, to the way I dream to the very cream I use, from the way I give to the very way I take, each and every thing about me is so commercial. I feel trapped and packaged and covered in cellophane. I earn to move out of my fancy packing and be real, act real and face the real world.


I don’t desire to be treated as an object and I don’t want to looked at in a manner we check for the clothes or for vegetables, whether it is clean or not, whether is clear or abrupt, whether it is ripe or is still raw, whether it would taste well or will eventually turn out to be fruitless in the coming time.
I don’t desire to be measured and quantified in values of colour, skin, hair, height, mass or beauty. I want to proud of what I am and to feel good in the personal skin I possess. I want to be able to breathe free and I want to dance free. I don’t want to be conscious of the world that is always on a judgemental spree and leaves no one out from the very periphery of self-awareness, jealousy and judgement.

I don’t want to live in the fear of belonging to someone else, or to want to be imprisoned in a one-sided love affair or a unhappy but forced marriage to a rich guy. I want to read the daily newspapers and not just pick them up from the balcony and hand them over to someone who would be expecting me to hand it over to him. I want to make my own tea and not worry about the taste of someone else’s. I want to be as free as the flowing river and still not submerge with the sea. I want to be as uselessly free as the cloud who wanders aimlessly but not burst in order to satisfy the earth. I want to be like a tree, to help everyone live and survive but not wanting to be cut down by someone so selfish that I don’t exist anymore.

I want to no more deal with the tantrums of my sister-in-law and the demands of my mother-in-law. I want the right to vote with all the preferences that I choose to follow and with all the choices that I want to make. I want to wear the clothes that I want to wear and not wear something that someone else thinks is good for me. I have seen the world and I have seen people like me feel like commodities like me as if they were created to be sold, they were protected, grown, nourished and beautified to be given off to someone some day. I don’t want to be so materialistic that i am treated like a material and am forced to feel like an object or a product. I live in the free world, which has the word freedom engraved in the preamble of the nation in bold but barely believes in the application of the same in the real world.

I believe in the truth even when the world finds it more convenient and easy to lie and live in the superficial world they create for themselves. I believe in rain even when there are no clouds in the sky. I believe in the existence of God even when he gives the most irrational judgments. I believe in love even when all it gives in return is pain. I believe in belief because I see no other way else. I do it all because I am not a commodity; I am human enough to be able to make a choice and to demand.

I am not a commodity and hence I don’t want to be stared at into my eyes, breasts, posterior, or the front. I don’t want to be checked, seen, rubbed, touched and felt by anyone and everyone and strangers. I don’t want to price-tagged even when the existence of dowry prevails in majorly all the Cities and towns of the nation.

I don’t want to be caged. I don’t want to sealed and branded because I belong to a particular religion or belong to a particular caste or because I wear clothe of a particular brand or even because I went to some other school. I don’t want to brand in terms of measures of the cities I lived in, the affairs I had, or the friends I keep or the places I go to. I don’t want to be hung, ironed and show-cased and presented well when a buyer comes for a check and to sip upon a good cup of tea made by me. I don’t want to be surreal. I want to exist, exist with feelings and not with wrapping paper, exist with smile and not with tags.


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