Family Short Story – Recollection Of Pain
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From the very first moment of her life, I despised her. The negativity was so strong that I did not even care to spend a moment or two in naming her. I started addressing her by the first two syllables that came to my mouth. I started calling her ‘Aaree’.
During that phase of life, I had everything turned upside down. But there were two things that hurt me the most. First was the sight of Aaree. And second was the fact that I was addicted to smoking, for never before had I thought I could get addicted to something.
Aaree, as already indicated, was a reminder of my ruin. And the fact that she was nothing like me, killed me all the more.
When she was four and her tutor tried to make her write her first word, she preferred using her left hand instead of the right, just like her father used to. She would always make me think of him, and the urge to avoid her would simply keep growing.
She did not appreciate a game with toys; she had some strange playing habits. She liked playing with waste.
When she was five, she would sit by the dustbin each evening, and take out the cigarette packets thrown inside it. I would scold her for constantly reminding me of my addiction, and would try pulling her away. But she would cry, and I would leave. Leaving has always been easy for me.
By the time she was seven, I had quit smoking. But she still had the habit of sitting by the dustbin each evening. Once I asked, “I do not smoke anymore. There are no cigarette packets in the dustbin. Why do you still sit by it everyday?” She never answered, and simply continued with the act. One day she found a photograph there. She rushed back to me, and asked, “Who is the baby with you here? Is that me?”
It was the only photograph that featured us together. I had thrown it away in the morning. The picture reminded me of a day that I did not want to recall. I scolded her for bringing back my bad memories.
When she was eight, she brought a few letters back from the dustbin; letters that held a huge portion of my soul. I had written those to her father who left the world before she was born. Back then when I had conceived, we were going through a lot of stress. He said that we cannot have the baby, owing to our unfavorable circumstances. But I was not willing to abort it. When I stuck to my decision, his level of stress increased and he committed suicide. After a few days of his death, Aaree was born. I hated myself for being so adamant. I hated him for putting such hard times on me. And I hated Aaree too, for being the product of my adamancy. Aaree brought the letters back to me because she was too young to understand the content. I shouted at her for bringing my ache back to me.
Two years later, I was cleaning my cupboard and found a bracelet that my mother had given to me years ago. It reminded me of my sour relationship with my mother, who had abandoned me after I became the cause of my husband’s death. She had left me alone, saying that she had no intention of helping me with a problem that I had purposely burdened myself with. I decided to throw the bracelet away. In the evening, while messing with the dustbin again, Aaree brought it back to me. She had to withstand a heavy dose of my rage for that.
When she was twelve, I planned on sending her away to a boarding school. The night before her departure, she came to me and handed over a box. On opening it, I found a worn out cigarette packet, an old and dirty photograph, a few yellowed letters, and a forsaken bracelet. There was a note above them. In her not-so-beautiful handwriting, she had written, ‘I have heard that recollection of pain makes one strong. And keeping their reminiscences, stronger. So I have collected the reminiscences of your pain for you. Now I want you to recollect those moments. I want to see my mommy as a strong woman.’
I opened my mouth to say something, but I could only cry. On seeing me cry, she too started shedding tears. And crying with her is the best thing I have done so far. I held her, and the box, close to me. She was right, recollecting the pain and placing it close to my heart did make me feel better. Each time I had decided to do away with the reminders of my pain, to leave them and try walking without them, it only made me weaker. But on embracing Aaree and the other remains of my painful times, I felt whole again.
The memories of the moments that reek of pain, when held close, felt like an essential part of my being.
–END–
