Amma and Appa thought all their problems would be solved. They believed they would get money from the monster, marry Janani off, send me back to that hell, and live without any burden. But that night turned out to be a nightmare for all of us.
We waited for Janani to return home, but she never did. At first, Amma worried that she might have run into some trouble, so she tried waking Appa to go search for her. But he had passed out drunk after his little celebration. Amma kept calling Janani every five minutes, but her mobile was switched off. Finally, she sought the help of our neighbor aunty and her husband to go in search of her. They went to Janani’s company only to learn that she hadn’t even shown up for work that day.
Amma returned home at midnight, crying. I tried to console her, saying maybe Janani had gone to meet some friends and would return soon, but Amma cried hysterically. Akash fell asleep in the room, and I stayed awake the entire night with Amma, waiting for any word from Janani.
In the morning, I made tea and gave it to her. Just then, Appa woke up yawning. Amma rushed to him and screamed.
“Why did I even marry you? You ruined my life. It would have been better if I had stayed unmarried!” she cried.
Appa caught her hair in his fist, gritting his teeth. “How dare you shout in my face?” he growled.
Amma pushed him away, tied up her hair that had come loose from the bun, and wiped her tears, still raging at him while he glared back with fury.
“Janani didn’t come home last night!” Amma screamed, and quickly explained how she had gone out searching for her in the middle of the night. Appa’s face turned serious. His reputation in the village was at stake—people would taunt him, and nothing could be more humiliating than a missing daughter in the family.
Amma quickly got ready and left to meet Janani’s colleagues at the company, but none of them knew anything about her. Amma and Appa returned home dejectedly. Just then, Amma’s mobile pinged with a message. I opened it and froze. It was a wedding photo from a temple. Janani had sent it.
“Ammaaaaa!” I screamed and showed the picture to her.
Amma plopped onto the floor, hitting her forehead and bawling uncontrollably. Anger replaced her grief, fury at Janani for bringing shame to the family. By evening, the news had spread like wildfire—Janani herself had shared the wedding photo on her WhatsApp status.
Amma called Grandma, and she arrived the next day with the monster and Kavitha aunty.
“How could she do such a thing? Did she not think even once about the family? What will people say about her now? She has brought shame on all of us,” Grandma said, while Amma wouldn’t stop crying.
“She is no one to us. I don’t want anyone to take her name in this house from now on. She is dead,” Appa deadpanned. Everyone fell silent, as if agreeing with his words.
They stayed for two days, mourning over Janani—whom they now called “shame.” Finally, Grandma opened the topic of my college, and I immediately turned alert.
“Grandma, I don’t want to leave Amma alone here, so I’ll join a college in the nearby village. I’m not interested in engineering. I want to study law, and I can do that while staying here with Amma. I can also help her with the household,” I said. Grandma, being the kind woman she was, only sighed and said nothing.
The monster and Kavitha aunty exchanged a glance and then looked at Amma, waiting for her decision. I quickly sat next to Amma and held her hand.
“Amma, please let me stay with you here. I won’t burden you with anything. I’ll be obedient and help with all the work too,” I pleaded. Amma only hummed in response.
I sighed in relief, but the way she hummed felt different like there was something more behind it. I brushed the thought aside. That same evening, they returned to the city, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me, though Janani’s absence still weighed heavy on us.
Amma grew extremely quiet, and Appa left home only once to stock up on liquor. Since people were questioning him outside, he stopped going out and started drinking at home.
Amma slipped back into her usual household routine, but her silence bothered me. It wasn’t until two days later that I realized the real reason she had agreed to let me stay back with her.
That morning, I was helping her in the kitchen. I leaned against the wall and asked,
“Amma, it’s already late. Shall we go visit the college today or tomorrow for my admission?”
Amma slowly turned to me, her face carrying an expression that sent shivers through me.
“We let your sister study, and though we couldn’t afford her college, we still let her work and earn for herself and the family. And what did she do to repay us? She brought shame upon us. And now you want me to send you to college? What will you do then? You’ll find some boy, and we’ll have to face the same humiliation again.”
I shook my head frantically, denying her words.
“No, Amma, I would never do such a thing. I have ambitions, I want to become a lawyer. I will make you and Appa proud,” I pleaded, just as Appa entered the kitchen.
“She was calm and naïve, yet she dared to do this to us. And you, already a brat, always refusing everything we decide. Do you expect us to trust you? You are the reason we are suffering” he screamed.
Tears rolled down my cheeks, not from shame, but from anger. The audacity of this man to call me the reason for our struggles when all he ever did was drink and fight. I wanted to scream in his face that he was the true reason behind our misery, but instead, I shut my eyes and kept my mouth closed.
When I opened my eyes again, he was gone, and Amma had quietly gone back to her work.
“Amma, just once, trust me. I will never do anything that would hurt you. I have seen the pain you carried for years—do you think I would add to it? Please, Amma,” I begged.
She took a long breath before turning to me.
“Let’s assume I believe you. But where will the money come from for your admission? Do you think your father is earning, and I’m secretly stacking money in my wardrobe?”
Her words gave me a flicker of hope—money was the only problem now.
“Amma, you don’t have to pay much. Just try to cover the initial fee. I will apply for scholarships and return the money later.”
Amma dropped the ladle, tucked her saree pallu at her waist, and glared at me.
“Stop it, Meera. Don’t you understand the situation we are in? I don’t have any money. And even if I did, I have debts to pay. So give up this college dream. Start working at home. Prepare more pickles and papad. You had your chance when your uncle and Grandma called you, but you refused. Let this be the last time we speak of your college.”
Just like that, my dream of becoming a lawyer was erased from my life. I returned to the room and sat on the floor, staring at the bed Janani had left untouched. By afternoon, Appa entered with a locksmith and broke open Janani’s wardrobe. Amma and Appa searched every corner, only to find her clothes and an old photo of me, Janani, and Akash.
Fifteen days later, our neighbor aunty visited Amma and revealed that the man Janani married was working in a company, earning well, and that even his family had accepted her. Aunty had seen them in town—they looked happy together. Amma said nothing.
I, however, felt happy that Janani had found her peace. But nothing was the same at home.
Amma and Appa fought every single day over everything. The monster had eventually reduced the money he was giving Amma, so we had to manage with whatever little Grandma sent.
Six months passed since our lives turned upside down. Not that we had ever lived in luxury, but after Janani left, everything grew worse. I carried the household on my shoulders, helping Amma with pickles and papad, working tirelessly from dawn till night. My body ached constantly, and I couldn’t sleep because of the pain in my joints.
One evening, Akash was sitting in the hall with his notebooks. I sat beside him, flipping through the pages.
How happy I used to be when I had a chance to study, even while living in hell. And here he was, wasting the precious gift handed to him on a silver platter. Amma had so many dreams and hopes for him, but all he did was watch TV whenever he was home.
Suddenly, an idea struck me. I rushed to the backyard where Amma was.
“Amma, shall I teach students from home? I can earn some money to help you. Just two hours every day. I can teach well. Please, Amma,” I begged. To my surprise, she agreed.
I ran to the neighbors and told them I was starting tuition. I even asked Akash to tell his friends. For a whole week, no one came, and I hated myself, thinking I must be the unluckiest girl alive.
Then, one day, a lady from our street came with her two children, asking if I could teach them. I was over the moon and agreed instantly. For two hours, I could sit with books instead of being stuck in the kitchen.
Amma also dragged Akash to study from me. Two students became four, four became eight within a month. One of the students’ fathers worked as a gardener in the town college. I asked him if he could help me with admission. He told me the admission process was already over, but promised he would help next year if I saved some money.
I urged my students to bring more friends. In three months, I had 24 children. The hall became too small, so I began teaching on the terrace. Occasionally, Appa would stumble in drunk, and some parents threatened to stop sending their kids. I begged them to stay, promising to handle things. Whenever Appa came home drunk, I would lock him inside a room.
But saving money wasn’t easy. Amma took most of what I earned. Slowly, I began giving up hope of my future. The girl who once had the confidence to rebuild her life was fading away. What remained was only a replica of my mother.
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