Sukku and her Bitter Sweets!
Sukku, a young girl forced into premature adulthood, clings to her mother’s faded sari as she navigates a life filled with sorrow, abandonment, and survival. Betrayed by those meant to protect her, she becomes a symbol of resilience, finding solace in fleeting moments and dreams of love that transcend her harsh reality.
Sukku stood at the threshold of the flat, clutching her mother Maya’s faded sari like a lifeline. The fabric smelled faintly of stale smoke and spilled dreams, a stark contrast to the polished world inside. She peered in, wide-eyed and unsure, her small frame barely filling the doorway. “Maya, is this your daughter? She looks too young. How can she work here?” Madam Jyoti’s voice sliced through the air, a blend of curiosity and concern.
Maya’s laugh was a hollow sound, devoid of joy. “At seven years old, Sukku can work like an adult,” she assured, her words as much a boast as a desperate plea. And it was true—since the age of four, Sukku had been taking care of her mother, a role thrust upon her far too soon.
In the dim light, Sukku tried to piece together memories of her father. He had been a coolie, a man of the mountains who came from Nepal seeking a fortune in Sikkim. She didn’t know when he left them, only that one day he was gone. She imagined him, perhaps, wrapping her in a hug as she slept, the warmth of his embrace fading with the dawn. Maybe he had kissed her cheek, tears in his eyes as he walked away from a life tangled with a drunkard and a gambler.
The woman who was supposed to care for her had instead gambled away the last remnants of her father’s hard-earned money, carrying burdens heavier than the loads of Gangtok she’d once supported. It was ironic that her name, Maya, meant love, yet the only love Sukku felt was the fleeting warmth from the kind strangers who pitied her and sometimes held her close.
Her childhood was a parade of sorrow; her mother’s drunken rants were a cruel soundtrack to her existence. Maya would lash out, cursing her daughter with the venom of a thousand regrets. “You should’ve never been born!” she would scream, her eyes glazed and wild. Yet, Sukku bore the brunt of it with a stoicism that belied her age, a girl too young to understand why her mother chose the bottle over her.
Then came the day when Maya let slip the truth of Sukku’s origins. “You’re not even your father’s daughter,” she declared, slurring her words, “I sold myself for five thousand rupees to take care of you.” The revelation hit Sukku like a bolt of lightning, but she had long since learned to feel nothing. The number echoed in her mind—five thousand rupees—a fortune in her world. It was as if she had been handed a price tag for her existence, an object bought and paid for.
Days passed in the flat, each one blending into the next. She watched as Madame Jyoti and Sir conducted their lives with the ease of those who never had to worry about where their next meal would come from. In her heart, Sukku longed for the love she had seen flicker in the eyes of kind strangers but found only shadows and whispers of that warmth.
The day Maya left her behind for good, it was like a scene from a tragic play. Madame Jyoti handed her a small pile of money—a transaction for her existence, the act of selling off a daughter to the highest bidder. Sukku felt a hollow emptiness, like a doll stripped of its stuffing. Her mother didn’t even look back, and Sukku didn’t expect her to. She had learned early that her mother’s love was a mirage, ever elusive.
Sir’s gaze lingered on her as she stood there, a small, dirty shadow among the bright trappings of the flat. He took her hand and pressed a sweet into her palm, brushing his lips against hers. It was a familiar gesture, one that had marked the beginning of many unwanted encounters before. She felt nothing—only a dull ache of recognition, a reminder of the routine that had become her life. Sweets had been the currency of her silence, offered to keep her quiet, to numb the fears she’d learned to mask.
In those moments, Sukku often retreated into her mind, where she built a world far away from the chaos. She imagined herself a doll, beautiful and unbroken, cradled in the arms of a loving mother. But the truth was different; she was a living, breathing doll, abandoned and left to fend for herself.
Each day that passed in the flat was another chance for her to learn the chores that filled her waking hours. Sukku swept and washed, always aware of the way Sir’s eyes followed her, a predator watching a prey too young to comprehend the danger. The other maids spoke in whispers about her, and Sukku learned to blend into the background, a shadow that existed only to serve.
As the weeks turned into months, Sukku transformed. The innocence of childhood faded into a hardened exterior. She was no longer just a girl; she was a survivor, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. She would rise each day, a phoenix from the ashes of her shattered dreams, determined to find a flicker of light in the darkness that threatened to engulf her.
And in the quiet moments, when the world grew still and the laughter of children echoed through the halls, Sukku would hold onto her dreams of love, her heart a fragile vessel in a sea of indifference. The warmth she craved was elusive, but she held onto the hope that one day, someone would see her for who she truly was—a little girl in desperate need of love, not just a doll to be played with and discarded.
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