iqraar | esha

In Frame: Esha Basak


Is desire wrong, is it something you judge?

Not really, in most cases - desire is good, it fuels us

It helps us run, dream & chase those dreams,

I had a similar dream, one where I wanted to win,

Be the best in my class, be the topper in everything I do,

Keeping the same in mind, I asked the most questions, I was curious,

I began staying back after class to learn more from Ma’am,

“Simona Ma’am” helped us all a lot,

she used to stay back after class with us, a month into such classes,

She invited me to her home for a sort of tuition, I began going there daily,

It was a sweet family, her husband was nice to me, they had no kids -

While Ma’am taught me her husband used to sit near by - doing his thing.


One such day, I ran in screaming & drenched, as it was raining outside -

It was thundering, & it felt like the clouds would crash into the ground - it was loud.

Mid way through the class, her husband handed me a cup of tea, it tasted different -

But I was too deep into asking questions to care about the taste,

I felt a little dizzy, I told them the same, they walked up to me,

Carried me to the bed, lay me down & stared at me, they were saying something -

I couldn’t hear them, I could just hear the rain - for a moment, the world stood still -

Then she hurriedly began taking off my clothes, & he went into the other room -

I thought they were trying to help, but then he came back naked, holding a white packet,

She took off her clothes too, I tried to get back but couldn’t, I tried to scream but couldn’t.


The rain buried my eager & pain-filled screams,

I kept trying to get away, all through the hour,

I passed out soon after.


i dragged myself home,

pain vibrating all across me -

it may have existed in just one area,

but I felt it in every single bone, every nerve

a headache i couldn’t shake, a heartache,

i didn’t want to sit, didn’t want to cry,

the pain was one thing, the shame was worse

did i do anything wrong? i just wanted to learn

but every inch of me felt guilty,

shame like it was all my fault, like i did it-

for months i barely spoke,

because i felt no one would listen,

even after the physical pain had left,

i still felt it, every time i saw Ma’am -

it came all gushing back,

every time i read something in the news,

it all came back like a damn breaking loose,

should I tell my parents? would they believe me?

should i tell anyone at all? no, no one can help,

no would listen, they are respected & i am no one,

thoughts like this pushed me to stay confined,

to cage up my rage, & live in guilt -

but then one day it all changed.


I met this person, who’s identity needs to be a secret -

We walked across the bridge, talking of all the things that happened -

The sound of the rain felt like deja vu of the rain that night,

I broke down telling this person the story, & buried my face in their chest,

They dropped me home, & I went straight to bed,

Next morning, I woke up to a million messages,

I washed off my tear stained eyes, & walked to our dining table

Opened my phone to see horrifying messages of how -

“Simona Ma’am & her husband” had been brutally murdered,

They had been drugged & shot in the genitals,

A letter was nailed to their heads - one addressed to “E,B,S & K”,

The letter , in detail, highlighted the crimes they had committed,

how sorry they were for doing so, & that’s the reason behind the ‘suicide’.

The papers published the letters, headlined “Clearly, not a suicide’.

Esha slept calmly that night, knowing that “E” from “E,B,S & K” -

was feeling a little lighter.







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