I must have been under 5 years of age when I first heard the word ‘divorce’. It meant nothing to me and my father being a lawyer, it was a regular go-to in the household. But when it turned from being ‘theirs’ to ‘ours,’ I cannot remember. I was too young to even comprehend the concept of my parents in different homes. And why would they be? This is how parents are supposed to be, right? TOGETHER. Everyone else’s were. I recall my father coming home one day after a long day of work and how I cried in desparation before him asking, ‘If you both don’t stay together, who will I live with?’
These were my concerns at 4.
I am 20. I still live under the same fear.
Last year in May, I started getting involved in spirituality. During the lockdown, with so much time to reflect, I realised I was unhappy. I had just suffered a breakup and was still very much in love with and emotionally dependent on my partner. I began reading up about detachment, surrender, not taking things personally, living in the moment but it all led me to understand one thing- the offended had become the offender. I was a reflection of my father, carrying him into every facet of my life. I was egotistical, immature, dramatic, and almost entitled to people and their time. I would often throw tantrums in fits of rage and not apologise because I never let the guilt get to me. But after a past failed relationship with an emotionally (and sexually) abusive boyfriend, and seeing how I was becoming exactly that which my mother and I had spent our lives fearing, I decided to change.
For as long as I can remember, I have feared speaking in front of my father. Asking him questions. I give him credit for where it’s due, he financially supported my mum and I unflinchingly but an emotional connect was always absent. I grew up with a negligent parent who made me resent people with functional families.
For a year now I have struggled with myself. My mind keeps telling me I am not good enough and I keep sliding back to an unknown depression and desparation of being helpless. I try to accept me but there is just too much childhood blockage yet to be washed away for me to be pure and happy again. But the process is on.
I am losing my train of thought in all this emotion but why I write this today is because last night, I was thrown out of my house, barefooted at 10:30 in the night amidst a lockdown with, ‘If you get stuck in prostitution, we won’t save you,’ hurled at me. He even phoned my bua (aunt), my only relation in Delhi, to not take me in or else he’d cut all ties with her. But the begging for mercy stops here. An institutionalised and scared mother always taught me to endure, to be ‘wise’ but I understand now that sometimes being silent is not the most powerful way to say something. Sometimes, you have to raise your voice. You have to raise a riot. I have almost called the police on my father once before, and I would do it again. My financial dependance should not and WILL NOT be used as a weapon against me.
I have decided to start earning. To further support my education, which he categorically refused to pay for, since I really enjoy what I am doing and to make a stable future for myself and my brother. I might write more on this in the future but for now, I am grateful I get to be alive and find courage within me to stand up against what is objectively wrong. I am safely at my aunt’s place now and will attempt to write everyday. But not sob stories, hopefully more colourful and sharp poems or anecdotes like my mom does. Please do keep engaging with my content and letting me know what you might want to read next, as this will go a long way in earning whatever little I can through this medium.
On to the next chapter of me. Cheers.

Also, I would really like to thank Mr. Ravi for gifting me this membership so I can turn to this community and safe platform in a time of need. Eternally grateful.

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Viveka Goswami

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