The House with No Apologies (Age 10)

Setting: A small village in eastern Uttar Pradesh

Sneha was a quiet 10-year-old girl, the kind who noticed everything. In her world, women didn't have opinions; they had duties. Men made decisions, and women followed silently. It was how things had always been - and that made it even scarier.

Her mother, Sunita, was a woman with soft eyes and a bent back. Always working, always serving, always adjusting. Her hands were always moving - kneading dough, washing clothes, serving food. But her own plate was always the last to be filled.

Her father, Ramesh, was a man of few words - but the ones he did speak often silenced the room. He had spent most of Sneha's early childhood working in Kolkata. He used to visit only a few times a year, and for most of those early years, it was her mother who had been her world - her mother who played both roles, giving Sneha the love of a mother and the illusion of a father.

But then, everything changed.

When Sneha was around nine, her father decided to return and settle in the village. He started a small garment business, finally staying home for good. Everyone said it was a good thing - for the family, for the future.

For Sneha, it changed everything.

She didn't know this man. She had never felt close to him. And now, he was everywhere - in the house, at the dining table, in the living room. His presence filled every corner, and so did his voice.

He wasn't abusive in the way people imagined - it wasn't about fists or slaps. His power lay in silence, in control, in the way he could shut her mother up with just a glance. During arguments, which happened more often now, her mother would begin with anger and end with silence. Her father always had the final word, and it always came with a sharp, dismissive tone:

"Bas, zyada mat bol. Apni aukaat mein reh."

Sneha never spoke to her father directly. Not because she was never allowed - but because she was always afraid. Afraid of saying the wrong thing. Afraid of his voice, his glare, the way the room felt colder when he entered it.

She clung more tightly to her mother now.

Sunita never told Sneha to stay away from her father. But the message was clear in her body language - the sudden stiffness in her spine when he entered, the way her words cut short, the way she whispered more and laughed less.

At night, Sneha would pretend to sleep on the floor mattress, but her ears stayed wide open. She heard everything - the arguments, the blame, the tired sighs of a woman who no longer had the energy to argue.

Her grandmother added her own share to this atmosphere. She wasn't cruel, but she believed in adjustment. Sacrifice. Obedience.

"Shaadi karke aayi ho toh nibhana padega," dadi would say.

"Aurat ke liye ghar mein izzat nahi milti, kamaani padti hai - aur woh bhi chup reh kar."

Sneha would stare at her mother's face while she chopped vegetables, her jaw clenched but her lips sealed. She wanted to ask: Why don't you say anything back? But she never did.

Then came a night Sneha never forgot.

A newly married neighbor, Rekha, came to their house, crying softly. Her face looked swollen, her voice cracked. Sneha listened from behind the curtain as her mother comforted her.

"Unhone bola... shaadi isliye ki kyunki unke ghar mein kaam wali nahi thi," Rekha said, tears slipping down her cheeks.

No one else heard that, but Sneha did. She couldn't understand everything, but she understood enough to feel something burning in her chest.

Even as a child, she knew - this isn't what love or marriage should look like.

And she knew, deep inside, this won't be my story.

But she also knew she was too young, too quiet, too scared - for now.

So, she watched.

She absorbed.

And unknowingly, a fire began to grow inside her.