Somewhere in this city, there lived a thirteen years old girl, Vibha with her mom and dad. Her family was one amongst those many other families living in the tall towers of the city which were perfect from the outside and rotten from the inside. Every night, around half-past nine, she would sit alone for dinner at the dinner table. Her mother would be busy tending to her father and her father would be busy being tended to.
Her father, like most fathers of the city, slogged for twelve hours outside and at home would find their own ways to numb the physical and mental pain of stagnation which the cities gave them at the end of the day. So, her father's way was a combination of deafeningly loud news channels with bottles of liquor. News channels were to divert their minds from the killing monotony of their own lives to the killing monotony of the world they lived in, and bottles of liquor to numb their spirits, so the death of their souls would be quiet and voiceless.
He seldom ate in the dining room, only when guests accompanied them. Otherwise, his routine dictated that he would come home around nine, would get freshen up, would sit on the edge of the bed, draw a table near him, switch on the bedroom TV and would just call out his wife ONCE.
On his cue, Vibha's mom would come out of the kitchen holding a wooden tray in her hands. In that tray, would lay an empty glass, ice tray, some munching and a premium bottle of liquor. She too, like Vibha's father would mechanically move around the house, carrying out her household duties.
When all this happened, Vibha would either fixate her eyes on the TV or would try to find escape in her school books. But no matter how much she tried, she would be at unease all the while, dreadfully waiting for that moment when her mother, upon finishing her dinner and household chores, would get inside the bedroom, bolt the door and lock it from inside.
Even laying on the bed in her bedroom, the sound of the master bedroom’s door lock would shake Vibha's being. What happened behind those closed-door, Vibha didn't know. Still, she would try extremely hard to stretch her tiny mind and gauge the possibilities. But her age acted as a limitation for her understanding.
However, only to a certain extent. Whatever little she could understand, it was enough to leave indelible, ugly scars on her tender mind.
At times, her curiosity would take the better of her and gingerly with fear in her mind, she would tiptoe to the master bedroom, trying to find some answers. One such night, standing outside the master bedroom, all she heard were hoarse, heavy grunts and painful suppressed shrieks.
Petrified to her last nail, she rushed to her room, locked her door, held a pillow to her mouth and left fearful cries. After crying for a considerable amount, exhausted, she slept.
The next morning, she would get ready for school, and sit on the dining table for breakfast. From there, she would see her mother, exhausted as ever, her eyes vacant, her being numb, carrying out the household chores like a machine. And stretching her neck towards the master bedroom, she would gaze at her father, who would be standing in front of the mirror, wearing crisp, spotless ironed clothes, getting ready to carry on with his routine, getting ready to add one more scathing night in Vibha’s childhood which would scar Vibha's tender soul, again and again ...
