HASEENA'S POV:-
Assalam walekum, I'm Haseena Malik. There's quite a bit about me that might interest you, wanna hear? Alright, let me tell you.
I'm Haseena Malik, and my dad happens to be Anubhav Singh, one of India's biggest business tycoons. Haha, I know, I know, you might be wondering if my name is Haseena Malik, then how come my father's name is Anubhav Singh. Well, this surname 'Malik' was given to me by my mother, Noor Jahan Malik. I get it, you're probably thinking, usually, kids take their dad's surname, so why this twist? Why have I taken my mother's surname. The truth is, my father isn't worthy of being called a father. (Hamare pita ek pita kehlaane ke layak hi nahi hain)
Alright, let me shed light on why I made such a profound statement. On August 22nd, 2005, in a remote village in Lucknow, a village that many people aren't familiar with, I was born in a tiny house in that village. The moment I arrived, my mother overflowed with happiness, yet my father's face bore a different emotion-anger. You see, my father was a narrow-minded person. He yelled at my mother, furious that he had a daughter. He wanted a son because, in his view, a son was expected to continue the family lineage and business, making the family proud, while a daughter was considered a burden. My father wanted to throw me away like trash, but my mother pleaded fervently, and then he reluctantly allowed both my mother and me to stay in his house. However, his hatred towards me didn't lessen at all. He tried to kill me multiple times, but every time, my mother intervened at the right moment and saved me.
Afterwards, when I was around 4-5 years old and wanted to start studying, my father flatly refused and said that girls should be doing household chores instead of education, as that was boys' work. However, my mother pleaded with him multiple times, and eventually he relented and allowed me to study. Perhaps my father didn't care for me much, but he seemed to have some affection for my mother, because he would listen to her. My mother managed to get me enrolled in the small village school, and despite numerous hardships, I persevered with my studies. I didn't have a school uniform, proper warm clothing, or sometimes even food, as my father would sometimes withhold it. Additionally, he would often physically punish me for the smallest mistakes, whether they were my fault or not.
When I was 9 years old, a mountain of troubles fell upon me when my mother died of a heart attack there would not be a more unfortunate day for me. After my mother's death, my life took a turn towards living hell. After my mother's death, my father remarried, and my stepmother made my life worse than hell. She stopped me from going to school and made me do all the housework. In the cold, she made me work with cold water more than the freezing cold, and my fingers and toes would swell, and I would fall ill in that cold. Yet, instead of showing mercy, she beat and scolded me, saying that I was making excuses not to work. Even when I was sick, I had to do all the work at home and in my father's fields. I knew my father never loved me at all, so he never said anything to my stepmother and always blamed me for everything and beat me. But it was here that I found a little ray of light in the darkness, like a small beam of light. My stepmother's son, Cheetah Singh, was like brother to me; he was just 14 when his mother married my father, originally, my father married his mother for a son. Cheetah Singh, that is, my stepbrother, gave me the love that no one has given me to this day, the love I had been longing for. Cheetah not only gave me brotherly love but also the love of a father; he stood up against his mother for me, got me re-admitted to school, and when my mother refused to pay for my education, he said he would work and educate his sister. He took care of all the expenses for my education and got me through until 10th grade. Because of this, my stepmother started to hate me a lot because her son was going against her for my sake. She even said one night that I had done black magic on her son and made him my servant. My father never loved me at all, and like my stepmother, always blamed and beat me.
And then one day when my stepmother's brother, that is, my step uncle, came to our house, I was alone at home as my brother had gone for his coaching and my mother had gone to the market, and my father had gone to work. As per usual, my step uncle brought some gifts for me and gave them to me. He asked me to come and study with him, and I agreed. I sat on the bed with him to study, but as he was teaching me, his hand started to move from my hand to my shoulders, and it felt very strange. I didn't like his touch, and suddenly his hand touched my breasts and he squeezed them. I quickly got up in fear and asked him what he was doing. I tried to run, but he caught me and even hit me on the head with a stick. Despite that, I managed to escape the room and run outside. Just then, my stepmother returned from the market. I ran to her and, crying, told her everything that had happened, but as always she blamed me for it too. When my father came home, she told him that I must have misbehaved in front of her brother. It was all my fault, and my father didn't even listen to my side of the story. Both of them threatened me not to tell my brother about it, or else they would beat me up. They didn't believe me and sided with my step uncle. I felt completely helpless and alone. It was a traumatic experience that I couldn't share with anyone, and I was terrified to speak up against them.
I was thinking, if both of them hated me so much, why didn't they just kill me? My father had tried to kill me before, but because of my mother, I was saved. But now that my mother is no more, they could easily kill me or throw me out of the house. But then I thought my father loved my mother so maybe the last memory of her, he kept me close to him. But I was wrong. One night, when I woke up and was walking towards the kitchen to drink water, I overheard my mother talking to my father about selling me for money. I quickly ran to my brother's room crying, and told him everything. Hearing this, my brother got furious. At that time, I must have been around 15 years old and my brother 20. He warned my parents that if they ever thought of doing anything like that, he would file a police complaint against both of them. As always, my brother's intervention helped me get out of trouble and the difficulties I was facing.
I was nothing more than a burden for my parents, and they had kept me alive because they wanted to earn money by selling me, and this realization was painful. With the help of my brother, I completed my 11th and 12th grade and now I had to take admission in college for further studies. My brother, as always, took good care of me and went against our parents to get me admitted to Lucknow University and its hostel, so I could stay away from that hell. Now he also had to go to the US for his further studies, so after getting me admitted to the hostel, he would fly to the US for his studies. Today, I have escaped from that hell and I'm sitting in the Lucknow bus, hoping for a better future. After putting me in the hostel, my brother has gone to catch his flight to the US to brighten his future, but now I am afraid of my parents because now that my brother is not with me. Just Last night, I overheard them discussing that I've turned 18, and they want to marry me off, not for marriage but as a business deal. They were arranging my marriage with a man of 45 years old in exchange for 7-8 lakh rupees. They were just selling me under the guise of marriage. I'm not even of marriageable age yet and I want to continue my studies, but I couldn't tell my brother about it as he has done a lot for me already, fulfilling the responsibilities of an elder brother, and now it's my turn to fulfill my responsibilities as a sister.
It was the first time my brother was endeavoring something for himself. If I couldn't stand by him, the least I could do was not impede his success. His journey to the US for studies was crucial for his future, and if I had disclosed the truth, he might have reconsidered, jeopardizing his prospects. So, I chose to remain silent. Besides, I'm not going to live in that house anymore, I will stay at the university hostel, so they won't be able to get me married.
This was my story. Do you still think my father is worthy of being called a father? The weight of his actions has left me questioning the very essence of parenthood and love.
