Shiiyyaaa, get up. You are getting late!
The cool serene breeze from the window beside my bed calms my upheaval nerves. Maybe the view outside the window grills was magnificent, in the fifteenth floor that we stay. But the noise of cars and hounding horns breaches the imagination.
I am six and forced to attend early morning classes in the school. I hate waking early just like any other girl of my age would do. I do not crib and cry because I love the short walk till the washroom with my Momma hugging me real tight. The next one hour is always a rush-hour.
From bathing to breakfast and shoes to the escalators. Whoof! Here, in escalator there is always a typical sound I hear and with that thing moving down gives a tickle in my tummy. It is my dad who always goes down to drop me and wait until the cab reaches. Then I am lifted and made to sit in one of the seats.
It is only when Zee comes and makes me sit on his laps. Zee is my only acquaintance there in. They say he looks well after me and really is. He teaches a bunch of students in my school. Having the same timings, we go and come together.
With me sitting on his laps always, a bag kept on my lap and his hands down there. It is always a strange feeling I get on my way to school and way back. Eventually, I hesitated to sit on him. They said he loves me and cares for me.
I was too young to reckon what was going on. His care for me was vague. This continued for months, years, until one day I grew up just to realize how I was being used.
On speaking about this to my parents, their advice for me was to stay quiet and never disclose. My cab was changed. School did not. The teacher did not. I went to the school with the fear of that happening again. The stark reality of life thus realized.
This world is full of sinners, you only accept when you meet one. This heart is full of woe, you only experience when you go through. Benevolence is just a term with no existence.
I had no vigor to disclose this dark side my life beholds to anyone else and I still lie on my bed wishing if only I had eyes to see the wrong doings of the world, to see the face of the fiend.
Maybe sometimes eyesight is what you want to see through the deeds of the world. Things would have been different only if I had eyesight.
Crafted with brevity for select stories to make certain you see what others don't; sent every Friday
Two exclusive fortnightly newsletters, sent on Saturday alternately
a) Reel and Real with Rony Patra
b) Mixer with Ayush Garg