It is sad that you still ask what more you could have done, what mistake you made, and why I am overreacting. It is unfortunate that you have chosen to overlook every little bit that I told you about myself, so that you may learn to forgive me for the way I behave.
But alas, my shame has to be brought forward again, and I have to be dragged through it once again, as much as I tried to avoid it with the person that I loved the most in this world, though that may have a different meaning your dictionary.
So let me tell you about this little girl, who was brought up in a pampered household with servants to take care of her in her younger years as her parents were too busy elsewhere. But when this little girl would play with the servant’s kids as she was a toddler of three, she would learn words that a girl of her stature would find it dishonourable to utter. She would then by mistake utter these words in front of her father and she would be beaten to point where she had wet herself. She would crawl back to her mother, embarrassed, and clean up, only to realize that this was not the last time. Her servant upon seeing her despair would take her to the terrace where his room was and make her lie on top of him and do unto her unspeakable things. Yet how could a naïve girl like her understand what was happening, for he would convince her that it was an innocent game.
Years later, she would still wake up in the mornings sweating in bed having nightmares of this act yet never knowing what it actually was. When she turned of age, she realized what it was and decided to never tell anyone of it. But the nightmares would only get worse. She would find hope in the image of a light, and her grandfather smiling. It was then that she would get into violent fights with her brother and one day her father would come home and beat her black and blue so that she couldn’t walk properly for three days and had to apply ointments to soften the rashes on her thighs from all the sit-ups she was made to do.
Yet she always struggled to please her father. The more he ignored her, the more she tried to gain his love. She decorated the house on his birthdays, she would make cakes for him, she would make cards he could see in the morning before he left for work…praying he would forgive her, praying he would show the love she showed to him.
But then they would all shift to a novel place where her father would get so engrossed in work, he would forget her name. He would call her by his sister’s name, and the little girl, still little, would try harder to get his attention. But then the guys came. They came, they made her wanted, they made her feel accepted and gave her time. She followed them. And soon they would stop. They would hurt her purposely and she would leave them. She would leave them because she had the power in these relationships, unlike the one with her father, in which she was the helpless victim.
She ate more and hated herself. Then her grandparents would snatch butter from her hands before she put it on the bread. Her parents would refuse to give her a second piece of chicken and tell her one chapaati was sufficient. Eventually she would lose weight, and her father would tell every person he met, family, friend or unknown, that he was ashamed of when his daughter was fat because she did not look pretty and it was impossible to get clothes of her size. She would go to her bathroom and puke out whatever she had eaten. This cycle would continue till she met a unique boy. He pursued her fiercely and she resisted, but eventually she gave into him. But before she knew it, she was running after him trying to make him happy. She started consuming alcohol to while away the pain. Again, she was left alone, being ignored, being forgotten. Her father would beat her again for leaving her cassette player at a friend’s house for the teacher’s day concert practice. He would tell her he would get her married and never let her complete her education. She would try to kill herself with sleeping and calcium pills. She would survive. Her father would cry. He would then make her apologize for what she had done. She would go back to puking her food out.
But then just when she had given up all hope, a special boy stepped into her life. When she met him, she felt optimistic. He was not only intelligent but also handsome. He also fell in love with her. She felt committed to someone for the first time. Someone she could happy, someone she could share both happiness and joy with.
But she struggled with him too. The wounds that her father caused had not yet healed. She would struggle to grow up, act mature when the three year old girl inside her was screaming and suffocating. How could she hide her true self? Even after the wound closes, the scar still remains.
So here she is, the pampered child of the family. She doesn’t’ know what to feel about her father. He gave her an outstanding education, the best circumstances to live in, world tours, and all the gifts she wanted. But he never let ride on a bus, or scooter. She loves him still, in the corner of her heart. She makes cakes and birthday cards for him hoping he’ll understand some day. She doesn’t want the expensive gifts he gets her or the posh dinners they go to. She just wants some time with him. He calls once in a couple of months and asks the same questions, “how are studies? How is everything else?” She prays that he’ll notice that she’s become quite intelligent now. But her English is still not good enough for him. And her general knowledge is still very poor.
So Avi, I regret that you never understood that this three year old girl will never grow up and I regret that you never understood that the only way this girl will come close to growing up, is if you give her the little pieces of attention she wants. The things she goes out of her way to do for you and for her father. She bugs you even when you’re busy, she celebrates each anniversary with a small but heartfelt gift, she tells people she doesn’t need to about you, she calls you up even when she’s in the middle of something and other things too. She just wishes someone would show her, so that she could feel wanted, she could feel what no one ever showed. She was expected to understand this from the age of three, that people who love you the most, don’t show it. But she rebels, she’s just a kid. No one let her grow up: when she acted grown up in front of her parents, they despised her. When she acted childish in front her lover: he despised her. She loves you. Understand her.
And now she has become sadistic. She tries to gain power in any relationship; she tries to take revenge, because she has become bitter from the way her loved ones refuse to giver her unlimited attention like she gives them. The little girl is upset with the world for not showing its love. She is willing to sacrifice anything and everything for her loved ones, just praying that they’ll do the same for her. She prays that they will go out of their way to love her, as she does for them. Unfortunately she has become so pathetic. She holds onto words, words and phrases that were said to her. For these words and phrases hurt her. They stabbed her heart until it bled and then she would decide to make herself bleed for making others suffer. She would make herself bleed for treating others sadistically. She would punish herself because she tried to punish others. The words and phrases she holds on to, just give her an excuse to show that she is right. She wants to be right, because she has been told that she is wrong for not growing up by her lover. She wants to be right because she has been told that she is wrong for acting too maturely by her parents. What can she do? This stupid little girl is struggling not to want attention. But how can she not ask for the one thing she has been denied for her whole life? She thinks she’ll die from the conflict she faces. Help her.
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