Peace…
For years, I had overlooked the significance of peace. Chaos and humiliation had become a part of my life. I accepted what came my way, be it ill fate, abuse or mere rebuttal of my presence or identity. But this acceptance left a wound rooted as deep as a well. I wasn’t even aware that this well was the source of all my bitterness and angst.
I was born with few prominent scars on my face that veiled all the other attributes of my outer or inner beauty.
My scars superseded my name; my scars superseded my character; my scars superseded my behaviour; my scars superseded my identity!
Frustrated by the looks and reactions of strangers and acquaintances alike, I had even attempted to peel them off my skin with a knife, only to leave a few more wounds, not only on my face but also in the well that was hidden deep inside me.
From school to neighbourhood, from university to office, these scars would announce my presence even before I introduced myself. At times I thought I may be successful at evading my shadow, but I couldn’t isolate myself from these scars. I felt irked all the time. I was disappointed with myself.
I hated the way people turned their faces and avoided looking me in the eye as if I was cursed or possessed some powers to curse them. Some even believed that staring at me for too long might transfer a few scars to them (How I wish!).
My innocent mother would often hold herself accountable for my so-called abnormality, and despite my annoyance at those patches, I felt terrible for her.
One day while travelling in the metro, I noticed a woman with a great deformation around her waist. It appeared as if her stomach was bulging out from the left side of her body rather than from the middle. I kept looking at her for a while. The way she was carrying herself with care, with a smile on her face and hope in her eyes, kept me glued to her. There was no tinge of shame or repugnance evident on her face.
“Well, that’s how God made me, a little different from all others,” she said, smilingly, to another woman passenger seated next to her.
“It’s better to accept than to be troubled and be ungrateful for all the other blessings given by Him,” she continued with a calmness that glowed on her face.
There was no turbulent storm raging inside her, the way I felt in my body when someone asked me about my scars.
I got down at the next station and headed home.
I couldn’t forget her face and her words all night. I realised that I had stopped living due to the shame and repulsion I felt because of my scars. I had conditioned my happiness and my dreams owing to something that was beyond my control.
I had made the beauty of my face my only priority while I had let my qualifications and skills go to waste.
How could I expect others to treat me well if I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror?
How could I expect others to respect me if I was so low on my self-esteem?
How could I expect others to look beyond my scars if all that mattered to me were my scars?
“It’s better to accept than to be troubled and be ungrateful for all other blessings given by Him,” her words resounded in my ears.
It was time I made peace with myself. I decided to accept myself the way I was. It was imperative to be content and happy rather than moaning all the time and sowing the seeds of abomination. I had to bring my other qualities to the fore and focus on creating a new identity for myself.
I finally felt at peace and slept with a smile on my face–a smile that declared that the Universe was mine to explore!
A smile that assured me that I was more than my scars!
Vandana Bhasin
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