Disha Mangal

Drama Inspirational Tragedy

4.8  

Disha Mangal

Drama Inspirational Tragedy

Regretful To Be A Boy

Regretful To Be A Boy

3 mins
454


I was the first child in my house, proud to be a boy. I was pampered by everyone, proud to be a boy.

But something wasn’t working out those days. Mom looked more into what she was doing more than I. Mom loved her more than me. Mom liked to talk to her more than me. She was the girl whom everybody called as my sister was quite a trouble for me those days and she grew to be hated by me. Time moved on and she grew up to be a weak child, may be because she was always deprived of foods which I was supposed to eat.

She got ill quite frequently and unfortunately I had to serve her. I was annoyed as to why should I waste my time and energy for a stupid silly creature, who took from me a lot of things-love, affection and attention. But as I started spending time with her, I realised that her dark brown eyes gave me the love I was seeking for, her hugs gave me the affection I was seeking for , her eagerness to listen to me satiated my desire for attention and she completed my desire for a sister.

Two days ago my father was talking in a hush hush tone. I knew something really serious was going on and I got to hear the conversation through the keyhole.

“No, the treatment is costly," said father.

“But she is our daughter,“ said my mother.

“Yes, she is our daughter, not our son.”

“We will not send our son to school for a month."

“He is our son, we can’t do that.”

I was grief stricken. The girl whom I have recently recognised as my sister was left to die and that too because of me! Because I was a boy, because I was to get advantages consequently she was needed to be dumped in the bed, to get ready to die.

I went to my sister. She was sleeping. I sat beside her and ran my hand through her hair just like she ran hers through mine, when they got messy. I held her hand close to my heart. She opened her tender eyes-“Brother, it's late night, why are you not sleeping? Don’t you want to go to school tomorrow?” she asked me.

I smiled at her and unnoticed a tear rolled out of my eye.

“Brother what happened? Why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing sister. It’s just that your voice is too sweet to hear.” I told her in a whisper, got up and went away from there, while my sister still wore an expression of utter confusion. I headed towards my bed with footsteps, which were felt so heavy. I sat on my bed with a heart which was strangled by chains of regret. My sister won’t be cured not because of lack of treatment, but because of me. It was not due to lack of money but due to preference of a son over a daughter.

I was the first child in my house, regretful to be a boy. I was pampered by everyone, regretful to be a boy.


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