I never knew the world was so narrow and so small.
I barely managed to fit into it.
Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to make space for anyone else.
Thankfully, I didn't need to.
Colourless, tasteless and noisy that is how my world is.
Too much of everything and yet there was scarcely anything around.
Back when I was 10 years old, my mother once told me that she was existing for me so I should be thankful and work hard to keep her happy.
My birth was a mistake, I was supposed to die but I miraculously lived and that was the problem with my mother.
Why would someone who was to be taken away by death live and be a burden?
I grew up feeling guilty about everything I did, starting from breathing to sleeping.
Thankfully, I didn't have time for anything.
My mother was very particular about keeping the reigns of my habits, actions and time in her hands.
Thus, she chalked out routines for my daily life.
4:30 AM—wake up.
5:00 AM— Singing practice
5:45 AM— Take a bath and be ready for school
6:00 AM— Leave for school
3:00 PM— Have lunch after returning from school
3:15 PM— Take some rest
3:45 PM— Singing Practice
4:30 PM—Dance Practice
5:00 PM—Sit down to study after freshening up
10:00 PM— Have dinner, make the bed and arrange books for school
10:30 PM— Do Homework
11:00 PM— Practice maths for one hour
12:00 PM— Practice Drawing
12:30 PM— Go to bed.
The schedule was changed from day to day to fit in the singing, dancing, painting and private tuition classes.
I protested once that the routine was 'oppressive'. I had learnt that word in the history class and found it to be a perfect fit for my mother and her treatment of me.
There was no need for gruelling hard work.
"And what are you going to do with your free time?"
I didn't have an answer to that.
What does one do with their free time or leisure to be precise?
I have written essays on MY FAVORITE HOBBY many times and even won the best essay award for it once.
But that was a lie...whatever the essay was.
If I could go back through time and ask the little me about her favourite pastime, I am sure the answer would be "just sitting and watching the world".
I never got to do that.
There was one thing after the other with no space to complain because my birth was a mistake so my existence should be a punishment.
"Why didn't you kill me?" I burst out one day out of frustration when I was a teenager.
I was exhausted and death was the only blessing I looked forward to.
As an answer to the question, my mother grabbed me by my hair and told me with burning eyes, "Be thankful that you are kept alive and given food, clothes, shelter and education. Some girls don't even get to reach your age. They are either killed or they die due to illness and maltreatment. Ungrateful bitch."
A good number of hair strands were entangled in my mother's fingers. The back of my head throbbed painfully but my heart ached more than that and my body trembled in an inexplicable emotion.
I was amazed at her hatred.
It was so unblemished.
Her beautiful eyes, her plump lips, her well-enunciated words—everything radiated repugnance.
I wanted to dive into that hatred...pry into her mind and comb through it minutely to see what caused it.
A virus?
Her inherent nature?
What was it?
What was the reason for such a hatred?
And, how strong was it?
If allowed she could have gotten rid of me but she held herself back from doing so because it was her duty as a mother to bring up a child.
Duty was so judicious.
A cop lets go of his friendship; a mother drops the idea of murder—such a saviour duty is.
While she maintained her duty as a mother, I needed to fulfil the duty as a hunted animal too.
A proud wounded hunter would keep on the hunt as long as the game was right in front.
YOU ARE READING
Pocket full of stars
RomanceDeath always becomes the answer for any perilous situation. For Rahi however, her mother's death was the problem. Afraid that she had committed matricide, Rahi sank into the verge of insanity. Struggling to keep her sanity intact, Rahi feels that ma...
