Bombay. Terror. Love.

I attended a theatre workshop today, where we had to write a short script in 5 minutes, to be enacted by members of the group. We were given 3 words: Bombay, terror and love.
Here’s what I wrote. Please give me feedback!
Thank you =)
P.S: Why don’t you give me your onw interpretations/stories based on these 3 words?

For most people in Bombay, terror means seeing shards on the ground, bloodied mangled corpses, news reporters reciting numbers like they were in a kindergarten math class, and pain.

But for me, terror means waking up every morning and going to the bathroom to dress my wounds of the previous night. A bruise here, a swelling there. Dress the wound. Take out the Dettol. Ouch.
He hits me every single day, this man I call my protector.Blows, punches and kicks.I take them all.
I thought love would be like the things I saw in movies when I was a child. Flowers, music, dancing, eternal happiness. This movie, for me, is a short one.

Love in our chawl in Bombay, with its filthy streets and horrible people. I wish we had never moved from Delhi.

“Pooja, we’ll be SO happy there. We’ll have a family, make a life…”

Now, all he does is hit me.

My private terrorist.


~ by cranialrumblings on February 1, 2009.

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