• Mansi Mahajan

The Tale of Throes

By: Mansi Mahajan


With a whirlpool of agitation in my stomach, feet numb as ever and a heart filled with distress - I stepped in front of the mirror, only to see an agonising reflection. A reflection of a person who I no longer knew, no longer understood and no longer trusted. Deep down in the eyes, which were veiled with a blanket of guilt, regrets and despondence, I saw misery.


Waking up each day with no family, no money and nothing to sustain myself was equivalent to waking up on death bed, or perhaps even worse. For all I know, a person on deathbed would soon be liberated from all his sorrows and griefs. As for me, I had to wake up every single day to gather the will to live, to what would be yet another day of deprivation.


With a dishevelled appearance and forlorn hope, I set on to my journey. A journey to wherever I could seek solace. Barefoot I walked up the scorching pavements, with blisters all over me. Tiny moist droplets of sweat fell on my bottom lip from the edge of my pointed nose as I ran miles and miles. Just like stranded ship sails in the direction of the wind, I ran in whichever way the road took me. While the entire humankind sought shelter and remained indoors, here I was with nothing to live upon and an ardent desire to die and join my dear ones.


Shoved in one corner of a dark room at night, I thought of what keeps me back from willing to restore the desire to live. I would die, either way, I reassured myself. But with the choice that lay before me, I chose to die my way, instead of dying of hunger, starvation, or what they had been calling the coronavirus. And as I had wished, my blood lay on my very own hands. I was relieved, released of all the torments and heartaches I once strived to escape. Dead, as I looked down from heavens beyond, I saw the havoc I once used to live in. I saw misery. Nothing, but misery.


This was my story and I am yet another migrant, a victim of circumstances, being simply a person who once used to desire to live for eternity.

If we aren’t reminded of humanity, we succumb to the murk, we succumb to the foreign terrors, we succumb to this devilry and we lose our propensity to empathise

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