From the life of an amputee

It was that hour. Asphyxiating her hopes, wishes and choking the dreams till their limits, she was preparing, having no choice.

She was all set to give away a part of her flesh to the hungry land, cloaking the torment with a soft smile. The operation theatre felt smaller than it was, the world felt tinier yet she won over her psychologist’s will power. She felt as if she was being crammed in a box of stinging incidents, bestowed, specially upon her. The dilapidated flesh, suffused with gangrene was anaesthetized to be operated upon. When the surgical equipments pierced her flesh and cut her bones, she learnt to detach from every illusion that kept her stagnant. She wore her smile on throughout, even after she was detached from the limb, not a tear drop yet.

That was the moment when her perspective of beauty, wishes, hopes, activeness were redefined. Encountering death so close couldn’t have polished this gem better.

Now she knows how to rise above the dust, shattering any obstacle. It is for the rarest of the lot who get to live two lives. Sometimes it is as if the whole world is breaking down in front of her, barring her from exploring. It was hard, giving away the control of her body to the hydraulic system; needing a machine’s approval to walk.

Breaking down was a choice in life, but was never in her’s.

A feather fallen from a bird’s wing cannot hamper its flight, can it? The flesh that was ripped off carried away the happiness of many, in turn teaching how to live without complaints. One day, she asked me, “Is that why the society calls us specially-abled?”

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