Beta… Bas ek baar.

And with these words, I would be taking into a room, the door would be locked behind me and my father would start… again.

Again and again and again.

My father would come and do this while I was asleep sometimes too; some nights, I would wake up, but others, I slept through. There were times when he would do these things in front of my mom too, sometimes he would use a bedsheet, sometimes, he wouldn’t.

I would think to myself, do all father’s do this to their daughters? I was too small to understand what was happening. And I was too immature because my mom was uneducated and unaware.

My first real memory of this was from when I was nine years old. If it happened before that, I don’t remember. And I always thought that this was something that fathers do.

During the day, he’d behave normally around me, as if nothing was different between us. And since my mom was always a little lost, she didn’t realize what was happening to me. I’d like to believe that she didn’t realize, the latter would be a difficult thought to bear. My father was a defence officer. He had worked hard to reach where he had; considering the fact that he was from a village, he was proud of himself.

And if either I or my sister did something that he didn’t like, he would give us long lectures about how we would never be able to achieve anything in this world with the attitude that we had. He was also a very strict man. We were petrified of him, especially if we got bad results in exams. We would hide these results from him, but he always found out. At times, he would beat us too. We would beg him to stop, promise him that we wouldn’t do so badly the next time. And just like that, at night, he would find himself in my bed.

When I was 12 years old, I finally had a word for what my father was doing to me. He was raping me.

I thought I should tell someone, but I didn’t have the courage to do this.

We were three sisters and at the time, he was the only earning member. He was our only provider, I was scared that if I said something, he would punish the rest of my family. I was so embarrassed to be around him; when I was going through puberty, he would raise my arms to check if I had hair growing. Or when he asked me questions like why my breasts hadn’t developed yet? He would stroke my underdeveloped breasts, every night, always waiting for me to fall asleep first.

As I grew older, I would beg him to stop doing this. To stop touching me the way he would. But all he would say is, ‘Sorry beta…’ and continue. One day, I threatened to jump off the balcony, but he none of this stopped him. I began sleeping with the door locked. But he told me not to, and I listened to him.

At times, I wondered why I had to continue living a life like this. I didn’t have any answers then, I don’t have any answers now. Today, I’m married and have a beautiful daughter. I have a normal relationship with my parents. I don’t have an option, we’re from a middle-class family and I don’t want our family image to get ruined because of this.

Today, I am married into a lovely family that understands and values women. I’ve understood what it’s like to truly have a ‘normal’ family. I’m still haunted by these memories and I know that the incident has affected my life and performance as a student. But I haven’t been able to get the confidence that I need to grow out of this shadow.

I don’t have any affection for my father, to me, he’s my mother’s husband, that’s all. At times I wish I just killed him, or pushed him off the balcony, or called the police… but I didn’t want to do that to my mother. I couldn’t.

I believe in God, and I know that he has his fate lined out for him. I know he will face the consequence of his actions, one day. I believe in God, he’s gifted me the most beautiful family and husband. And I am thankful to him for my present life.

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