18th years ago.

It’s my birthday today! 

Mumma has adorned our apartment with delicate decorations, including long strands of confetti, balloons, and a banner with my name written on it, hung on one side of the wall. She gifted me a pink, flowing dress fit for a princess. 

She once whispered that I am a princess too, and this home is my kingdom, where I shall reign forever.

Shrishti Didi is assisting Mumma in baking a cake for me - a blueberry cake, my absolute favorite. I am ecstatic, and eagerly anticipating celebrating my special day with my beloved family. Unlike every year, Baba is here with us on my sixth birthday, and he has promised to give me the best gift. 

A gift I will always remember. 

After Mumma and Di have finished baking the cake, it’s time for me to dress up. I bathed, slipped into my dress with my sister's help, and then went downstairs to await Baba’s arrival. 

It was eight, and usually by eight-thirty, he was home. Thirty more minutes and I’ll be cutting the cake and opening presents. However, as time inches by, there is no sign of him. Perhaps he was held up with work at the office today. 

Or did he forget that it was my birthday?

I think I was half asleep when I heard the apartment door creak open. I quickly got up from the couch and rushed to him. “Baba, you finally came. We were waiting for you. Let’s cut the cake now.” I chirped and jumped to him, but he pushed me, and I stumbled into the living room corner. 

Did he…push me?

“Simi,” my sister exclaimed, hastening to my side, helping me up and checking if I was hurt. 

He awkwardly approaches Mumma, clutching a glass bottle in his hand - a detail I had missed earlier. Drawing closer, he yanks her hair, “Ek ladki kafi nahi thi, joh tune yeh dusri chudail paida kardi?” he bellows at my mother. 

[One girl was not enough for you, so you had to create this second witch.]

“Chhah saal… chhah saal se mujhe uski lagatar bak-bak sahna pada hai. ‘Baba yeh, baba woh,” he continued bitterly. “Sab teri wajah se,” he muttered, raising his hand and delivering a sharp slap. Mumma staggered, falling to the floor with a thud, a cut appearing on her forehead. 

[Six years… six years, I’ve endured her constant blabber. ‘Baba this, Baba that’. ]

[All because of you.]

I trembled at the sight ahead of me. Baba rasing hands on Mumma. 

“Baba, please stop,” I pleaded, my voice trembling with both fear and anger. “Please don’t hurt her.” 

But Baba’s eyes were clouded with anger and bitterness. He glared at me, his expression twisted with a mix of rage and frustration. 

He started to move towards me, his eyes filled with bloodshot rage. My mother, who was on the floor, instantly grabbed his legs and begged, “Please don’t do that. Leave her be. She is a child.” He shook his leg free and shouted, “Today, I’ll kill the reason behind all my sorrows.”

Baba swayed, in a drunken state, towards me, I stepped back and he continued his move toward me until I hit the wall. “Please, Baba, no,” I pleaded. 

But he didn’t pay heed to my plead. 

Without warning he lunges forward, his hands shooting with brutal force, he wraps his fingers around my throat, his grip tightening like a vice. 

Tears start to fall from my eyes at the sight of my father strangling me on my birthday. What have I done to earn this?

“Stop… please!” I choked out, my words barely audible as his hands cut off my air supply. 

But he consumed with his drunken fury, laughs maniacally, “Today, I’ll end it all,” he snarls, his breath hot against her face as he squeezes tighter. 

My mother and sister rushed to my rescue, their panicked pleas as they desperately tried to pry my father’s hands away from my throat. “Stop it, please! Let her go,” my mother’s voice cracked with fear, her hands trembling as she tugged at his arms. 

But he paid no heed to her prayers either. 

“Papa, please,” my sister’s voice quivered with fear as she bravely tried to plead with him, but he swung the bottle at her with savage force. 

“Stay away!” he bellowed, his eyes blazing with a terrifying intensity, yet his hands remained around my throat. 

He turned back to my mother, who stood frozen with shock and horror, her eyes pleading silently for mercy. “Stay away, if you don’t want to die like she will,” he snarled. The room was filled with the sickening sound of shattering glass as the bottle in his grasp crashed down upon my head. Pain exploded in my skull, and warm, sticky blood began to flow down my face, blurring my vision with crimson haze. 

Through the haze of agony, I could hear the gasping sobs of my mother and the anguished cries of my sister, their voices a desperate symphony of fear and helplessness. 

As my father’s grip tightened around my throat, cutting off my air, a surge of panic and desperation flooded through me. I reached out blindly, clawing at his arms, trying to pry his fingers away, but it was futile. 

In the final act of torture, he slashed out at my body wildly, the broken bottle in his hand becoming a deadly weapon. There was a sickening slashing sound as the jagged glass tore through the air and cut into my tender skin, slicing deep into my body.

A searing pain shot through me, and I cried out in agony as blood gushed from the wound, staining my dress a dark, crimson red. The room spun around me, the world tilting dangerously as I felt myself slipping away. 

I could see my mother and sister rushing towards me, their faces twisted with horror and grief. They tore at my father’s arms, pulling him away from me with desperate strength, but it was too late. 

The damage had been done; the monster that wore my father’s face had inflicted his final, devastating blow. As I lay bleeding and broken on the floor, my world faded into darkness, the echoes of my family’s screams ringing in my ears. 

All I had wanted was for my father to love me, to wish me and kiss me like my mother did. But here he was, a ruthless shadow of the man I had once believed him to be, choking the life out of me with his bare hands. 

All because he wanted a son.