For children: A story written in verse about a young orphan looking for ways to heal

Dreams

Ridhima Rana smiles to herself.
She is dependable, someone to trust.
Head on her shoulders, feet on the ground,
Helpful, considerate, reliable, calm.

She pictures the orphan: a pale, wispy thing.
Mahee Ranjan, a twig of a girl,
Huge, black eyes, empty and lost.
Petite, fragile – oh the poor orphaned child.

Ridhima Rana smiles to herself.
She’ll be Mahee’s friend, her support, her rock!
Responsible class rep, steady and strong!
She’ll offer her notes, be generous and kind!

And Mahee, oh Mahee, how grateful she’ll be!
She’ll worship Ridhima, and one day, she’ll say,
“Ridhima Rana was my pillar of strength!
She was the one who helped me belong!”

Ridhima Rana smiles to herself.
Ayushi catches the end of the smile.
She smiles back, adoring, admiring and eager.
And Ridhima nods, gracious and kind.

Noise

Listen to that, Mahee!
Suitcases going du-du-du-du-du on rough tiles!

Or – or railway announcements
In three languages!
Listen, Mahee, listen!

Or ads, Mahee!
Ta-ta-tang-tang!
Jingles!

But loud noises –
the du-du-du-du of suitcases
railway announcements
ads playing at full volume –
clang against the glass globe, bounce away.

Whispers slide in through the gap
Between the mouth of the globe and my throat.

The glass globe is nonsense, Mahee!
No, it can’t be nonsense! It keeps me sane!
Sane? You call this sane? You need help, Mahee.
Ask for help.

I don’t know how.
I tried.
Even –

Before.
I…don’t know how to ask for help

Therapy

Once,
secretly,
I went to Payal Anand (MPhil).
I thought therapy would be the answer
To everything.

Her eyes were round when she listened.
She spoke in hushed tones
As if I was dying.

I never went back.

Excerpted with permission from Fishbowl, Varsha Seshan, Duckbill.