Kapoor Uncle & Summi Beta | Short Story

Hello everyone. We all tell our kids/ younger ones to not talk to strangers, that the outside world is not as safe as one’s own house. But is our house really as safe? Think once again. And think hard, for it may not always be the case.

Here’s a short story I wrote today, on similar lines. Feel free to share your views in the comments section below. 

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They taught me to fear the dark. But they forgot to mention what happens in the light.

I don’t remember how exactly it started. Because now when I look back, everything’s a blur. Like a nightmare spread across so many months that I don’t even know how and where to begin from.

Life until I was 12 years old was sorted. School, T.V., Games, Homework and Friends. Just like it is supposed to be, for any 12 year old. My mother would never fail to remind me that the outside world was not as safe as one’s own house. So not to be playing outside post sunset. Not to interact with strangers. To fear the dark. And all that regular stuff, you know.

And then I hit puberty.

My body started taking shape, and it no longer was a straight plank. My chest started swelling, the hips started taking shape. Some pimples too popped up on my right cheek. Boys started noticing me. I saw them check me out at times. And that didn’t make me feel very good.

But menstrual pain was the worst. I skipped school for good 3 days every month and cringe with pain in my mother’s lap. I don’t know how the world tackled its periods. I was definitely not exceling at it.

One afternoon the doorbell rang. I ran to open the door and seeing the person standing, a long lost familiar fear struck me. I just stood there, at loss of words with all the unpleasant memories that came rushing, almost suffocating me to a slow death.

It was Kapoor uncle. My father’s close friend for many years now. He left India 3 years back to set up his business in Singapore. “What is he doing here, after all these years”, I wondered. He looked at me and smiled. I know he knew my thoughts very well, but being the bad-ass that he is, he said “How are you Summi Beta? What a grown up you are now! Won’t you rush into my arms today?”   

With a frown on my face that I made no attempts at hiding and my heart thudding in panic, ready to break-free from my ribs, I ran back to my room, calling out to my mother to check on the guest. I stayed in the room for the next two hours and did not dare open when my father knocked twice. I think he must have thought I fell asleep or was acting nuts for no reason.

While my mother was serving freshly fried pakodas and Ginger Tea to all, and my father going ga-ga on meeting his old friend, excitedly catching up on the events and years, I was in my room, hugging my panda tightly and sobbing in fear.

Kapoor uncle is a bad man. And I hate him. I am shivering with both, anger and fear at the same time, as I tell you why I harbour such strong hatred for him.

Just before Kapoor uncle left for Singapore, there were a slew of family functions, lined up one after the other that we were to attend. Given my fathers’ bond with him, Kapoor uncle invariably became a part of all the functions. I too doted on him. He would bring dolls, gifts and chocolates every time he came home. And for an 8 year old, what more is needed to make someone her “Favourite-uncle”?

In one such function, I wore a bright pink skirt and a top that my mother had selected. Playing hide and seek with my cousins and running around aimlessly, I was having the time of my life. This time everyone was hiding and I was to look out for them. Kapoor uncle came out of nowhere and picked me up.

I was a bit startled, but smiled as I was with my “Favourite-uncle”. I told him that I was playing hide and seek, and that he must search for all the cousins with me. But he didn’t say anything and seemed to be in a different mood that day. His eyes were different. He held me tightly in his arms and ran his free hand across my back and hips. He took me to the balcony and made me sit on his lap. I became irritable and wanted to go back to playing. But he continued to hold me tightly and said he loved me.

I said I know he loves me. Why else would he bring me dolls, gifts and chocolates? He then kissed me on my lips, which was not what he usually does. It was sloppy, and went on for a while. By now I knew something was not right, and I wanted to run back to my mother.  

I could feel a lump in my throat. I wanted to cry. But I was too scared to cry. The moment he loosened his grip, I leaped from his lap and sprinted towards the hall. Without looking back even once, and fumbling several times because my skirt got stuck between the doors, I stopped only when I saw my mother who was busy in an animated conversation with her sister-in-law. I ran into her arms and began crying.

She kept asking what happened, if anyone said anything to me. Or if I had gotten into a fight with any of my cousins. I was too scared to respond, so I just puked and cried the entire evening, refusing to be a part of anything. My mother obviously couldn’t comprehend my silence, and wondered what was wrong with me.

A few weeks later, Kapoor uncle came home for a few days stay and when my parents were asleep in their room, he sneaked into my room. I was flabbergasted and snooped in the corner of my bed. He pulled me hard, pushed me on the bed and with the same expression that he had the last time, he came very close to me.

He touched me several times in the most inappropriate places and the proximity made me uncomfortable, but he seemed to be enjoying it. I couldn’t understand why he had that hideous smile on his face. What was so “Good” about whatever was happening?

I remember trying to scream because the pain was excruciating. But he put his hand on my mouth and warned me to not make a sound. If I did, he would tell my parents that I was not being a “Good-Girl”, and that I should be sent off to a hostel far away.

I didn’t move an inch or dare make a sound. And the next 20 minutes were the most horrific and painful 20 minutes of my life. He did whatever he had to, got dressed and left. Just before he left the room, he looked back at me, smiled and said “You know I love you. Don’t you little girl? And remember, not to say a word.”

I couldn’t understand what had just happened. Was this how children are punished if they don’t behave? Or was it how uncles show their love? It was so confusing. All I felt was disgust. Disgust towards myself, my body and my existence. I never told my parents about these two episodes, for I feared being hated and scolded at.

And this is why I hate him. I think these are reasons enough. No?

Ever since these incidences, my comfort level with physical contact with anyone apart from my parents had gone for a toss. Even the slightest brush of ones’ arms against mine, a friendly pat on the back or a glare that goes beyond a few seconds makes me conscious.

Even though my grades are decent and am not a trouble maker in class, I suffer from extremely low self-esteem. I am not able to express my emotions to anyone. Not even to my own mother. It just doesn’t happen now.

Seeing this man under the same roof as I am, makes me want to claw his eyes out. I know he will not do anything to me this time. Or so I like to believe. I think I can defend myself better now.

One’s own house is supposed to be the safest place, Right? One’s own people are supposed to the most loving ones, Right? Then why not with me? How did the pink skirt I wore arouse a man of 40? What was it about me that he couldn’t take his hands off me? Was it my fault or his? Will my parents even believe is I ever decide to spill the beans?

But like I said earlier, they taught me to fear the dark. And I am so glad they did. But how in the world could they not mention what happens in the broad day light??