Chapter 5: Family Politics, Blame, and the New Beginning

On the way back, my parents called me too.

The ringtone blared the latest Bollywood hit—my mother’s idea of staying 'modern'. I took a deep breath, preparing for another round of guilt.

In my previous life, my Chacha ji and Chachi ji said they had to rush back to take care of the buffaloes and fields, and wanted to leave my cousin at my place. At that time, my parents also advised me that since we were family, I should help my cousin.

They played the 'family first' card, as always. "Beta, ek hi toh bhai hai tumhara. Zindagi bhar ka rishta hai."

Later, when my cousin clung to me, my parents were also worried.

They muttered about 'log kya kahenge' if we didn’t help. My father paced the living room, my mother wept over the stove, stirring dal absentmindedly.

But when they heard I wanted to rent another place for my cousin and make him move out, they gave me a good shouting.

They scolded me for being heartless. "Padha likha hone ka matlab yeh toh nahi ki insaaniyat chhod do!" My mother accused me of having become too 'modern,' forgetting my sanskaar.

They said after all these years of studying, I didn't care about family ties at all.

I could still hear my father's words: "Padhayi toh ho gayi, par insaaniyat gayab ho gayi hai tum mein."

They even said if I really made my cousin move out, how could they face my Chacha ji and Chachi ji, how could they face the neighbours?

The fear of 'log kya kahenge' is stronger than any personal pain in Indian families. The neighbours’ judgment hung like a sword over our heads.

They forced me to be my cousin's blood donor.

I remember lying on the hospital bed, watching the blood drip into the bag, wondering how much more I would have to give before I could claim my own life.

It could be said, the tragedy that befell me and my girlfriend in my previous life—my parents were also partly responsible.

The realization hurt, but it was true. Their need for social approval, their refusal to draw boundaries, had cost me everything I loved.

"Rohan, why aren't you at the hospital at a time like this?"

My mother's voice was sharp, wounded. "Kya tumhe apne bhai ki zara bhi chinta nahi hai?"

"Hurry, go to the hospital, your cousin just woke up and is making a scene, your Chacha ji and Chachi ji can't handle it, go quickly!"

Her panic made me clench my teeth. I wanted to tell her how tired I was, but knew it would only bring more accusations.

I listened coldly to my parents' lecture, then said:

"Did something big happen to Amit? Did you come?"

I tried to keep my tone neutral, but the sarcasm slipped through. My mother paused, taken aback by my question.

"Oh, busy at home? No, how could things at home be more important than Amit? As his Chacha ji and Chachi ji, if you don't come, won't people laugh at you?"

I could almost hear my father's indignant silence, my mother's lips pressed into a thin line.

"I've bought you tickets, hurry, pack up and come now!"

I forwarded the ticket confirmation, making it clear that I expected them to step up this time.

In my previous life, they pushed all responsibility for family onto me, thinking it was my duty.

I remembered how I was always the first to be called, the last to be thanked.

This life, I've decided to let them experience it for themselves.

I took a deep breath, feeling a strange sense of freedom for the first time.

I bought tickets for my parents and had three colleagues move into my new flat.

They were more than happy to accept free accommodation. We laughed about it over chai, sharing stories of unreasonable relatives.

I told them the flat was free for them to live in for two months, but to outsiders, they had to say I rented it out at a high price.

My colleagues, always up for a little drama, agreed with a wink. "Koi pooche toh bol denge, boss."

I took out my laptop, quickly drafted a contract, signed their names and the rental amount.

The legalese made me smile. For once, I was in control of my own story.

After finishing all this, I could finally sleep peacefully in my seat.

The gentle sway of the train and the distant whistle felt like a lullaby. For the first time in years, I allowed myself to rest.

Heh.

A smile crept across my face. Maybe, just maybe, this new beginning could belong to me.

In this life, if they want to live in my house for free and make me and my girlfriend their unpaid caretakers—they can dream!

Let them face what they never let me escape. The old rules were gone, and I was ready for what came next.