No, I have not just put this up because I want to grab eyeballs. No, I’m not some attention seeking drama queen. And no, I’m not a psychopath either. So, before you start judging me already, I’ll get started on an incident that destroyed my childhood and left me scarred for life.
I was 8 years old. Born and brought up in a small family, my Dad’s little princess and the apple of my Mom’s eye. They provided me with the best of everything and to me, the world was just perfect. Every year, we used to spend the winter vacations at my dad’s native village, a quaint little place nestled among the hills. We used to stay at my grandfather’s place, which to put it simply, was huge, as he was the principal of the local ‘madrasa’ (a school for Islamic education). It was every child’s dream. Both my grandparents used to pamper me a lot and I absolutely loved going there.
That winter was no different but what happened then would forever be etched in the deepest recesses of my mind. I was jumping up and down in excitement by the time we reached. We had lunch and I developed a little stomachache. So I went and lied down with my head in my dad’s lap. He was lounging on a cot along with my grandfather. My grandfather asked me what had happened and why did I look so sad. On finding out that my stomach was hurting, he pulled me towards him under the covers and said that he was going to make it all right.
With the innocence of an 8 year old girl, I happily went and hugged him, completely oblivious to what was in store for me next. It took years for me to understand what actually happened and each time this memory crops up with its details as vivid as if it only happened yesterday, it disgusts me to the core.
The moment I lied down next to him, he started rubbing my tummy and telling me that I was going to feel better. I happily obliged. Slowly, I felt his hand making a downward movement. He put it under my top and then started tugging at the waistband of my jeans. I felt confused. It was my tummy that was hurting. Why was he pulling my clothes out? And then, I found him touching my vagina and inserting his fingers in it. I had tears in my eyes and was scared beyond my wits. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing but what I did know was that it felt very wrong and violating. My dad had no clue as to what was going on and he was happily chatting up my grandfather who I fondly called ‘dada abba’. When I felt the pain as he tried to insert another finger, I couldn’t take it anymore. I got up and ran away crying.
My dad came after me asking if it was hurting too much and if I wanted to visit a doctor. All I could do was hug him and cry. I didn’t have the courage to tell him the real reason behind my tears. For one thing, I didn’t even know what had happened. I never mentioned a word of it to either of my parents. I was scared. I didn’t want to imagine the re-percussions this revelation might cause. As years passed, I suppressed this memory and avoided being anywhere near my grandfather at all costs. He suffered from two strokes and a paralysis attack and came to live with us. By this time, his memory was addled; he couldn’t even carry the basic functions of life and had turned into a helpless old man who had no clue about the world around him. Everyone pitied him and my mom did everything to take care of him.
Unknown to everyone, each time I saw him, I loathed him and wanted him to die, to get out of my sight, to stop serving as a living reminder of what he had done to me. And I’m not proud when I say this but I smiled when my mom told me over the phone that he had passed away. I was living in a hostel by then. I didn’t go back for his funeral. I was finally at peace that I would never have to see that face again.
This is not the only incident of sexual molestation at home and I’m not the only one who has faced it. It has taken me 14 years to finally open up about it and I still lack the courage to share it with my parents. I just wish they had been more forthcoming to me regarding sexual education and the difference between a good touch and a bad touch and I hope someone, somewhere takes a lesson from it after reading this and ensure that none of their near and dear ones have to go through something as harrowing as this at such a tender age.
Note: Image used in this post is only for representational purpose.
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