Her Reflection in the Mirror

- Rinzing Ongmu Sherpa

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Farida was naive. 

Mistook the marks on her back, as marks of love. 

Her rough hands spoke of the daily chores that kept her by. 

Her reflection of herself in the mirror once a day was her escapism. 

It was her time. 

Time of introspection, time of some self-reflection, time for some ‘self-love’. 

She found herself every day, staring at the mirror. 

Her once long black hair somehow seemed disproportional. 

Her chin had fresh round marks. 

She noticed the bruises on her cheeks. 

She wanted to touch each of them with love. 

But her hands weren’t as soft as to soothe the pain, or to give it some relief. 

She turned away from the mirror before she could meet her own eyes. 

Proceeding further to her carefully hid little wooden box, below her bed. 

It had a picture of her a year and a half back. 

She was wearing a navy blue dress for her college farewell dance performance. 

Besides her were her friends and her ex-lover. 

Further, a glitter caught her eye. 

It was a wedding ring by her lover. 

Flashes of good memories took over. 

She stood up to relive it. 

Danced herself to old memories. 

Her hands moved of freedom and love. 

She breathed freshness, dancing to its rhythm. 

Her movements were graceful and full of life. 

Until a long stick, she was very accustomed to, lying carelessly on the floor 

Since the previous night, she made her trip. 

As she gathered to collect herself. 

She was brought to face the mirror. 

For the first time, she could not avoid what she saw, deep within her eyes. 

They were heavy, it spoke to her of misery, of pain, and lost hopes. 

It spoke to her of her hair being ripped off by the man she was married to. 

The feel of cigarette butts burning her chin. 

The sound of "thappad" in her ears and the marks of it on her once smooth cheeks. 

It spoke to her of mistreatments, of disrespect, of trauma, and of shunned dreams that she once bore. 

It spoke to her of her dead lover. 

It spoke to her about finding love again but with an abuser. 

But was it even love she gasped? 

No, it wasn’t. 

The last eight months were an expression of anything but love. 

She was merely making herself believe it to be one. 

As the love she once knew, spoke to her of respect, it spoke to her of dignity, it spoke to her of consent and it spoke to her of choice. 

But this was different. 

How she could recall the first night of her marriage when he came home drunk. 

Threw himself on her. 

How her resistance and her loud NO was only silenced further. 

Until she found herself numb. 

Now she could no longer remember the meaning of consent. 

As what happened on the night of her marriage, today painted her everyday reality. 

How had she just let every instance pass by? 

Why had she never once thought of reflecting on what it all meant to her? 

Was it right, was it wrong? Does she deserve all of it? 

Then what about her dreams? Her choices and her self-respect? 

Tears brought a burning sensation on her bruised cheeks, as she drowned in deep thoughts. 

She looked further into her eyes in the reflection. 

Instead this time she saw a glimmering, a silver lining which seemed to speak to her of strength and faith. 

As if to mean that her tears, had washed it all away. 

Washed away her pain, her fear. 

It had picked her up from a deep abyss. 

Thus, she let it further flow freely and alongside picked herself up. 

She collected all her belongings, now scattered on the floor after she had tripped along with her wooden box. 

She was now looking for something that she had hidden behind her little box. 

And yes, she found it. 

It was the visiting card of a ‘women rescue team’, which she had found lying in a narrow lane of a neighbouring sabzi mandi. 

But before she did anything else, she had to do something first. 

She knew what was to be done instantly. She had never been so sure. 

Silently creeping into the room, where her husband lay sleeping since the last night he came home drunk. 

She slowly slipped the phone from his pocket and made a call. 

The voice from the other end replied “Hello, Shama Nagar Police station”. 

With a few seconds of pause, but no hesitation she replied. 

“Hello sir, mere sath gharelu hinsa ho raha hay”. 

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Rinzing Ongmu Sherpa is a Doctoral Candidate at the Centre for the Study of Social Systems (CSSS) at Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. Her interest areas include identity studies, ethnicity, gender, and Himalayan studies.