by Aryaa Gurjar
We all think on a one track mind most of the time. Person has scar. Person is sad. I’m not saying no one thinks about this but not everyone does. Most of us with scars try to hide them or cover them up because we are ashamed of them. Why? Scars teach us lessons. They help us grow. Anyone can find happiness and beauty in a scar if they look hard enough. Of how it came to be, why you were ashamed of it can help you love your scar and be proud of it and pity the people who don’t have any. But then arises the question; why did you get the scar in the first place? Everything happens for a reason. Your birth, the good and bad that happens to you. That I suppose is the strict law of the universe. So if you are capable enough of seeing it, something or the other good comes out of the scar and whether directly or indirectly. The true beauty of the scar lies in the way it is seen; Physical, emotional, or both. Our scars are the reminders of times when life tries to break you, but fails.”
Paru finished scrawling this on a piece of scrap paper, panting. Writing was hard work. She thought. Especially when an avalanche of words come flooding in and you think frantically of how to put them in correct sentences.
Paru was a child. A ten year old child and no one thinks much of someone that age. She always used to get angry at this evil thought. Why did adults think that all children are immature an incapable of thinking beyond toys and cars. But what right do children have to speak to adults. So to prove the world, or maybe Indian way of thinking wrong, she had signed up for an online writing contest in which the given theme was ‘scar’. She was the youngest participant of the contest, but didn’t disclose it to anyone.
So today was the last date of entry and she quickly rushed to the study room and typed out her article on the forum along with her age. She took a deep breath and hit send.
The promised dates of the results was a week later. So whole week long she waited. Then finally! One night to go.
The next day morning was a Tuesday and Paru was off to school in the morning. In the afternoon, she ran into the house, bathed (she bathed twice a day), had lunch and switched on the computer. Her mind began racing as she opened the website. But when she saw her story page, and looked at the results she hadn’t won. It’s alright thought she, people must have said nice things about it at least. And looked at the comments section. People had written so many things that deeply hurt her. One said; “Dear, the thought is very well, but you know that plagiarism won’t get you anywhere.” And that was probably the gentlest.
But she didn’t cry. No, not Paru. She simply shut down her computer, got up and sat down at her writing desk and wrote,
“Not all scars show,
Not all wounds heal,
Sometimes you can’t see,
The pain the body feels.”
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