My Daughter Sunaina

My fourth daughter was born on the 12th day after Ganesh Chathurthi. She entered the world just as a bunch of people on their way to the sea, passed by my house. Amidst all that noise, my offspring made her presence felt with a loud cry. My wife lay there exhausted and drained with the effort of giving birth.

The midwife was a relative so she didn’t charge me anything… she wouldn’t have dared to ask anyway, not for bringing another girl into the world.

 The news spread pretty fast…Vithalrao had another girl. Raju and Abdul, two of my oldest friends came to console me over the tragic happening. How was I going to marry off four girls? Who was going to carry my family name forward? Why was God so cruel? He had given that atheist Baban Mhale three sons, not to mention the fact that Tony had two healthy sons even though he converted. Why, even Rasikbhai that thief of a grocer had a son. But none for good old Vithalrao. No sons for you, even if you have never hit your wife too much. No sons for you, even if you go to the temple every Tuesday.

 They say they found me dead drunk in a nullah 36 hours later. They were looking for me because my wife had died. The shock of giving birth to a girl must have got her. Such a waste of beauty. Four babies in six years and she was history. Poor woman.

 My youngest daughter was a beautiful child. She had perfect pink skin and lovely eyes. Her lashes touched her cheeks, as she lay there sleeping, ignorant of the trauma she caused to her parents… parent. Somebody named her Sunaina, the one with beautiful eyes.

 The girls grew up pretty fast; I have no idea how they managed to get by. When I was not out working at the garage, I was drinking at the local country bar. My mother must have helped raise them; she is good at such things.

 They say my eldest daughter eloped with our neighbor’s son. Good riddance I say, as long as I didn’t have to arrange for the dowry. I wished the other two would follow their sister’s footsteps, not my youngest one though. She was a darling. A gorgeous girl. The day she turned 13, people started asking me for her hand in marriage. We barely talked but I loved her, loved her more than the other three put together… maybe because sometimes, she looked like my wife. My dear departed wife who couldn’t bear me any sons.

 One evening, as I tottered towards home, riots broke out. I was too drunk to realize the significance of the mob burning cars and buses. I somehow got home to find Sunaina huddled in a corner; her sisters were not home. She shivered as I approached her and all I wanted to do was comfort her. And I did, in the only way I knew. So beautiful, my daughter Sunaina.

 Sometime later, rioters entered our house and burnt everything in sight. They left as they heard the sound of approaching sirens. An NGO filed a case against the rioters. They won the case and we were paid compensation as victims of an unfortunate riot.

 Since that day, my Sunaina refuses to look at me; her eyes look vacant and dead.

 The riots cost me a daughter. But I gained a son, a few months later.

Uma Iyer is a writer, a mother and a freelance consultant for marketing communication to several organisations. She was raised in Mumbai and currently lives in Delhi. Her retirement plan includes two dogs, many books and a shack by the sea.