This is just a short Os based on the struggles of a woman's life, which starts from the day she is born. Originally it was supposed to be a short script of a fanfiction that I was supposed to write but I ended up wrapping it up dreading the response.
The OS is solely from Khushi's point of view.
Enjoy the Read and do tell me what do you think about it.
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From the moment I was born to the present day, there was a very important lesson that my mother recited every now and then- 'You must not trouble your father, you shall not fight with him. He is too weak to handle any of it.' I was too young to know the meaning of death when I had my first fight with him, and there we were fighting like illiterates. I was screaming my lungs out, and he was abusing his heart out. Then my mother came and slowly lulled me away from the fight, she said 'He'll die if you fight with him. He has too much stress around him and we should not disturb him for, he is too weak. You want a father, don't you? Then you must not fight.' That was not the end of it. Every day something or the other would come up and my parents would fight, pricking words were exchanged. They would shout and gather the whole neighborhood around and I was left alone to handle those pity eyes of the non-family people around. Every day would end with my mother crying in the corner after an attempt of burning herself or bleeding or trying to jump off the balcony; anything that would lead to death she had tried it all. And in return my father had proudly claimed that someday when he'll die, we'll be the reason of it. Every day he would threaten us, 'When I'll die, you both will come on road. No luxury will be there for you to enjoy, and you will rot in poverty.' So, we tried to keep quiet; not because we were afraid to lose the luxurious life that he was giving us but because I was afraid to lose a father and my mother was afraid to lose a husband who was a parental figure for both of us despite of his venomous words. I was growing up and had recently hit my teenage when during a fight I had said, 'I'll die very soon and then you people will have no child to pamper, you'll be childless.' That day I realized the most cruel truth of my life - I was on my way of becoming my parents' Xerox and I had no control over it. I was growing in the environment which was poisoning my entire child being. Yet I could do nothing about it. Gradually I became habitual of the daily fight. I was picking up all the abuses so fast that I was unable to control my tongue. Every time I was angry at someone, I would abuse them in my thoughts. I was growing beyond my age. I tried understanding both their point of views, but it was too confusing. My mother was right in her ways, she cleaned whole house alone while we did nothing to help her. She would cook with sweat running down her spine while we chilled in the cool air of cooler while watching tv. At night she would wash all the utensils, clean the kitchen, fold the clothes and iron them and then when she would retire to bed she would be too exhausted to keep her eyes open even for 2 minutes. Yet no one applauded her efforts, instead my father would ignore her hard work and instead boast about how hard working he was, since he was the sole earner of the house. Once my mother asked, 'Let me do the teaching at the nearby school, it will help our financial condition in some way.' My father shouted, 'You think your petty five hundred rupees will sustain your needs. Nonsense. Stay at home and do what you always do.' She cried herself to sleep that night. Even though what my father said was truth, but somewhere it was wrong. My mother was getting an opportunity to be on her own and my father had cruelly shoved the idea away. Once my mother asked, 'Mrs. Sharma likes the embroidery on my suit, and she wants me to do it for her also. She said I could even run my own boutique.' My father shouted, 'You want to become their tailor? You want to go to their houses and do what maids do? Nonsense. My wife will not stitch other people's clothes.' That night she cursed her fate and wept through the night. My father was too ignorant to care for her self-respect. He would often shout at her in a way people do to shoo the stray dogs away. I remember him once calling her wh**e, bitch, brainless monster and much more in the language no one will call proper. Those words were too harsh to take her life yet she stood by my father still like a mountain, comforting him, being there with him always.
My father was right in his own way, even though he was only ten percent correct for what he did, but he keyword here was 'right'. He would leave for office at the day break, work his ass off and return home fully tired and vent out all his frustration on us. And that was all to the justification for his mean behavior. One peculiar thing that I always noticed was his childish nature. He was like a arrogant kid who liked to be pampered. And when he didn't get what he wanted he would not let others live peacefully. He believed in his heartless brothers and sisters more than us. Those brothers and sisters, who never bothered about him. He loved them all dearly. Both the paternal and maternal relatives that I had were good for nothing. They pretended to be our family but I knew we could never rely on them. That was how my childhood deteriorated. Not that it only consisted of fights and arguments; we had some quality family time together but they were too few to be easily neglected. So, I grabbed the first opportunity I got for running away from that hell, which I called my home. The college and studies kept me so busy that eventually, I forgot all the pain I had buried inside my little teenage heart which was a constant luggage from the moment I left home. Sometimes, when I would go to visit them history would repeat and I would leave that house as soon as I get the chance despite of listening to my heart who wanted to stay there for a longer time. Who was tired of being alone in that world of strangers, who was tired of eating that awful food on a table full of people who were non-family. I wanted to be at home, safe and sound, having the food which my mother cooked for me; enjoy the pamper which I occasionally received. But I couldn't. I knew time would fly away taking all the happiness that I was cherishing, even though it was just for one moment.
Now, when I think about the past which I happily let burden my innocent childhood, I still cannot decide who was wrong and who was right. Nor have I been able to find any solutions for those problems. I loved both my parents equally and could not afford to lose them. Sometimes I wonder what will happen when they die or when I die and I end up crying my heart out. I have a husband now, who cares for me despite of my hard attitude that I have picked up while being a teenager. He copes up with my moods, my anger and my ego and yet I cannot become soft for him. I try to, but I fail every time. Time has made me a dominator and I cannot undo it. My baby lies in that incubator fighting all the evils that are around him. He is just 2 days old, already surrounded by the devils of present and future; while I sit here helpless putting up my strong face in front of the world.
They say soldiers fight and die at the borders to keep us safe, what would they say about me; I wonder?
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Love,
Juliet😳
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