Farhat Jabeen Childhood
Life is a razor edge. Tumultuous times teach life lessons. Permutations and Combinations of life make us a strong human being. Sometime back sans roommates, I was secluded in my hostel room. While recalling the unhindered childhood, I could not bury my teardrops bubbling out of my eyes.
In the hindsight, my memory travelled back to my hardships of babyhood. I was teased, bullied. Today, the bubble inside collapsed. I can no longer tolerate the invisible burden. I need your patient ears.
Those memories are still afresh. It sends a chill down my spine when I recall those tough times. To be more precise, it was Dark Age for me. Don’t you wish you could take a single childhood memory and blow it up into a bubble and live inside it forever?” Yes, we all at some point of time wish to travel back to those fun-filled days and carefree nights when anxiety was yet to envelope us. We are always ready to give anything to just feel those moments but time and tide waits for none. I had weaved countless dreams as I was growing up. But as Abbu left me, it shattered our family unit to the core. With no male member left in the family, we struggled to survive.
I remember Junior high school in my locality was a wonderful alma mater but I could not cherish those beautiful moments. In Marazigund village of Rafiabad, I grew up like any other child but School hours were nightmarish due to awkward behavior of few teachers. Worth cherishing moments are overshadowed by the eclipse of those bitter memories. I survived but did not exist. Haunting frames sliding inside my brain burden my heart most of the times.
I was constantly bullied and humiliated for being dwarf. It inked a silent chapter of negativity on clean slate of my brain. I experienced unnecessary bouts of depression. I frequently consulted psychiatrists but to no avail. I have come a long way since. On the basis my merit, I am striving to achieve my goal at Kashmir’s premier learning Institute.
I could not get due attention from various quarters. I started learning after my school was over. I received an entirely abominable treatment almost from everyone around me. I was neither a peculiar child nor a stupid kid but to my surprise, I was punished for none of my ‘sin’. May I ask them now why was I ignored? Why bullied?
I am not a brave comrade but I learned to move ahead and let my work do the talking. But the wounds remain unhealed. Poverty is curse, more so in this technologically advanced era where people know the price of things not their value. I would like to be brutally honest that I don’t belong to any affluent class but I don’t measure things on the criteria of money. I had been looked down upon and mistreated due to this issue.
Penitence of poverty made me a passive listener, it affected my overall growth and I faced countless personal battles on many fronts. This trauma engineered inferiority complex in me and I started taking counseling sessions. I could not live up to the expectations of my near and dear ones. They never knew that I was fighting a tough battle inside me. Most dreadful experience is about my Maths class. A teacher should be friend not a demon to terrify his pupils. Gone are the days of corporal punishment. His mere presence would send a chill down my spine. I still find it a daunting task to solve any numerical puzzle. I could never score good grades in Maths due to this ingrained fear infused by this particular teacher. I would bow to obey, do as directed like a dumb cattle. I was like a caged bird that could not fly since its wings were clipped until somebody came with a balm.
Friendless girl I was. It pains to remember how I would make excuses to stay home in order to avoid humiliation back in the school.
The Author is on the last legs of her master’s program in the Department of English, University of Kashmir.
The author can be reached at [email protected]
