It all happened so long ago, I remember only glimpses of it. Like a two-part, 10 second GIF.

Today, I’m 24 years old and live in Mumbai. I’ve got a great job in an IT company and I’m moving to Australia in four-five months for my Masters.

As a child, I grew up in a middle-class world, and yet, my father made sure that I went to the best school. Here, I played all the sports that I could, I even went to VIT for engineering.

Do you believe that the brain has a way to block out painful memories; and lets it flood you only when are physically and emotionally strong to deal with it?

As I said, the memory that I have, it feels like a two-part, 10 second GIF.

My dad is known for this temper; from everyone at home, his friends, to everyone he worked with, was terrified of it. But no one knew my dad like I did, he was an emotional guy and honestly, would give his left hand for me!

Before I tell you about my memory, I must tell you about our main door back home which was on the second floor of a lovely apartment in New Delhi. It was a wooden, rusted door and I was fascinated by the sound that it made every time someone opened it. And so, as a habit, whenever the bell rang, I would run to the door, with an adult close behind me, and open it with a smile on my face.

One day, I was around 4-5 years old, and the bell rang. This is the first part of the two-part GIF:

It was a lazy afternoon, and a holiday, from what I remember. As I said, the bell rang, and I ran straight to the door. I was, of course, a few seconds late, as I saw, to my horror, that my dad’s brother had opened the door before me. In a rage of anger, I started crying and ran straight at my chacha. I even tried to kick him, of course, I was only four and barely reached his thighs. But I tried my best.

And now, the second part of the two-part GIF:

I am furiously crying and have just understood that I’m hanging upside down, off our balcony, which as I said, was two floors high. My dad is holding me by my legs and all I can see is the anger on his face and the genuine fear in my chacha’s eyes. My chacha was yelling and telling my father to get me down, it felt like hours, but he finaly did.

Soon enough, with school, college, new friends and all, this memory began dissolving deep inside of me. Until now, I’m getting flashes of what happened that afternoon, and sometimes, it sends shivers up and down my spine.

Now, I’m planning to leave for Australia soon, but I am conflicted: a part of me wants to talk to my parents about the incident. But another is unsure of how to even open up about this with them.

My father will break if he realizes that I remember this part of our lives. I am sure of this. I’m seriously confused about how to handle this.

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