The Blessed Family

School Life – Year 2000

“Didi, go inside, Mumma is going to scold you again.” My brother Rakshit pulled at my sleeves. He was a year younger than me, and I shared a unique bond with him. He was stepping out to play with his friends, and obviously, I wasn’t even allowed to sit in the Sun!

What’s new? Were the first words that came to my mind, but I chose not to speak them.

“Just a few more minutes, bro,” I murmured as I carelessly played with my hair. My waist-long hair was almost dry now, but the warm heat of the sun was too comforting, and I didn’t want to step back in our cold house. It was so weird that not a single ray of the sun shone in our house during winters. How on earth was I supposed to dry my thick, long hair if not outside?

“Are you coming inside or should I inform your father?” My mother’s threatening voice echoed through our house. My father was a much loving and calmer person in comparison to my rowdy mother, but still, he instilled a fear in me. Fathers in our community were figures one should be scared of.

Sighing, I looked up. He was standing at his window. Dev Shah was my neighbor, crush and sole reason for any smile that flickered on my lips. It was our usual routine - stare at each other and smile whenever eyes met. I flicked my hair and tied it in a neat bun – it was the signal that I was going in. He hung his head, and before my mother could throw something out in my direction, I dashed inside.

As I stepped in, I heard her muttering her usual pathetic words, and like always I ignored them. However, despite all my efforts to block her voice, some of her floral words fell on my ears; they were somewhere along the lines of “Now you are in your bloody tenth standard. Instead of studying, all you do is spend time outside. No wonder boys always stray around our house!”

“There is a bloody coaching class going on next door,” I screamed back. “Boys don’t loiter because of me! They come there to study and prepare for the medical entrance,” I barked unable to accept her rude comments.

“Don’t use filthy words in this house!” My mother roared, and I just glared in silence. What filthy words? I wanted to yell but decided to let go. Reasoning with her was equivalent to casting pearls to swine, meaning, it was utterly useless. Sometimes I wondered if my attraction for him was the only positive thought in this house.

“Can I go and study now?” I demanded, rolling my eyes.

“Only if you want to!” she spoke with sarcasm and dropped a heavy plate with a loud bang. I jumped at the sudden unexpected sound; she relished in the shock that flashed on my face. Anger boiled in my veins, but I controlled it by fisting my fingers. My gesture didn’t miss her shrewd eyes because she continued horridly, “Your excellent grades in ninth standard showed me how well you are studying.” Oh! Always the usual taunt. She didn’t even consider my good marks in the first term of tenth standard. All she had to point and sing about was my marks from ninth. I controlled my temper and walked past her, but she grabbed my arm. “If you score such bad marks again ever, I will get you married to the next man I see,” she threatened. She glowered at me with such fury that it felt as if her eyeballs would drop out of the sockets any second now.

“I topped in the first term, aren’t you happy about it?” I tried to pull her fingers as tears almost leaked from my eyes. Her grip tightened around my arm, and I almost screamed in pain.

“But you came second in ninth grade; you never come second. What example will you be setting for your brother? Should he accept that second rank is fine?” She squeezed harder, and I felt my knees give in pain.

“He is a topper and will always stay so. I will make sure of it,” I responded simply, trying to shake off her hand.

Smack!

Whoever said that ‘actions speak louder than words’ was absolutely right! I was immune to her vocal and emotional harassment, but I could never get immunized to her physical abuse.

The impact of her slap was hard enough to put me on all fours. I fell to the ground, hurting my knees. I looked up at her with a fierce look, I wanted to say so much but her next action erased every drop of rebelism in me, “What are your looking at?” my mother barked and kicked me hard in the stomach, pushing me further in the ground.

Bending she grabbed my hair and pulled my face up, “You will only take care of your marks; don’t you dare shadow your brother’s career.” The rage in her eyes scared me more than the slap that was still stinging my cheek. I was afraid of what she might do next.

“Okay,” I bit my lip as I held back my tears.

“Better; now go and study,” she ordered in a terrorizing tone, and finally I was allowed to leave. I ran to my room and closed the door shut. I was about to lock it when a voice rang through the house, “No locks.” Stifling a huge cry, I sat in my chair and opened my book wondering which body-part should I massage first? Cheek? Scalp? Or guts where she so mercilessly kicked me!

What a blessed family I have, a mother who is nothing but an insecure abusing monster, a father who is completely oblivious to happenings in his own home and a brother who is too innocent for the world. I hated my life. I looked down at my book; my tears stained it. I quickly wiped them with my hands, not because I was scared of ruining the pages, but because I loved them. Books were my best friends and my confidant. Only they had shared my tears, and only they knew the torture and pain I endured every single day.