Chapter ~17: Shrutika

I saw the envelop, tears pooled into my eyes.

It was the reply of my favourite singer ‘Harsh Rai Chopra’, Indias’ top most singer and producer.

Words weren’t coming out from my mouth.

I-I just got selected.

I was waiting for this opportunity, from 6 months. It’s like my dream come true.

I was about to touch the letter, to see, if it is actually real.

To my surprise, my father grabbed that envelop before me and questioned, “What is this, Shrutika?” He crushed the envelop, “How many time, I have to tell you, to stop wasting your time in this stupid stuff. Focus on studies.”

My throat was dry. My hands were itching, for that letter inside the envelop.

I never had a confidence, even to think that I would ever receive a letter form The Harsh Rai Chopra.

I never knew one stupidity could open, the golden door for me.

I collected my courage and said “Dad, please give me the envelop.”

“No!” mom shouted, “You are not having this letter.”

“PLEASE!” I begged, “I promise, I will study hard. I will score good this time. Just, please give me the envelop” I was about to cry, but I controlled myself.

My beloved brother was sitting on sofa with fake, worry, expression on his face.

My dad huffed, “Shrutika, we can’t let this distract you. You need to focus on studies only.” After saying this he tore the envelop into two pieces.

My heart stopped beating.

My dad threw those pieces on floor

I couldn’t balance myself on my both legs and I dropped myself on floor.

It was hard to breath.

Very hard.

My eyes were only on those pieces.

Mom, dad and bhai ran towards me. Bhai was rubbing my back, in order to calm me down.

Mom brought water and made me drink it.

Dad patted my head.

I can’t remember last time, when they showed this concern towards me.

“Why?” I asked, “Why you people do this to me, always? Why?” I was shattered. Every piece was screaming in pain.

Moving them aside I crawled toward the pieces. I slowly picked them up and read the proof of my selection.

It was the hand written letter, signed by my idol.

Harsh Rai Chopra, is the 62-year-old man, known for his simplicity, well known philanthropist. He is an orthodox person, use less technology. He believes that technology make us slave. Till this date he lives in small house, near the farm. He writes hand written letters only.

He wrote a letter to me but, my parents tore it.

They tore it!

They did not even care to ask me. They did not even let me read the handwritten letter by my idol.

“It’s not that big deal.” My dad scoffed.

“NOT. FOR. YOU. But was for me, it was important” My blood was boiling. Now that’s it.

“BEHAVE!” Mom shouted.

 “SHUT UP!!!” I snapped. “Don’t you dare tell me how to behave when you yourself don’t know how to do it properly!”

“Shrutika!” Dad called my name in disbelief.

Oh! He never thought, even in his dreams, that his puppet daughter, who listen his every command without any objection, now will open his mouth and reply back.

I always try, try and try only to satisfy them. My dream was to make my parents proud. But they always find something better, to compare me with and ignore my hard work. So, eventually I gave up.

Every time they use to taunt me, ignore me but today they crossed every limit. They took my most precious thing from me.

“I wish,” I paused and looked at my parents, in their eyes, “I wish, I was dead on the day I was born.”

Horror filled into their eyes.

“For an envelope?” both spoke.

“You people never get it.” I pause and looked at my mom, “Let me ask you, mom, what have you done when I was insulted in front to whole class, because of my first menstruation?” Then I looked at dad and ask “Tell me the day when you didn’t compare me with others?”

They were looking like they have eaten a whole lemon.

I laughed loudly, suddenly everything was looking funny to me.

I shushed myself and said “Ok! Easy question for both of you.” I paused “Tell me what do I eat most or like to eat most.” I read their expression; it was clear that they don’t know “Do you know what I fear most?” I asked once again.

They didn’t reply. How could they, when they knew nothing about me?

“You know nothing about me and you call yourself my parent. Hmm. Funny, isn’t it?” I smiled and get up from floor, and walked toward room.

Everything was so lifeless.

I was feeling so empty.

I locked the door.

I sat in front of mirror and put the letter pieces inside the drawer safely. Then looked myself in mirror.

Where did I lack?

Where was I wrong?

I remember the days, when I use to sit in front of mirror wiping my tears motivating myself up, to work hard and hard and make my parents proud by saying ‘I can do it.’

I was too obsessed to see that they never cared, not matter how much I do.

At last, the person who cares the most, is always cared by none.

I touched my reflection on mirror.

Am I that bad?

I badly want to break everything around me, if I did, it would be my fault.

Everything is my fault.

I was the fault.

Everything ruin because of me.

They are right.

I am not worthy to dream.

I will do as they say now.

I get up and open my closet. I moved my clothes aside and pick out a box.

I walk a few steps and sat down on floor.

I open the box, to bury one more dream in it.

I brought the tore letter and put it inside the box, along with the death bodies of my other dreams, letters and cards.

I want to cry but my tears were empty so do my soul now.

I asked more than I should have. I should have known my limits.