InvincibleShe Year Book | Page 16

In 1998 when I was in 9th grade, my sister became sick. She was suffering from tuberculosis of the intestine – but this got diagnosed much later. In the first few months, there were endless trips to multiple doctors, and no one could make out what she was suffering from. She missed school, and she lost weight. Her disease ravaged her body, and creeped into her muscles, sinew and bones. Sometimes, she’d writhe about in pain, and if you touched her to comfort her, she’d cry out in pain. I helplessly watched as she started to fade away. My mum struggled with work, home and my sister’s health. My dad could not be bothered. One night, when my sister was whimpering in pain, he screamed at her and wished her dead. I protested, berating him for his lack of sensitivity. He tore up my history course book. My eyes welled up, and I honestly wanted to hit him. One night, he almost hit my sister, and I turned on him, and pummeled him with my little fists – trying to get him away from my sister. I hated him so much. Not even my sister’s illness could make him refrain from drinking.

Once my sister’s condition was correctly diagnosed, her treatment started. Yet recovery was slow, and painful. She’d get shots every day for two straight months. It was a difficult time for us – my maternal grandpa died during that time, and it seemed that the world had moved from under our feet. Dad was worse than ever – he’d now started to skip work, and to drink in the mornings as well. I’d come back from school, and naturally start to look for hidden empty alcohol bottles. And, once I’d find those, I’d fly into a rage, and would begin a tirade that had no end.

Few months down the line, my sister was in a better shape. I was now in 11th grade. In the autumn of 2000, mum and dad decided to travel to Puri. Puri is a quaint town in the state of Orissa, and is known for its pristine beaches, and the famous Jagannath Temple. We were traveling with another family, friends of my parents, and their kids. Dad was not drinking, and was, therefore a regular Dr. Jekyll instead of Mr. Hyde.

One evening while the others were sitting inside one of the beachside shacks, I strolled out to the beach, and walked into the sea. The endless stretch of blue beckoned to me – its seeming calm lulling me into entering its depths, promising me a sense of peace and tranquility. My heart urged me to walk deeper into the treacherous calm – the calm that hid currents deep within. My head said, sharply – “No! You don’t know how to swim. You will sink.” I stalled, and went into deep thought. I put myself in dad’s shoes. He’d probably steered towards alcohol in the beginning because he’d have thought it offered him a brief respite from the day’s toils. He must have been drawn to the deep amber of the liquid, and he’d have thought – “Just a sip – it will calm my frayed nerves.” Little did he know that the small sip of whiskey would turn out to be so deceitful, like poison ivy, trapping him. Just like the sea that beckoned me now, the sea with its deep flowing currents.

A fisherman walked towards me, his face troubled as he saw me walk further into the sea. He stopped beside me, and asked me if I was a Bengali. I nodded in the affirmative. He asked me if he could tell me the story of the blue whales that visited often. Before I could say a word, he’d launched into a story of how, if you looked far out into the horizon, you could see the blue whales breaching. The tale seemed fantastic. And, it brought me back from the edge of a precipice. And, something just snapped into place inside of me.

To the Moon and Back

16

" I helplessly watched as she started to fade away. My mum struggled with work, home and my sister’s health. My dad could not be bothered."