Pocket full of stars

2 [RAHI]

Born as the eighth and the youngest child to a poor hardworking couple, my mother was abhorred right from birth.

She was born one year after the seventh child—the first son.

Her birth was thought to be ominous and thus my grandfather's eldest sister tried to drown my mother when she was four years old.

Grandma saved her daughter and gave the old lady a piece of her mind but it was of no avail. That old coot took pride in her action because according to her she was 'saving the food meant for the son'.

People can be so shameless and inhuman sometimes.

My mother told me that the old lady who tried to drown her had asked for her forgiveness before dying.

"She looked so pitiful that day," my mother told me, "When she asked me for forgiveness, I was so perplexed. I had no memory of that incident and only heard it from your grandma. It did make me sad but no matter what, you can't be sad over something you don't know."

Daughters are a burden—my mother and her sisters were made to believe that in their hearts, and they did so, obediently.

It was like an age-old tradition, where the family members instinctually get sad over the birth of a daughter and celebrate the birth of a son.

My parents got divorced over my birth.

I was born as a burden for my parents, an unwanted existence worthy of disgust.

Whatever I did was a mistake and needed rectification.

My obedience, diligence, patience, and love were seen as pretence and blatantly ignored.

Despite the treatment, I always searched for the softness behind her severity and kindness in her cruelty.

I was sorry for my birth and I did not know how to amend the mistake.

During a school re-opening speech in class 4, the principal told us to treat each other kindly, "You will get back what you give. If you spread love, it will come back to you tenfold."

So, I did.

I gave my mother as much love as possible from my tiny heart so that I would get at least 1% in return.

No matter how distressed or sick she would be, I would nurse her and care for her in case, one day, she does the same for me too.

In her moments of insecurity, when I told her how beautiful or intelligent she was, she brushed me off heartlessly leaving me hanging by a thin thread of disregard.

She didn't believe in her capabilities and knowledge, so, I tried to validate it.

If she becomes happy with herself, then maybe one day, she will be happy with me too.

And sometimes she would...

She would talk sweetly and praise me and hug me and that would make me feel so blessed that I wished for nothing in the world.

But then I would realize that it was just to make me do her bidding.

I was usually stubborn but with a bit of coaxing and sweet words from her, I turned into a loyal dog.

She wasn't popular but she wanted me to be one.

So, she would make me take up a variety of courses and participate in competitions to make me popular; simple participation didn't suffice, I needed to stun the crowd with my performance and win the first prize.

Any other prizes and awards got thrown out of the house.

If people in the guardian group discussed somebody's achievements, my mother would come back home and scold me for not being good enough to be the hot topic of discussion.

Who wants to get discussed by bored housewives?

It was ridiculous.

I don't have any ambition, to be honest. I lost them long back.

Goals and achievements become worthless in the face of Death.

I saw it.

When I was lying wounded and bloodied in the middle of the road, I sunk into a pool of obscurity and silence.

The medals and certificates adorning the walls, the prizes and gifts in the showcase, my days of glory and pride—nothing appeared before my eyes except the realisation that my life has been nothing but a meaningless race.

I was always stressed or unstressed—like an iambic pentameter.

Except that the meter has a rhythm and I was a discord.