Surveillance

You may not believe that I am sane. But I am. You may not believe that I am free. But that's what I am. I am a free girl. I am free to do whatever I want. And there is no parental surveillance here at the hospital. The surveillance of nurses and doctors does not bother me at all. I know how to deal with them. Here, I sometimes miss my parents however terrible they might have been. I know well that I can still make them happy. But I am not going to put my freedom at stake for the sake of their happiness. They think that I am already a vegetable. A vegetable? What's that? They don't need to worry about me. Nor do they have to expect anything from me. It is always mother, who comes to visit me every few months. Baba does not dare show up. But this time, he is on his way to see me. I don't know how I should take Baba's decision to visit me. The news of his visit has been gnawing at my heart since I heard about it from my mother last evening.

"Mila, I am very sorry. But I don't like your friend Abha. She is a reckless freak," said my father in a patronizing tone while we were having coffee in our living room one foggy morning.  

"Why Baba? What is wrong in being carefree and reckless?" I replied, hoping he’d grow mellow towards Abha, one of my closest friends.   

"You must have a goal, a vision in your life."

"A goal? A vision?" I repeated Baba's words.

"Yes. A goal. A vision. Only then you can be successful. Otherwise, your life will be meaningless."

"Meaningless? Successful? Baba, what is the difference? Isn't it more than enough that we are alive?" I replied looking at his eyes, as they reddened with anger, disbelief and irritation.

"Maybe that is alright for you. Perhaps this whole young generation is deteriorating. Young people like you don't even listen to your parents. I am not just talking about living. As a parent, I want you to be a successful person. I still stick to my opinion. No matter what."

"Baba, why should I be like you? What is wrong with the way I am? Why do you impose your ideas on me?" I managed to reply somehow. I could see Baba losing his head.

"What the hell do you mean? When did I impose myself on you? I am just sharing what I know. If you don't like it, forget it. Never ever dare say that again," he exploded banging his empty cup on the table. When I opened my eyes, he was not there. Instead, there were pieces of the cup scattered all over the table.

I can remember every detail of that conversation though it happened four years back while I was still in eleventh grade, at a local high school in Harthok Bazaar, which was three kilometers away from my village. I had made no mistake to deserve it. I was a disciplined daughter. I never skipped classes. I didn’t even hang out with my friends after class. Of course, I was not as brilliant as Baba had been in his youth. Yet, I was trying my best to do well in my studies. Time and again, I thought that Baba was far more broadminded than the adults I saw around me. But he clearly was not.  

You know, he did not like my friends. Forget about my male friends, he could not even bear the girls in my circle. It was as if I would be involved in something scandalous and immoral every time I was with my friends. Or was he simply being a father? A possessive father? Possessive? I don't know. But he was clever enough to behave well in front of my friends. Some of my friends even liked his frankness.

"Mila, you know, I love your old man," Abha had said one day while she was about to leave after attending a small gathering at my house.

I was in dilemma. I could not put up with Baba. I also had no courage to leave home. Whenever I went out with my friends on a picnic or any trip, he would track me down. Sometimes, he would ask people to keep an eye on me. I was always conscious of his presence everywhere, even when I was hundreds of kilometers away from him. And it would drive me crazy. There was nothing I could do to help myself. I did not find any way out. Slowly, we started arguing more. I would pick a fight with both mother and Baba whenever I got a chance. I took pleasure in spoiling their happiness. When they got upset, I felt victorious.

One evening over evening meal, Baba tried to strike a conversation with me since we had not talked in few days. "Mila, you do not look happy. Is there anything we can do to help?" He said in a singsong voice.

"No, Baba. I am fine. I am doing alright," I tried to ignore his concern towards me.

I smelt double standard in his words. "Baba, why are you sniffing around me all the time?"

Baba was taken aback. He was fumbling for the right words. I could see how hard it was for him to swallow my words. In response, he smashed the dinner plate against the wall. Before I could fully relish this mad moment, I found myself flat on the floor. Hot and fresh blood was leaking from my nose and mouth. 

"Where did you learn to be rude? Have you ever heard us talk like this? Have you gone mad?" My mother said as she came to help me up.

I shrugged her off. "Yes, I've gone mad. I can't live with people like you. I need to stay away from both of you," escaped from my mouth. 

"Get out!" mother shouted, pointing towards the front door. Infuriated, I slammed the door with a bang and left the house holding my bloody swollen nose.

I walked out into darkness. I decided to spend the cold night out in the street. It was deserted except for buses passing by in intervals. I kept on walking until I calmed down. I was already far from home. I could not turn back now. I could not swallow my pride and go back home.In a way, I had already crossed the boundary of my familiar place. The blood clotted around my nose. I felt relieved. There was nobody to follow me at least. Then I left the highway to hide myself in a bush beneath the road. The ground was damp, reeking of moss and decayed leaves. I somehow settled myself under the bush. Then I tried to sleep but I could feel ants and other insects crawling all over my body. I started scratching. I wanted to scream. I wished my parents would come fetch me. Next moment, I steeled my heart and remained silent. Amidst sleeplessness, restlessness and fear, I started making plans. I thought of asking relatives for help. But I knew that they would send me back to my parents. I drew a list of friend who would help me. "What about Abha?" I said to myself. I was convinced that Abha would support me until I figured out what to do. But I did not want to take a risk telling Abha about what had happened. She might also think I am crazy. I told myself that I must pass the night in the same bush. Then I waited for morning to come.

"Things will be clearer in the morning," I reassured myself. Somewhere between listening to the chirping of crickets and scratching my limbs I fell asleep.