In Fond Memory of Flat No.303

In the last 3 days, we came across all sorts of people. People who denied the existence of DV, those who misunderstood it, those who were well informed, and those who experienced it, and no matter how well you are prepared to talk, and no matter how thorough your research is, when someone is standing in front of you saying they experience violence, it leaves you shocked.

When this campaign began, I felt very strongly about DV, but as we went on working, I distanced myself from the reality of the issue. It transformed from a brutal crime to mere statistics in my head. I went about talking to people, informing them, debating with them, almost mechanically, till I came across an actual ‘victim’.

When someone in front of you is talking about violence they experience, your whole perspective changes. Suddenly the whole campaign for me became about that one person. I wanted that one household to be in peace. I wanted the victims of the violence to voice out. Just than one Flat No.303…

Today as the on-ground activation is over, I will keep wondering, maybe for a long time to come, whether that person was ever able to voice out against the crime. I took the phone numbers and asked him/her to contact me if any help was required. I will always wait for that email, I will always wait for that call.

This is in fond memory of that one household that might be able to escape from violence because of the ‘Flat No.303’ Campaign. This is in fond memory of the violence of Flat No.303.

Disclaimer: Flat No.303 is a purely creative expression. It does not bear any resemblance to any actual household and/or location.

Just Like Daddy…

“I’m gonna be like my daddy some day 
 
I’ll wear big shoes 
and take big steps and  
say big things  
Just like daddy 
 
I’ll stay up late  
and watch T.V.  
and eat junk food 
Just like daddy 
 
I’ll wear a nice tie 
and bare a big grudge 
and yell at my mommy 
Just like daddy 
 
I’ll slam the door 
and fling my food 
and break some plates, 
Just like daddy 
 
I’ll have a few drinks 
then yell for a while 
hit mommy with the vase 
Just like daddy 
 
I’ll break mommy’s fingers 
and scald her with tea 
and make her cry 
Just like daddy 
 
I’m gonna do all that  
and do it some more 
and then more again 
Just like daddy 
 
I’m gonna keep yelling 
I’m gonna keep hitting 
I’m gonna land up in jail 
Just like daddy….” 
 
 
 
 
Domestic Violence can ruin entire families. You can save them all. Intervene Now!  

Broken…

All of it lay on the floor; 
bits of everything; Broken 
 
There lay the lamp shade; 
she’d gotten it as a wedding gift. 
It’s blue cloth-shade lay askew. 
 
And there lay the picture of her wedding day; 
The glass, shattered to painful shards- 
Just like those vows, 
now lay at her feet. Worthless. 
 
And in the corner was the chair. 
He’d sat there through the years, 
and she, by his side. 
Now it lay like her. Mangled. 
 
And in another corner, 
sat she. 
The arm that cooked, Broken. 
The feet that danced, Bruised. 
The eyes that dreamed, Blackened. 
The back that worked hard, Beaten. 
The heart that loved, Broken. 
The spirit that lived, Butchered.  
 
Someday,  
The lampshade will stand again, 
And there will come another frame for that picture, 
And that chair too will be sat in once more. 
 
Probably her arms and feet  
and back and eyes will be fine. 
 
But that heart and that spirit…..  
Broken….  
 
 
 
 
Domestic violence can be the end of a person as we know them. Intervene today and stop them being broken…. 

Sorry

It had been ten years since his first bunch of expensive roses and a “Sorry!” note had come to her. She’d been sitting on the porch of their home and the delivery boy had handed her the basket of blossoms and the card. Quickly, she’d wiped the tears off her red, puffy, tear-swollen eyes and taken the things from him.

She still remembered how her eyes had welled up and her heart had melted as she’d read down the long letter he’d written her. He said he was sorry for everything; That he loved her beyond anything else and would do anything to be with her; how her mere presence lit up his entire life and how she is the one person who held his heart in her hands. He’d concluded humbly that he would never again shout at her the way he had that night. He promised that he would never be the cause of any misery to her and that if she couldn’t bring it in herself to forgive him, he’d die of the pain of losing her…… “Sorry Darling…. Forgive me… Don’t leave me..”

She’d held the letter to her bosom and cried even more….. now out of relief….. she hadn’t lost him after all….. he was her’s…… it had been a mistake, and she’d forgive him for it…….

She’d gone in and unpacked her bags and baked a pie for him, to welcome him and mark the new beginning that night……

It had been carnations after that…. he’d bruised her head with the knife-stand. She’d made a new dish for the night. He hadn’t liked it one bit…. “Too spicy”, he’d said….. and hurled the knife stand at her. When she’d gained consciousness, he’d left and she’d cried herself to sleep that night. The carnations arrived the next morning with another letter. He said he was sorry; said he’d had a pig of a day; how she knew about his short temper when he was in a bad mood; said it would never happen again; He loved her more than his life….. “Sorry Darling….. Forgive me….. Don’t leave me….”
And again, she didn’t…..

Next it was white lilies….. After he’d burnt her arm with the hot iron….. the shirt she’d ironed for him had a crease on the sleeve……..
“Sorry Darling….. Forgive me….. Don’t leave me…..”
She grumbled about how he wrote well and managed to persuade her out of her temper each time… but did not leave…..

Then came the tulips…. After he’d broken her jaw a week later for having told him off about coming home drunk……
She’d left this time, even before the note came with the flowers….. so the tulips came to her at her mother’s place the next day, with the note…
“Sorry Darling…. Forgive me….. Please come back…..”
Grudgingly, she’d gone back on some conditions….
They were forgotten in a few days….
Then he’d personally brought her orchids…… after he’d broken her nose in a drunken rage and then had gone on to force himself upon her several times through the night….. she’d been really upset and had thrown the orchids out of the window…… and he’d beaten her senseless for having done that…..

…

……..

…… Now he brings her flowers everyday…… Alll sort of flowers and he doesn’t bother with the notes since he knows she wouldn’t read them…. he just sits and cries and keeps muttering his apologies…. keeps asking her to come back to him…..

But he can hardly expect her to rise from her grave now……

Flat No.303- Join the Fight Against Domestic Violence

*Disclaimer:

Flat No. 303 is purely a creative expression. It does not bear resemblance to any actual location and/or household.