- Memoir of my 20 years

Chapter 1 - " The birth "

So today is the day I was born for the first time. On May 12, 2004, at around 2:30 PM, I came into the world. My name is Geetansh. I was born in a rural village in Rajasthan, India. My birth story is unique because my father passed away in January 2004 from a heart attack. I was born in May, and it feels as though my father returned through me, bringing a son to a family that had longed for one. Though he never saw me in person, and I only know him from photographs, I never felt a deep connection with him, as we never had the chance to spend time together. My two sisters, however, have fond memories of him, as they spent time with him in their childhood.

I have two sisters: Sneha, who is about 7-8 years older than me, and Shubha, who is around 11-12 years older. My mother, Megha, became a single mother after giving birth to me. Life became more challenging as my mother had been a housewife, and the family's income came from my father's pension. Although it was modest, we managed with it, and it increased over the years. My mother could have secured a job in place of my father, but his retirement and untimely death prevented this. She was also illiterate, which further limited her options.

My grandmother, Sunita, lived with us, having been widowed before my parents' marriage. My father’s younger brother, Chacha Ji, also passed away before my dad. Before my birth, the family lived together, but now Chachi Ji (Chacha’s wife) lives separately with her children. She has three daughters and three sons, all significantly older than me, and I am the youngest in the family. I also have a bua (my father's sister), who was thrilled about my birth, believing it was a return of her brother. My grandfather, father, and Chacha all succumbed to heart issues, hinting at a possible genetic predisposition in our family.

My grandfather was a notorious figure in his time, known for his gun and gold, which he lost to gambling. The house where I spent my childhood, about 180 years old in 2004, was a heritage site in our village. Despite my father having a bachelor's degree and experiencing life in Bombay, he eventually settled into a government position with a modest salary, guided by my grandfather’s influence. My parents had a significant age gap—my mother was very young at marriage, while my father was in his late thirties or early forties. Nonetheless, they respected and built a strong bond, maintaining a harmonious relationship throughout their life together.

On the day my father died, he was returning from my sisters’ school after buying them lunch. On his way home, he vomited blood and left traces of it on the village road before passing away. At that time, I was still in my mother’s womb. I later discovered how overjoyed my family was at my birth through my sister Sneha's diary, which I found when I was around ten years old. Her diary detailed the emotional reactions of our family to both my father’s death and my birth. Reading it deeply moved me and made me realize the profound impact of my arrival on my family.

There’s a saying I hold dear: “Sometimes we are born from dark clouds, not knowing whether the rain will come as beautiful drops or a tragic flood.” This reflects the uncertainty of our birth circumstances—family, conditions, environment, and beyond. I was born into a lower-class household that gradually became middle-class, and I have no memories from my early years. My memories start to become clear around the age of six. It’s amusing to think I might have been blind before then because I recall waking up when a photographer took a picture of me as a baby. Before that moment, I felt as if I were merely sleeping.

Life has been stable and joyful with my mother, sisters, and grandmother. My grandmother was bedridden due to old age, and my bua would visit her regularly from the district, always arriving promptly whenever called. My mother and grandmother often quarreled, and my bua would listen to my grandmother’s complaints about my mother. These conflicts, while frequent, seemed humorous to me at the time.

I was admitted to my sisters’ school when my older sister was finishing her senior secondary education, and my second sister was in the 5th or 6th grade. The school was a Hindi-medium institution that only offered classes from the 1st standard onward. As a result, I joined directly in the 1st standard. The school was fun, and I made a few friends. My mother would bring me lunch and buy me supplies, making those days quite charming. My biggest fear was math, which was challenging despite being taught in Hindi. My math teacher often complained to the principal and to my mother, though my mother remained supportive and proud of us, even if she sometimes criticized us. Her support was always sufficient for us.

As time passed, my second sister also transferred to the school where my eldest sister had studied, leaving me alone at the Hindi-medium school. I had a female friend there, the younger sister of one of my sister's friends. We shared a strong bond until one day, she stopped responding to me in class and was uncommunicative when I visited her home, i used to visit her home with my sister and used to play with her. Later, my sister also stopped going to their house, so I also could not go. This gradually ended our friendship, and I have no idea where she is now or what became of her, that's how i lost my first ever frnd.

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Note:
Thanks for reading Chapter One. I hope you enjoyed it. This is just the beginning; upcoming chapters will be even more engaging. As this is my first attempt at writing a story like this, please stay tuned for the next chapters and don't judge too harshly based on this first chapter.