Being that girl

There was a girl- a girl who existed. She had wonderful parents, ones who spent quality time with her as she grew up. But, they NEVER understood that, it was their time she needed, “quality time’ was NOTHING to her.

A year into her life, she had another companion for her, a sweet little angel like sister, and trust me, her first memories of cuddling her newborn sister was the happiest one she remembered in her 17 year old life. But, sadly her sister grew up to be very much different from her, a beautiful pampered little creature, who didn’t care for her elder sister. Infact, she was ashamed of her elder sister and often in school bus, and birthday parties told other 6 year olds that the girl standing in the corner wasn’t actually her real sister; only an adopted one; picking up the story from a soap opera she used to watch with her nanny. The girl was aware of it, but still, she adored her kid sister no end; always doing her homework for her and getting her school projects ready.

She always wanted to be like her little sister, beautiful, famous and admired. No, she wasn’t jealous; she just wanted to be like her, to be with her. Her parents were too busy in their worlds to think about them and by the time she was 12, her dad decided o pack her off to another school.

It was not much of a problem for her for she hardly had any friends in her school, but only issue she had was leaving her sister behind. But, her sister was anything but happy to get rid of her, to be alone. To be free from the burden of a useless elder sister.

The girl moved on to her new school. Here nobody knew her, and the prejudice she had faced all her life was suddenly gone. She wasn’t anybody’s failure elder sister here, she was just another newcomer girl. And they for once started loving her.

She was good at writing and soon found herself in the literary club , and got published in her school magazine. She was still an introvert and one fine day in her English class, her teacher decided to pick her up.

‘Recite the poem on page 35’, he said.

The girl was hesitant. She stood up, and when she finished, her whole class was in awe. For, she for sure had that captivation in her voice. That year, she was nominated for the cluster level debates and then moved on to the nationals. And it was here faced her greatest fear , of facing her sister. The ultimate idol, the one who had hated her all life.

She wasn’t fearful of losing, for she was sure of that, but she was afraid of making her sister ashamed of her yet again. The inferiority complex was crippling and she half decided to quit. But then, something strange happened.

She saw a pair of eyes looking up to her ; eyes pleading to her to give it a try that one last time. With tears in her eyes, she turned away from the mirror and walked up to the stage. She didn’t wait for the results to be declared, for she was sure , that she proved herself useless again.

She hated herself for embarrassing her sister, her family. Crying, she ran into the wash room, closing the door behind her. The mirror reflected her weeping self, her loser self and the thing she was ashamed of- her scarred face. The scar which made her such a loser, the scar which made her sister hate her. The scar which has scarred her life, her dreams, her heart. She was angry

Back to the past.

She remembered the day so well. It was a rainy morning when she and her sister were ferried off to school in a cycle rikshaw. She was 5 then, in kindergarten and her sister 4, was still a nursery kid. It was then playfully, her sister tried dancing and almost moving on to the tip and she in the attempt to save her, tumbled over ,crushing into a pile of stone chips on road side and the rickshaw running over her. And her face, was marred for life. More than that, it scarred her life.

‘Shreya sahay’ her name boomed on the microphone, bringing her back into senses; or whatever that was left of her. ‘Shreya sahay’, our new national champion. But our girl sat there lifeless and numb on the washroom floor. The floor was red. Her wrists, slashed.

It took another scar on her wrist on wipe way that scar on her face. And oh yes, it took her life too.