Just a little something

Or are these simply the bizarre fantasies of a mind that thrives on the classic romantic novels — not the sleazy ones produced in contemporary times? Do they label me a fool, with a heart that desires nothing but love and to be loved — more than that, to be noticed for who I am and not what I am? A difficult order, and if I may add, an impossible wish list, in this age that is so riddled with false egos, anger and pretence.

It’s funny, but as my fingers tap dance on the keyboard, the only song I hum is Moby’s ‘‘Why does my heart feel so sad’’. And the only thoughts, or names, that cross my mind are — Aruna Shanbaug, Hetal Parekh, Hannah Foster and Ishita.

No need for introductions there. Being in the business of news, I have grown somewhat immune to incidents of brutality and savageness. It is only once in a while that books and movies act as a welcome jolt and revive my heart that was once replete with hope and dreams.

These girls, on the threshold of being beautiful women, must have carried a zillion dreams. Their every little wish was trampled, every prayer strangulated, before it could fulfill itself. And we, the gutless world, failed them with our empty souls and a collective moral fibre that is gasping for breath on a life support system.

A society is made up of men. Crime is committed largely by men. The only sin a woman committed was dig her teeth into the apple and invite an eternity of problems. So what do women really want? Love, and above all, respect. Someone, who would hold their hand, lead them to the dance floor and waltz slowly to the music.