The Value of One Girl’s Life | Justice for Jisha

The sun is long gone by the time I leave office everyday. I walk home, clutching by bag close to my body, afraid to take an auto because he might take me to an abandoned place and hurt me. I am too afraid to walk home with a male friend, because I never know when the devil in him would wake up and turn into my tormentor. As little girls, we were asked to get back home before sun-down because bad things happened at night, in the darkness in places where were are most susceptible to being attacked.

Yet, in Perumbavoor nestled in the state that boasts about its literacy, a woman – somebody’s daughter, somebody’s sister was brutally murdered in the most heinous manner –  in the comforts of her own home. The question that remains is, where are we safe? Kerala has boasted of a matriarchal society, that by looks of it has now gone to the dogs. The God’s own country is a misnomer now with all the ungodly acts that take place everyday. Jisha’s case is probably the cherry on the proverbial cake, a cake that stinks and speaks volumes about the rotting ideals of the society we belong to.

Unlike the Delhi gang rape, there is no candle light vigil held for the deceased girl, no national media has created any trending social media hashtag and no feminists are seen raising their voice on the television. Is the value of a girl’s life any less because she is born in a remote dot on the map of India? Or is it because the so called ‘South’ is not proper India?

The unfortunate torture and murder is celebrated by those power hungry with their bloodshot eyes transfixed on the upcoming election. Everyone ultimately finds a way to connect with Jisha and make her one of them. The Dalits call her their daughter, the Hindus make her their sister. Being human no longer seems to get one justice, it is our lineage and affiliation that determine our destiny.

This is not a crime against a community or even a gender, this is a wrong done to the entire humanity. To think that we live amongst these kind of people who do not value another human’s life makes me shudder and think about what is the kind of literacy that we really need.

Justice for Jisha.

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Writing to me is therapy, it frightens and comforts at the same time. Liberates like nothing else. A book in my own name is a dream, but a bigger dream would be to write something that haunts the reader even after the last page is turned and the book is shut. I enjoy reading and music, spending time with family whilst battling my social awkwardness.

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