I don’t think I will ever be able to forget that night.

How can a 13-year-old girl forget the night when she woke up in the middle of the night to find someone’s tongue in her mouth? My heart started beating rapidly when I realized that it was my father who was doing this to me.

I am 24 now but I still struggle with the memories of that night. Some memories linger all through our lives. Sometimes a particular song reminds us of someone or something. Maybe something significant had happened to us that day when we were listening to that song. So we will always feel happy when we listen to it. And the next time we listen to the same song we will cherish this new moment of our life.

But not all memories are good. Every time someone touches me, the memories of all those nights start flooding my heart and mind and a shiver runs down my spine.

I felt like shouting that night. At least that is what I should have done that night. But I kept my mouth shut. Or should I say that he kept my mouth shut? And the next morning he was smiling at me when he said, “Beta, neend kaisi aayi?”  I didn’t know how to respond to that question – with rage? With anger? With a slap on his face? Or with a smile on my face? Or just ignore the question?

I chose the last option. That was the day I learnt to hide my pain behind my smile.

A lot of such moments happened with me and my elder sister but we always protected our little sister.

That’s all we could have done.

We didn’t raise our voice against him. We didn’t tell our mother. We didn’t go to any NGO or the police or ask anyone to help us out. How do you trust someone else when your own father finds ways to touch you in the places that have not even grown fully as yet?

How do you trust someone else if your own father – who is the reason for your existence on this earth tries to f*ck you?

I could never trust anyone after that. We never let him put his little thing inside us. Neither me nor my elder sister. But we sure as hell felt it against our bodies. He would touch our b*obs time and again.

This is what he once told my sister, “Tum bas lete raha karo…I will do the rest.”

I can’t even express the feelings that we felt at such times. We were horrified to hear such things from our own father. But we were lucky because he used to come to us only once a week. I always tried my best to be awake the whole night. I would keep the lights on saying that I had to study because I knew if I turned the lights off, that monster’s hand would enter my blanket. I was 13 or 14 years old at that time but I did everything I could to protect myself.

I couldn’t raise my voice like some independent woman. I couldn’t go to my mother and tell her that her husband had tried to f*ck me.

Yes - these were the kinds of thoughts that crossed my mind when I was 13 years old.

Only one thing stopped me. Fear – fear of losing my mom.

I know my mom would have died if she came to know about it. So I kept mum. I avoided being in the same room with him. I avoided being alone with him. Today I feel bad because all I had done at that time was AVOID him.

I am 24 now. I live in a different city now because of my job. But I still can’t sleep at night. The memories continue to haunt me even today. When I go home after 2 or 3 months – I never allow my father to even hug me.

He understands our reactions now so he also abstains from doing all that now. But even after 10 years those moments still haunt my mind. They keep replaying themselves in my mind. Those sleepless nights still haunt me.

I can see the tired eyes of a little girl wanting to sleep. I can see those monstrous hands approaching my body. I can see that evil smile of his every morning.

I have always heard of a father being the superhero in his daughter’s life. I knew other fathers were always around to protect their daughters. But who could protect me from my own father? I don’t think anyone can ever protect me from all the poisonous memories that he gave me – because I never allow anyone to come that close to me. I have not been able to trust anyone so far.

Some people say that I am cold and rude because I don’t let people in. I don’t think I will ever be able to do that.

Every time I see my father's face – every time I have to respect him in social gatherings – there is a void in my heart. A void which reverberates with the silent screams of a 13-year-old girl. A void that remains a void because my desire of being loved by my father as a little girl - as a daughter – was never fulfilled.

Yes, my story is difficult to digest but it is a true story and believe me when I say this – it is a censored one. I still see his face in my dreams every single night.

But I beat him to death in my dreams at least and feel happy about it because I could never do so in reality.

Sometimes I laugh when I read #papakipari #girls want their husbands to be like their fathers #papamyhero #papamybestfriend etc. Actually, I don't laugh. I feel as if my heart is longing for something. There is a strange ache in heart and I wish I could delete those memories from my mind. At least that way I will be able to sleep properly at night. It's been a decade since I slept without any fear in my heart…..

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