She is gone. The candle couldn’t accomplish the impossible; the storm winds had their way. The flame is out and there is an uncomfortable calm.
What magical words can I paint with the blood of my heart that can even come close to explaining the loss I am experiencing?
I got the sad news at 6:20 this morning via the internet. I jumped out of bed, and switched the TV on. The noise awakened my parents. I didn’t want them to wake up to this news. But was there any alternative?
Who is Damini? What is my relation with her? Why do I feel so empty on her passing away?
Damini, for me was the Indian woman – the suppressed, the molested, the outraged, the raped Indian woman. The fortunate woman whose plight unlike others’ had attracted so much attention from the media; that unfortunate yet fortunate woman is Damini.
Damini had given me and a billion more Indians hope; a hope that THIS time change would come. Real change. She was like Jesus, who had to endure bodily pain to bring about spiritual awakening in the masses.
But like million others I did a mistake. I thought Damini would live; fight her infection, recover, and live long to be an example. But the Christ’s of the world have to die. In a way, their death is more effective in bringing about Renaissance.
I had hoped poetic justice would be delivered. I had hoped she would live and the rapists would hang. I was wrong. Today I lose a bit of faith on my God. On humanity.
But, know this, dear Damini, that your death shall not be wasted. The lessons shall be learnt. I am one of the millions who are transformed by your plight.
It is an utter shame that you had to go through this, in order for transformation to take place. But change shall come. Despair not. Trust the emotions of the masses. Trust them this time. They won’t disappoint you.
I would like to believe that you are in a better place now. That you have no pain now. That you are free now. The thought gives me comfort.
India has had many martyrs, Damini. But I pray that no woman aspires to the martyrdom that you’ve achieved. You are a martyr, no doubt – a reluctant martyr upon whom greatness was thrust.
Nevertheless a martyr, for ages to come.
I salute thee, Damini.