That Little Girl Has Grown Up, Finally!

Why is this being written now? Years after the ghosts have been exorcised from within, why now? Simple, I relate to that little girl, what she went through, and what she would go through rest of her life. Insecurities, mistrusts, fear, need for reassurance, over thinking – these are terrible things to hold within, it would take many years, many people, many experiences, to get rid of these from within.

I loved playing grown-up when I was little. Wearing sari, wrapping a blanket over my skirt, tying a piece of towel around my head pretending I had long hair, playing with my doll that would close her eyes when I put her to sleep. My father had gotten me a small handbag, which I would hang on my shoulder, and run like my mother always did to catch her bus. I was a single child, I invented my games, and learnt to talk to my dolls, and pretend there were people around. Till he came into our house. He was the cousin, my father’s sister’s son. He was big, many years bigger, and I don’t know how old he was then. With both my parents working, it was a boon to have him in the house. During daytime when I went to my school, he would go for his electrician course, and would come and pick me up in the afternoon when my bus dropped me. He always smelt of paan. He would get me bananas and sweet lime soda from Appoopan’s (grandfather) small shop. In Appoopan’s shop, my father deposited money every month, so my banana and lime soda is taken care of after school. I would hold my cousin’s hand, and hop, skip, jump, till we got home. I don’t remember if I ever spoke anything to him during our walk back. After reaching home, he would help me get into my favorite white frock with small blue, red and yellow flowers, (which I insisted to wear everyday, and many wars between my mother & I took place...), and then I am allowed to pick my favorite game. 

Excited like a buzzing bee, I chose to sit with my dolls, and play house-house, or teacher-student. Till he told me about a new game called father-mother. He would be the father, and I would be the mother, and the dolls were our children – just like I was to my parents. It was our little secret because I am a big girl, and big girls kept secrets. I would get him tea, like my mother did, and cook with my steel kitchen set, like my mother did. We would sleep on the bed like my parents did. He touched me, and I asked him if my parents did, and he said, all parents do, and it was part of the game. Everyday, he would want to play this game, and I was getting bored. I got threatened that I am a bad girl and a bad mother to my dolls. I told my mother one day, that my cousin peed under the bed – and she said I was making up a story. She asked him I presume, because he was more forceful later. I was told to do "things" - only those I remember now with a shudder and shock. It went on, for years, I forget the number. The scars remained.

Till I was in my ninth standard, I carried the secret with me, till I read about what had really happened to me. I was scarred, violated, my body was used against my will – I sat my parents down and told them what had happened. I was let down, when they sat there numb listening to me. I was told not to bring it up, I was told to forget it, and move on. Little did they know how much it had scarred me, how much of it was going to live with me, how much of it would become my worst nightmare and source of my terrible insecurities in years to come.

Have I forgiven him? No, Never. I am not large-hearted. I am human. But beyond that, have I forgiven my parents – No, Never. I still have my anger against them – but according to them, they were trying to protect me from society. What they did not think of, was protecting me from myself – my fear and anxieties. How I wish they had told me to fight back, and given me courage to do so, instead of telling me “what would others say, if they heard it.” How I wish, they had understood how traumatized I was. 

That's where I drew my strength from. So what; it was my life, and I owed that courage to myself. Didn't I?

Today, I feel happy when thousands of parents stand up for the rights of their children, and fight for justice. In all that you do in your fight for justice, dear reader, think of her, her little dreams, dolls and doll houses, that childhood that she would hate, and the smells that would haunt her forever...she needs you too, just like I needed someone too…

I said earlier, that the ghosts were long exorcised. No, I realize now. They live within me, my insecurities start there. The 4 year old me, peep from within, and tell me, ‘it’s ok, and you will be fine now.” I would try and believe it, for now.

[It took me immense courage to write this down. I re-read it a million times, maybe. But I had to, for her, and for me.]