Sit for a minute and think, go a few years back and recall how great they were. Your childhood years, your teenage years and the years you are living now. Don't they just give you a much needed whiff of fresh air? A feeling of ease, contentment and peace?
I was brought up abroad and my childhood was as normal as anyone elses'. The ultimate tomboy, I preferred shorts and jeans to frilly dresses and shoes that went tak tak. My bike was my dream machine. On it, I thought I could touch the sky if I pedalled really hard. The scratches and bruises I used to get from falling off made me proud of myself, to be able to brave all that.
School was rather unusual though. My close friends donned their frilly skirts and their tak tak shoes. Not that I couldn't survive a day of dresses if I had to but these girls were major barbie dolls, forever fixing their hair and all eyes on the boys in class. Apart from our differences in clothes they had good and sensible hearts and cried terribly when I broked the news that I would be leaving for Nepal. The fact that I haven't heard from them since is another story altogether!
Nepal came as a surprise to me. I had trouble adjusting to my new surroundings. I mean, you don't get to see cows grazing in the airport anywhere else in the world! Nevertheless, I learnt the language and very soon I got into the Nepali lifestyle, alongwith my parents and younger brother.
I had completed my 5th grade before coming back to Nepal. So, I got myself enrolled in class 6 here. Studies were tough; the fractions, decimals, the multiplication tables and above all, my Dad's constant scoldings about me not being good enough got to me. I used to live in this world of fear that if I didn't do well in school, then I've had it from my Dad. I tried, very hard, but I was always an average student; anyway studying and getting good marks never topped my priority list. But for my father I managed to be a hard-working , if not excellent student and finally reached class 8, which was also the time I stepped into my teenage life. That's when everything went downhill...
His name was Chiteez and I fell in love. I must admit that it was a crush in the beginning. He was tall, with looks that matched a Greek God and eyes that reminded me of the deep blue sea. He was a couple of years older to me and showed affection for me too. I thought I was the luckiest girl alive. What more could a girl want? My crush later developed into love although it was difficult to find out what Chiteez felt. He cared for me, was always there, but he treated me more like a child than a grown up.
My parents were never around when I needed them. They were always too busy taking care of social needs and attending parties. Their absence made me grow up to be a responsible and silent kid, my thoughts with myself, my questions with myself and with a no-nonsense attitude. I believed in rainbows, with happiness at the end of it not a pot of gold. So, when Chiteez came into my life, he meant so much to me because I wanted someone to love me and be there for me. I never had all that when I was growing up, hence I yearned for a shoulder to lean on. I had concluded that Chiteez would be the one who'd take me to my rainbow.
It was around that time when I noticed that there was a friction between my parents. The quiet of our home was continuously distubed with their frequent arguments and my Dad had started drinking more then usual. My Mom stopped going out with him and when he came home, at night, he was usually wreaking of booze. I would put it aside thinking that it was their problem, not mine.
Then one fine day, when I was in the 10th grade, my Dad found out about Chiteez. He was furious. For the first time in my life, my Dad raised his hand on me. So bad were the bruises that I couldn't attend school the next day. I had belt marks all over my back and my face was swollen. And things began to get worse. Earlier my Dad would home home drunk only at night, so that we wouldn't see him drunk but after finding out about Chiteez he did it openly. He would drink, come home, scold me and then beat me up. My Mom did nothing, she was too scared of my Dad. I couldn't understand why my Dad was so angry. It wasn't as if I was about to marry Chiteez the very next day.
I was sent to stay at one of my relative's place because my life was in danger due to constant beatings from my Dad. I hated him for doing that to me. When people asked him to cut down he blamed me and said that I had let him down. I couldn't believe it, my own father, accusing me for no fault of my own. He was just too proud to admit that he had a problem and I was easy bait.
Chiteez and I also started having problems. I was growing up and he grew more and more possesive. I wasn't allowed to talk to any guys and even if I did, I had to give explanations. Chiteez started accused me of betraying him, linking me with one of my friends, and that was the last straw. I was, as it is, up to my head with problems regarding my Dad. When I reached 11th grade, Chiteez and I broke up.
By now my Dad had gone completely out of hand. He became an alcoholic and continued to blame me for it. His hatred for me made it impossible for me to stay home. My Mom's efforts to try and contain his drinking habit was futile, it had actually become too late. I broke away from the chains, rented a room and started working.
I kept my woes to myself. Not because I was ashamed of it, but because that's how I grew up; my silent behaviour was nothing new. I feel that if I can make it through the day smiling, then I'm strong. So, that's how I am; I laugh and my friends, and colleagues at work, think I'm the happiest soul alive. But that's the way I like it. I've fought my battle within and that gives me strength to smile.
My Dad still refuses to see me, he abuses me at any given time. But it's stopped bothering me although I do wonder where I went so wrong for my own father to hate me so much. It does get to me sometimes, I wouldn't be human if I say it doesn't affect me. It does. I lie on my bed at night and cry my heart out, knowing that I'll never know how it feels to have a father's love and support.
I don't blame my Mom, she did what she could in her own way, though she could've done better. I try hard not to displease her because her life isn't a bed of roses either. My younger brother blamed me for everything but now even he's matured and realises that I had little to be blamed for. He refuses to acknowledge Dad's existence in his life.
I'm 24 at the moment and I've been through a lot. Till date, I've had nervous breakdowns, wounds that will never heal and very little love. I've put all that behind me. I won't be able to erase all of it, but at least I can go on to make a beautiful future. This belief keeps me alive, pushing me ahead and breaking down my inner walls. I believe that one day, I will find the end of my rainbow.
- Writer's Block
