Stories about child

Confessions of a victim of child abuse

Am I crazy? Am I depressed? Does this only happen to me? Why do I feel so lonely, so empty? Why am I scared to interact with others? Why I am I not as courageous and strong as the other guys? Why do I feel that people hate me? Why am I leading such a life? I had to deal with such and a lot of other questions like these when the “black dog” (depression) started haunting me some years ago. It may be hard to believe that a 15-year-old boy would have to deal with something as serious as ...

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My parents love me, but I can’t love them back

My parents are not divorced and no, they don’t fight all the time. They love me and I know it. I just can’t seem to love them back. So the story goes somewhat like this. I was thrown into a boarding school when I was still young. I was bullied day and night; my teachers were not too great and I was beaten up by the prefects and everyone in authority. Sure, I had spent my childhood getting beaten up by my father and my grandfather a million times, but I thought boarding school was supposed to be like Harry Potter, not The Dead ...

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Daddy’s little girl: My last love and her first

Daughters are precious. Seems like yesterday when I took mine into my arms for the very first time; it’s been 17 months already, and time seems to have no intention of slowing down. At the office, I just can’t wait for the day to end so that I can enjoy the sound of her laughter, the sight of her cherubic face, the touch of her little arms wrapped around my neck, the taste of the half-eaten saliva-soaked potato chip that she lovingly shoves into my mouth, and the smell of watermelon-flavoured baby shampoo in her hair. Every day that I ...

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Christmas with Rimsha

It has been nearly two weeks now that 11-year-old Rimsha, who is reported to  have Down’s Syndrome, is languishing in Adiala Jail. All this time a wounded child has been in a jail for hardened criminals while the experts determined whether she is 11 or 12, mentally ill or not. I don’t have words to express my outrage and utter disgust, so instead I want to share these photographs with as many people as I can.  I want to share these photos of a cartoon character called Amai – the bird of light, along with her friend Santa, celebrating Christmas ...

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Child of war

The child of war loses his mind, As bubbles of fire from yonder rain, His youthful eyes no longer shine, He looks at all with much disdain, The war shall leave in its remains, A man afloat, a childhood drowned, A family was smashed and maimed, In a sea made of clamorous sounds, Out of order alphabet, Scribbled across his only book, The walls, although, his best work yet; Displaying all lives he took, His gun, he wears it on his shoulder; His morals somewhere in the trash, Emotions die as he grows older, His torrid heart now only ash, Upon the prisoners he has freed, His narcissism and his pride, Evils of heredity and creed, His only foes and by ...

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Come home my child

Come home my child, school is over It has been blown up I know some of your mates have been taken Their parents, shattered, battered, broken Come home my child, In the mountains, it has been snowing flakes of bombs, flames so white, Shards and shrapnel, snowballs bright In the name of God some slaughter In the name of God others fight we the people, we the fodder Live to face our gory plight To enormous events we have been destined First the poverty, then the quakes, Then the militants, now the drones, Come home my child, far from the agony Away from the war with no end in sight Come home to my dreams There’s peaceful ...

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Please save me, Doctor

So, the doctors are protesting. What else is new in Pakistan? It’s just one endless protest after the other, is it not? Guilty as charged; I have become desensitised to the violence and injustice my poor country sees every single day. However, this particular protest did not go unnoticed by me for one simple reason. Innocent children died. The gravity of the YDA protest really hit me when my driver narrated a story to me this morning on my way to work. Very casually he asked me: Baji agar doctor apney mareez ko chor ke challa jata hai aur woh mar jata hai toh ...

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How not to lose your kid

As any parent will tell you, leaving the house to go for, say, buying bread, is not as simple as you may think. Normal people will grab their wallet and their keys and run out. For parents, it involves a long litany such as taking the kids to the bathroom, getting them ready (which has a litany of its own), packing a bag of toys, snacks and spare clothes, and by the time you are finally ready, a kid will need the bathroom again.  So when it’s in the news, that yet again, someone has forgotten their child somewhere, such ...

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Boys just can’t be girls

Sitting alone in a train compartment, I waited for my co-passengers to arrive in Bangalore. Like several people, I enjoy being a silent observer of those around me and particularly on a long journey that I was about to undertake, I figured, it was a fine pastime. I was headed from Bangalore to New Dehli.  A lady, not more than 35-years-old, struggled her way into my compartment carrying a rather heavy child in her left arm and balancing a huge suitcase in her right. Her hair undone, sweat rolling down her forehead, her eyes showed relief that she made it ...

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That is my child

My child stands at the corner of the street, in tattered clothes, smelling of rotten fish, selling fragrant flowers to you.  You scrunch up your nose; throw the money at him and grab the flowers, making sure your hands don’t touch his.  That filthy, smelly child is my child. My child, in the chill of December, cleans your car with his calloused hands. His hands look older than your 70-year-old father’s, cracked and hard from the lifetime they have suffered in such a short period. You pay him a few cents and tell him to get lost as you zoom off. That ...

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