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Imperfections are beautiful

A couple of months back, while we were celebrating Diwali, I had quite an unforgettable moment.
I was finishing up on cooking and frying appalams. Somehow, on that day, my FIL was having a bath at the time, my MIL was in another room chanting, avoiding the rooms the maid was cleaning, and my husband was doing puja. I learned an important lesson that day. When there is no one who can take care of a toddler, do not cook with hot oil.


Getting back to how the scar came to being. I was busy watching my son and making sure he was not running towards me that I got careless for a bit, splashed oil on my hand, dropped the ladle and some more hot oil on my hand, neck, and stomach. Wow. It hurt so bad. I felt like I was burning.
I ran to my room, doused it with coconut oil, frantically screaming for my husband, who was still calmly continuing his puja and the in-laws unaware yet of my misfortune. I got hold of a tube of burnol and generously applied them over the burns. Still crying, my MIL came running after which my husband realized the gravity of the situation. In his defense, I am quite a drama queen. Also, I keep getting hurt and burned all the time. Except this was really bad and I could not take it. 

People called all through the time to wish a 'Happy Diwali', and instead of burning crackers, I was the one burning. My son started to console me saying it was going to be okay. You'd be surprised how caring he is already at 2.5 years!  I had not eaten anything since morning and the fatigue and pain were beginning to kick in. I was rushed to the Doctor's clinic for immediate attention. The nurse applied something that felt like the fire was put off. I was feeling cool instead. How thankful I was at that moment, I cannot even begin to express. A couple of tubes, an injection, lots of liquids and some medicines later, I felt okay enough to head back home. 

It has been a couple of months, a hundred inquiries on the cause of the burn, the boil, and eventually this mark. I hold this mark as an imperfection, or rather an additional imperfection on my body. An imperfection that makes me who I am. An imperfection that will serve me as a reminder to be grateful that it was not too bad. I keep thinking of the innocent girls who are attacked with acid, just because they rejected the advances of someone. I cannot even fathom the impact that such an attack would have physically as well as emotionally. I see many stories of girls who have overcome the emotional roller coaster and have emerged to embrace themselves and move on. While they give us a hope, there are hundreds of girls who are left to die eventually. They can never get back what they were earlier. And I hope every boy learns to accept a No and does not dare retaliate using Acid or Rape as means to 'teach a lesson'. The girl's aren't the ones who need a lesson! 





















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