‘Just take them,’ I said in a firm voice.
He kept his hand on the notebooks in his lap.
‘I have marked out six legible entries. You need to read them,
buddy,’ I said.
‘No, no, no,’ he said and placed the books back on the dining
table, ‘I told you, I can’t. I made myself get over her during these last
two years. Now to read all this will only undo all that.’
‘Trust me, Madhav. You need to read them.’
RIYA’S JOURNAL:
Legible entry #1
1 November 2002
This journal is a birthday gift from me to me. It is my fifteenth
birthday. Happy Birthday to me. I feel odd celebrating birthdays now.
I am not a grownup, but I don’t feel like a child either.
They say people write secrets in journals. Should I write one
down?
They say I am so quiet. Silent Riya. Mysterious Riya. Shy Riya.
I don’t answer them. All I want to say is, if you crush a flower
before it blooms, will it ever bloom as bright later?
I was not quiet as a child. I became this way. Dad knows I
changed. Dad knows I remember everything. Still, he pretends
nothing happened. I do the same.
He hasn’t touched me for the last three years. He dare not.
I don’t know why I did not tell Mom. Maybe I didn’t even know if it
was right or wrong at that time. What could she have done anyway?
Dad gave me a gold necklace today. I returned it. I find it difficult
to talk to him. He tries to reach out, but I avoid him. He says I am
still his daughter. I like writing in this journal. I am able to say things
I never can otherwise. My brother is an idiot. So are Chacha ji and
Taya ji’s boys. Spoilt brats, all of them. Just because they are boys,
nobody tells them what to do. I hate these double standards.