HOPE

Hope

I didn’t want to pen down my thoughts today.

Because I couldn’t find the words to weave sentences out of my emotions.

Even if I had them, I feared it would only turn into a mess—

Not a mess of words on paper,

But a storm of emotions in my heart.

I closed my eyes tightly.

My mind began to remember.

My heart began to feel.

A girl came to me and asked softly,

“Didi, can I get some food there? Can you please take it for me? I’m so weak.

They aren’t allowing me in.”

She held my hand in hers.

My eyes noticed the coins in her palm,

But my heart felt the fear in her touch.

I was shocked and asked her, “Why?”

She chose silence.

I went to the bakery and asked the owner why he had refused her.

He simply replied,

“Have you seen her attire?

If I sell to such girls, God will never forgive me.

You shouldn’t talk to her either—just go home.”

I smiled faintly, gave the girl some food,

And asked, “Why did you choose this path, when you can speak such good English?”

Again, she remained silent.

Sometimes, when you have no words to write…

When you have no words to write…

It is like a lamp with barely a drop of oil, and no one to refill it.

Like the sun hiding behind heavy clouds, ashamed to brighten your day.

Like the strings of an instrument, old and rusted, with no music left to play.

Like skin weathered and wrinkled,

freckled with the fading marks of a past identity.

Like the heavens shutting their doors,

and even the demons turning away from you.

Like thunders rumbling without lightning,

striking you from behind.

Like stars abandoning the night,

leaving only an unbroken cloak of darkness.

Like fallen leaves lying still,

refusing to whisper of any coming storm.

Like snowy mountain peaks melting away,

so you can no longer climb to the heights.

Like rivers changing their course,

just to leave you stranded in a desert.

When the wilderness becomes your only home—

You hunt not for life, but for survival.

Not survival of the fittest,

but of the weakest—

so the world might turn back one day

and renew itself for you.

                                        A Ray of Hope

I asked her again, “Why did you choose this?”

This time, tears spilled from her eyes.

She began speaking in Hindi:

“Didi… what else could I choose?

I need money for my father’s surgery within a week.

Companies want experience, not talented freshers.

Doctors… they can save a life,

but only if they see those printed notes from the RBI.

So I chose to be the kind of girl society hates forever and ever.

Because I don’t care what people will say—

I just want my father to live.”

I smiled again and held her hand,

passing the little money I had into her palm.

Her eyes noticed the money—

but it was the warmth of my touch

that brought a flicker of hope to her face.

One Supporting Hand is Enough.

I realised something—

I had wanted to stop writing,

Yet unknowingly, I had turned another page.

Not just in my notebook,

But perhaps in life itself.

Hope never truly dies—

Unless we choose to kill it.

She still chose to survive,

Even knowing society would despise her for that choice.

Maybe the sun hides behind the clouds,

But it still rises every day, doesn’t it?

Maybe there’s thunder without lightning,

But it still brings rain, right?

If the stars stop shining,

Then create your own rainbow as you cross the bridge.

So before you hate or judge someone,

Ask yourself—

What is right?

What is wrong?

And who gets to decide?

Thank you.