of memories long forgotten

It’s strange how the sight of a blue-white hawaii chappal under a teakwood dining table can break your heart and mend your life all at once.

A quaint little Sarojini Nagar house on the ground floor with a big-ass teakwood dining table and yellowish-white curtains. A seven-year old version of you lying on the floor, naked. Your twelve year old cousin grinning as he watches his brother dry-hump you. Your eye focused on the blue-white hawaii chappal under the dining table.

The crying after, the pain, the horror of it all. No wonder your seven-year old brain blocks it out.

Years later, the memory just comes flooding back on a lazy Sunday morning as you’re sipping chai that your cousin just brought you and your eye wanders to a hawaii chappal under the dining table. That dining table.

And what do you do? Start blogging about it. Anonymously.

The chai just sits there in the mug long after you’ve left.

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