When I was young, a priest predicted that by the time I'll turn 18, I'll start hating my family and turn against them. I remember drawing, as a young child, a picture of my family with pure love. Back then, I could never imagine hating my family. Fast forward my life to the present: I hate them, even though I can do anything for them. Here's why:

When I was young, I often saw my father beat my mother blue and black.

As I grew up, I was also beaten up, so much so that my face would swell up, even though it wouldn't be damaged otherwise. This, according to my parents was only normal.

My mother too gave all her love and attention to her son, my brother. I don't even remember the last time she held me in her arms and hugged me or the last time she kept a loving hand on my head or gave me an oil massage - all the things that my brother never lacked in.

No, my parents weren't poor or illiterate. In fact, they held good government positions. It was their orthodox thinking that eventually turned me against them.

To make things worse, as my brother grew up, he too started beating me. Sometimes he would even hit me with his bat or kick me in the stomach. But this was also taken lightly by my parents. They would only scold him a bit, and if I would demand more punishment for him, they would tell me, " Maar toh nhi denge na bete ko." (Now we won't kill our son, for you) I expected my mother to support me, at least. But soon, I realized she was the one who would often provoke my brother into beating me. He would beat me and abuse me verbally if I would even shout at him, but my parents till expected me to tie him a rakhi.

I remember one time, when my brother had hit me so bad that I couldn't even walk. I wanted to call the police, but to my horror, instead of taking a step against my brother, my father only assured him that he need not worry and everything would turn out fine, as he had contacts in the ministry.

While defending myself from him, I had scratched him. My mother lay him on her lap and tended to his wounds, all the while abusing me for scratching him.

But this isn't the real reason why I detest my brother. I hate him because of his cowardice and his nastiness. I had a cousin who sexually molested me when I was in 9th grade. I was aware of what was happening to me, but at that time I felt nothing about it, neither bad nor good, nothing at all. I thought he had made a mistake as we all had had drinks that night. That was the first time I had alcohol, because my cousin had insisted I try it.

Although after my experience that night, I swore never to drink with anyone, again. As I grew older, that night kept haunting me, till one day I realized that I had been a victim of attempt to rape. When this incident had happened, I was a naive child but my cousin was a married man. But, I continued thinking that it wasn't a deliberate attempt on his part, for he was under the influence of alcohol too. I thought I should just forget the whole incident and not share it with anyone. Then, one day, my mother forced me and my brother to visit my cousin's house.

I was reluctant. I fought, argued, cried and begged with her to let me stay back but she forced me to go. My cousin, once again, served us alcohol. I resisted it, but because his wife was also present there, I agreed on taking one drink. He made a cocktail, without my knowledge. But I was still in my senses and understood from his actions that he was trying to make a move. I locked myself in their washroom, because my brother was drunk and out and I had no other escape. Throughout this, my boyfriend kept texting me and helped me remain sane. On my way back home, I cried because I knew what my cousin's intentions had been. 

Again, I kept quite because his advances came to nothing. One year later, my cousin started sending me obscene texts on WhatsApp. It was the final straw and I just lost it. I told my brother everything that had happened in the past and showed him the messages. To my disappointment, he asked me not to tell our parents anything, for then they would come to know that we had taken alcohol, that night. Then, he asked me not to disturb him and let him watch an old cricket match on the TV. Few days later, I found that he continued talking and hanging out with the same cousin as if nothing had happened. That day, I lost all respect for him.

When I was young, I used to harm myself to escape the emotional pain. When my mother discovered about it, she said,"log kya kahenge" and kept taunting me about cutting myself.

The only person who has been with me throughout it all is my boyfriend. He is my best friend and my guardian. He protects me like a brother and takes care of me like a mother. He has never taken advantage of me in the past many years of our relationship and still wants to preserve my virginity for our wedding night. I never knew that I was in depression due to which I used to harm myself. He made me respect myself and taught me how to love myself unconditionally. Instead of venting out on my self, I have now started venting out on my family. I only argue and reply to them, but they continue to abuse and hit me.

I love my boyfriend and will soon marry him after we've both settled down in life. I just want you to know that I love you, V. Thank you for giving me a ray of hope in my colorless life. Thank you for filling me with love. I love you a lot. In fact, I love my family too! I keep trusting them and they keep hurting me but I don't think any child can ever really hate his/her family. I may not hate them, but I sure as hell do not respect them.

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