I have only right to node at every one’s verdict, even if they are wrong, right to endure all sort of  fabricated blames, right to be what elders ask me to be, for my younger will learn from me, for they will never scold my younger, for I am the eldest. I have right to stay mourn, I have right to get abused, molested, blamed, forsaken when in need, raped of my actual rights, made nude of my forte, stripped of my repute in front of the whole clan just for a mistake such of spilling drops of water on someone’s lap!

Yes this is me. I am murderer. I did the homicide of myself, for the sake of carrying on with my duties. Not because I wanted to, but because I was forced. 

Patience is a virtue and I am honored to see that you are so patient, reading this still. ‘cause I thought you won’t like my honesty, I am not being pretentious and telling that though I love my siblings and family but I find no honor in carrying out insignificant responsibilities that strangles one’s ambition dreams.

Though my story starts with a ‘once upon a time’ but it isn’t as beautiful as those fairy tales. My father doesn’t love me, my mother doesn’t cry for me when I hide behind curtains for more than 5 minutes. I have grandparents who don’t have potions that would teleport me to a ‘whole new world’.  ‘Am not a princess, this isn’t a fairy tale.’ Exactly matches my life. Though it may seem to you that that’s normal. Yes that would have been ‘normal’ if………

 

Once upon a time there lived a ‘normal’ girl with ‘normal’ pretentious parents. Doting grandparents.  Her ‘normal’ life was going all well until one day something very abnormal happened. A girl of twelve, more immature than adolescents of her age who still believed in superheroes, well at least one, her Father, she was never much fond of her mother, completed her toddler age and stood at the threshold of her adolescence, who was made to herself turn into adult by one night.

Standard eight. Age twelve. Tomboyish, short black hairs. Dark, short height. With a unique addressing style, ‘hay, guys!’ and a unique walking style, and typical sign while addressing, Devil’s horn. With an unmistakably loud squeaky voice, she never went unnoticed and unloved. This is Satyabati, our immature protagonist.

Geography exam pre-night. She was mugging up her lessons standing in front of mirror. Out of the blue, she saw a shadow rushing out of the room next to her. Her parents’ room. It was her expectant mother on her sixth month. Again she went into her room, took her phone, and called someone and rushed out to look for my father. ‘ও কোথায়? বল ওর বাবা কোথায়?’ she was talking to someone, enquiring him about my father’s whereabouts. ‘………হ্যাঁ কি!……আন্ধকার ঘর…কি করছে ও? আর উনিও কি আছেন আমার বন্ধু?……’ meaning what is he doing in a dark room and is my friend with him. Satyabati, being immature couldn’t understand anything. She couldn’t concentrate on her exam preparations. She had to know what made her mother rush like that during that time.

She tried to peep but failed to know anything. Her mother came back home rushing like anything. Satyabati just prayed her upcoming sibling stays safe between the tussle of their parents. It’s not for the first time that she would see a fight, she had witnessed many a skirmishes of her lovie-dovie parents. But it was the first time she witnessed she a severe one. Following her mother came in her father. ‘কেন গিয়েছিলে? হ্যাঁ বল! মাগী!……why did you go after me, you whore! It’s my life…I decide with whom I’ll sleep…not you!’ said my father with a drunken tone. For the first time she saw her father get home drunk.

 As if lightning bolt struck Satyabati, she saw her superman ditching them, blaming the upcoming guest for all mishaps. She didn’t know then what was the squabble about. Her parents fought, shouted at each other, plucking faults. Satyabati prayed on, cried copiously, hoping everything will be fine. She tried pushing herself into the next room but it was locked from inside, with growling of her parents coming out, and often abusive languages. So she tried eavesdropping with her innocent mind of clay. What she heard made her world turn upside down.

A loud noise of breaking glass, it was Satyabati’s favorite flower vase, the only vase inside the closed room, she knew it had to be her vase. She laid her ears on the door.

‘You son of a bitch! You made my life hell! You destroyed my career! And now you will bang my best friend and I must stay quiet! Is that what you say?!?!’

‘Quiet you whore! You slept with I don’t know how many!? And now you come and teach me lesson of morality?!? You bitch! Your ‘Daughters’ will be a bigger whore than you!’

‘Do not question y loyalty! I came with you in this dungeon, bore your daughter, and sacrificed my future, career, and job, and you blame me of immoral, I should have aborted Satya, when there was still time!’

‘Yes I asked you too to abort her….she was a mistake for which I still have to endure you!’
Someone broke something. Her mother shouts with pain, ‘Ahhh!’.

Door opens. Their eyes meet. Her father red shot eyes made her shiver. She went running to her mother, her bleeding mother. Her grandmother came rushing inside the room couldn’t believe her ears. Couldn’t believe on her son’s deeds.

SATYA WAS A MISTAKE…ABORTED HER…SACRIFICED FUTURE CAREER JOB! The red shot eye. An impression was created on the innocent, unmolded, claylike soul. A crack was inevitable between the relationships.

All relations were to be shattered. One thing Satya knew that her mother can be anything but not disloyal. Her father’s looks made her firm on her decision. She took her mother’s side. She let go off her superman. An impression was created on her mind, ‘every man will deceive you use you and betray you’.

 

‘I would never leave you, I would never let anything happen to my sibling!’ crying profusely. The advantage of the moment was taken, ‘you have to be someone who will be rich and influential, and you have to fulfill all my dreams, I want to see you as an engineer!’ Carried away with emotions our innocent immature Satyabati promised to do what she asks, not for once thinking about her dreams and ambitions, things she wanted to do, once she completed her high school. She only thought of her brother or sister, on the way to this hell like world.

 

She was struck with those few words, “Satya was a mistake…aborted her”. Her father bloodshot eyes made her insomniac. She thought what her mother went through. Little did she realize her mother was using her as a tool for attaining those things she couldn’t through her, emotionally forcing her. Satyabati, immature, innocent, did not know what to do, where to go to consult, cried all day, the chubby bubbly girl became aggressive.

She starts losing friends, started ditching friends especially boys. She only knew she had to be strong, for her sibling. She had to fulfill her mother ambitions. Little did she care about the career she dreamt of, being a wildlife photographer. She thought when the baby comes all will be fine, what she did not know was this baby was going to be loathed by her one day, not because she wanted to but because she had to.

 

“SATYA WAS A MISTAKE…ABORTED HER”—-was the key to turn the innocent’s world upside down. It may seem ‘normal’ but to a teenage of below average maturity, who was forced to be an adult before even crossing the threshold of adolescence wasn’t normal.

 

The baby, my sister arrived, my Mrinmoyee, a name for Ma Durga, I named her for seeing her I felt an energy. I knew she went through a lot, fought a lot when she was still clenched to the umbilical, hence the name. Loved by all, my lil’ sis. All was good, the squabble continued. It was becoming unbearable with each passing year. I felt what would be the affect of this on my sister. I tried concentrating on my studies, but now mysteries were unfurling themselves in front of me, which made me feel vulnerable, betrayed. I felt insecure due to which.

Years rolled, four years from then. Now was the time for take step towards my fulfillment of my ambitions. I went to ask for assent from parents. Who in return made me aware of my responsibilities I need to carry. Responsibilities towards them and my sister. Worthless responsibilities. List of dos and don’ts.

Sermons on how the eldest should behave. How the eldest need to sacrifice. What would make them ashamed of me and what would make them proud.

Sermons on how I should repay them for what they did for me in the past years. How should I behave in front of clan for I would be judged on the basis of my ways of walking talking and how much I earn. So no wildlife photography but engineering. Lastly, I was made to know that nothing happened between my father and my mother’s best friend. It was just a mountain made out of misunderstanding. When I was made familiar with the actual truth I felt deceived, naked. I realized what trick was played. I felt nothing, except hatred for all. Numb.

We all know that it is a universal truth—-‘parent love their off springs’. But what we do know and prefer to neglect, is the thing we call love is nothing more than a sort of a deal. They make treaty with their children; they want something in return of their so called love. Only thing they know is manipulating things with their emotional strangles.

Their love is not what we call unconditional; their love is more human like, just like them selfish and mean. If this was the case then being born a cub or a calf was of more ecstasy than this. Instead of feeling proud of the architecture we created we go on asking something in return from our children. Why? It is of immense reverence that you worked hard for us and made what we are, and for that we love you in return, we not only try but acquire things that makes you happy, and in return we just want love not homicide of our soul and heart, we do not want getting thrown into the dungeon of your unfulfilled dreams, we want to acquire our dreams and on the way fulfilling yours too.

You just do not try to understand and blame us of making you ashamed of people who even do not know me, Sharma aunty or Mridul thakuma didn’t bring me up, you did, you should try to be aware of my happiness like I am trying to know yours. You shouldn’t make me burden with a covenant of love and make me a prisoner of your hand, the world might revere you but you’ll lose that respect and love from the prized possession of yours. Business cannot be done with love, especially of parent and their children, it can only be felt, I know you love me and I love you back, please wait a moment and think,

“ARE YOU NOT APPORTING LOVE WITH YOUR CHILDREN, AND FOR WHAT, FOR WHOM?”

For whom? The person next doors, for spices to their gossips, or to show your social strata by showing off the degree cards of your children. Why this covent when you are who is losing the game?

 

Irabati.