Meera

My name is Meera. I am 13 years old. I live in this dingy two rooms that we call home with my two sisters, mom and dad. I hate my dad. I am not sure whether I love my mom or not. And my sisters are only good to me if I don't hit them too hard. My dad works in a stupid book shop keeping records of books. And my mom works as a housekeeper in a rich woman's house who is a widow. We live not so happy life but we go to better school.

I am usually silent, both at home and school. At home I think of school and at school of home. But the things I think of would never be pleasant one. At school I feel alienated maybe because I do not talk and laugh. I prefer silence. And my friends do not prefer me because I am silent. They play and I watch. They laugh and I simply smile. Things have always been this way. It became my routine. And more and more I stayed with my own self.

Everyday when I got ready for school I made sure that I looked clean and tidy. I had obsession to look clean. Neatly made plaits, clean uniform and shining shoes. To look clean had been my obsession maybe because I did not want to carry the smell and memories of my home to school. I did not want my friends to know how I lived. Maybe I kept silent at school because I had nothing to say to their liking. They talked of TV shows but we had no television. I listened to their unfathomable stories with awe and agony.

I ate lunch alone and walked home alone. Slowly I began to prefer silence and loneliness rather than uncomfortable company of people around.

I would get home sweaty and tired. My sisters would already be home in their dirty clothes playing on yellow sand. I would never think of my mom and dad and never get anxious about when they will return home. And I did not care either. I did not even care to have lunch or prepare lunch for my sisters. They never asked either. I would not want to do my homework until it got dark. I do not know why I always hated daylight. I would sit on a porch till twilight approached. Then I would go for making paper boats or playing with colours. They gave me peace of mind. I would fix something to eat before my mom and dad got home because if I don't I am sure to get a hard blow on my head. Image of dad would come with painful hit on my head and image of mom would come with a loud slap across my face. Sometimes I wished they would never come home. At home mom and dad always had a fight, I do not know over what issue. And we would get so scared that we three would huddle up close together in a corner and watch until it was all over. On these days the food remained cold and untouched and all slept on empty stomach.

My sisters would always get hold of something to play with. But I hated everything around me. I started to get aloof from everything. And the more I was to myself the more I detested life. There were no picnics and no outings. No birthday celebrations and no movies. No feasts and no guests. And no kisses from mom and dad.

Someday when my dad would hit me hard for no particular reason I would have a strong desire to kill him. I would not shout and cry out loud but wipe my tears silently in rage. The rage grew more powerful day by day. I hated the way he looked at me. Hated the sound he made when he ate. Hated the way he walked and the way he dressed. His sneer and angry face would take me out of my mind and I would boil hot in my head, unable to do anything. The desire to kill got stronger. When I was chopping vegetables I would focus on the blade of knife and think that the blade was not sharp enough.

The desire to hurt got stronger. It got carried to school as well. I would clench my teeth and fists harder to resist the urge to push down those I detested. I would want to slap and kick, hit and kill.

I did not know where that rage came from that was weighing me down. But that rage was never turned into action but was boiling inside me. Sometimes I would let out my anger over my sisters, hitting them for no particular reason, till they ran out of breath. I would hit them with a huge log and smash their head with stones. At night mom would see them hurt and I would get hit in return. I would crawl under the foul smelling blanket with my gums bleeding and legs swelling and in empty stomach. Those beatings did not hurt me at all. I would clench my teeth hard, take a deep breath, nose flaring, eyes wide and there would be no pain. Just boiling rage.

Today my rage took hold of me. I want to move away from all these bloody stuffs. I had kept many things bolted up inside me and now its piling over and getting heavy. Its getting darker. Twilight is approaching and I am walking from streets to fields, from meadows to hills. Now I am here on top of this mountain standing on this huge rock. My legs hurt. Sun is setting on the far horizon. I look up at the sky. There is a single dimly lit star. I close my eyes and jump off.