WHEN I sat down to write this story, I kept thinking for a few hours about the start—should I begin at the very beginning of my life’s journey, or with the present? The memories and incidents that flooded my mind seemed both important for the story and overwhelming for readers to comprehend. So, let me give you a glimpse of my life, a reference point for the whirlwind that has been my existence.
I grew up in the small town of Haridwar, the youngest in a family of five, filled with love. With two elder brothers, I was pretty much a princess. Both my parents were working, and I find myself very lucky to have a family with a feminist father and a financially independent mother. Trust me, it was rare at that time. But then, one fateful day, my world was shattered when I lost my father in a tragic accident. I was only fifteen then.
I suddenly became the ‘man of the family’. I had to set aside my own vulnerability and pain to collect the shattered pieces of the people around me. I trained myself well on that. So much so that I forgot what it was like to be vulnerable, broken, and in need of healing because I was too busy tending to everyone else’s wounds.
Fast forward to my life in Delhi after completing my 12th grade. I decided to start working instead of studying, my dynamics became complicated with my mother after she got remarried without telling any of us. Independence beckoned, and I embarked on a journey of various jobs, earning decent money and making strides in my career. I created a fairytale about my life and convinced everyone about it.
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