chalte..chalte

Hi, My name is Sheila. This is my story. The story of my turmoil and irony.

Long back, I was born in a small village in Andhra. My parents did not have a child for long and so, when I was born, I was God's gift to their years of prayers. Unlike other people in my village of that time, it didnt matter to them that the child was a girl. And I think it is more to do with their nature than the fact that I was born after the extended wait.

My parents were quite well-educated for their times. I am sure they must have been a lovely couple. But I do not have any live memory of my father. I lost him when I was only 5 years young. His picture still stands majestically in my living room. Him in his police uniform. yes, he was a sub-inspector of police. He was an upright man. And he was murdered for his uprightness.

It was his 4th transfer in his early career. Just 2 days back, we had moved into the place.. a town in Andhra again. It seems he went on a raid on bootleggers. He went on a tip-off and didnt have the time to wait for the reinforcements. He went ahead and he did not return. After three days, his body was found in a well.. with a huge stone tied to his legs. It was a nightmare for my mum. Though I dont remember a wee bit, I can tell.

On hindsight we think somebody within the police department was involved too. They covered up the entire case as one of a suicide. We did not get any compensation or grievance redressal. And my mum or my uncles/relatives could not do much about it. First of all, they must have been too shocked to do anything. And then, those days there was no much forums to protest or voice one's grievance.

I grew up with my uncles. One of my uncles paid for our food and the other uncle paid for my studies.

[to be continued..]