Dear Mama and Baba, I know you will never give anyone an answer as to why I didn't come into this world. Across the earth's farthest corners, no one but God has ever wanted to account for these silent honor killings—and never will. Tell me, who can resist the temptation to commit a crime when no one ever demands an explanation for it? And why are you even calling yourselves mother and father? I died before birth, unknown to everyone. Let the rest of the world remain ignorant, but you know I came by your own wish and was skillfully murdered. I want so badly to call you 'murderers'! I cannot. Because I know this self-imposed existence of mine today exists only because of you—however meaningless and invisible it may be...! It's as true that you have a dead child as it is true that I have parents! Without you, I wouldn't exist either. So much pain, yet I cannot cry. How could one who was never born, who was never allowed to be born, learn to weep? Coming into this world means learning to cry. Alas! I don't even have the qualification to cry! I have no existence, no tears, and therefore no laughter either. Believe me, I still cannot accept what you forced me to accept. Listen, you don't remember that today is my birthday, do you? So I'm reminding you myself, uninvited! What was merely a mistake for you was for me the promised message of birth's anticipation. Actually, it turned out well in one way! Not being born has many advantages—when you're never born, nothing frightens you anymore. When you have no existence, what fear can there be of non-existence? There's just one small mistake—my mother probably remembers today clearly. How could she not? I was stuck in her body like cancer for so long! Baba, Ma didn't tell you about today out of fear. If you still keep in touch with Ma, why don't you call and ask her! Listen, you get terribly angry when I say I had come? Don't be angry anymore, Baba. You won't even have to waste money buying me a birthday candle. You won't have to bow your head before anyone because of me. I want so much to be loved, Baba! I want to see you, I want to touch Ma's cheek. Will you give me a gentle kiss? Please? No one will see! Even if it's a lie, won't you say "I love you"? Will you say "Happy Birthday" just a little? If not recognition of my birth, I want at least a quiet acknowledgment of my death. Will you buy me a make-believe doll? Even if it's cheap clay? Please, Baba! Don't spend too much even in imagination—let it be a cheap doll, one that didn't sell at the fair and the doll-seller is hawking for just 10 rupees right before the fair closes! Your loving gift would be very precious to me. I may not be your child, but you are my father! Ma, will you kiss my eyes? You know Ma, if you had let me come, you would have seen that my eyes were as beautiful as yours. Baba would have held me lovingly and said, "You rascal, you got your mother's eyes!" Ma, will you put a big kohl mark on my forehead today? Did you ever sense that when you kept me so carefully in your womb, I would look at your face and smile? When you smile, you get dimples in your cheeks, don't you, Ma? I wished that when I grew up to be like you, I'd get them too! Truly Ma, no one has a face as beautiful as yours. Baba says this too, doesn't he? Or does he not say it anymore? Someone could actually slap such a cheek! I was so angry with myself that day. Baba was hitting you like that just because I was coming! I felt like dying. If I died, everything would be fine—Baba would love you again! That's what Baba wanted! Baba killed me because he wants what's good for you, Ma. Never misunderstand Baba. Being born requires luck, which I simply don't have! Ma, I so wanted that when you fell asleep, I would touch your cheek, nose, mouth, eyes with the back of my tiny round hands. You kept me with such care, yet sent me away keeping me ungrateful. Ma, why did you kill me like this? What kind of fate is this, Ma? Fate is written by God. But does quiet writing of fate sometimes continue in doctors' hands according to human whims? Are human caprices greater than fate itself? What crime had I committed? I didn't even get that 'opportunity,' Ma! I learned from watching you that committing crimes is also an opportunity. You used your opportunity; I never got one! Ma, today I am dead. Today is the first birthday of your beloved dead child. You know Ma, those who die before birth never grow up, they remain small. Those of my age will all grow up, but I will never grow up. There are many advantages to staying small. Everyone just loves you. You didn't let me come for the sake of your honor. Honor has so many varieties, so many colors! Alas, some honor in birth celebrations, some honor in death's arrangements! I'm talking nonsense, aren't I? Suddenly I feel like getting a little love! At least for today, love me a little, Ma. I will never stand before you claiming the right to birth. I have only one wish—don't hate me. Not being loved can be endured with effort, but hatred cannot be borne. One can live without love, but even dying in hatred is difficult! Ma, the way you used to look at me and call me 'my precious darling,' I am exactly that same precious one. Believe me, Ma, I love you so much... so much! You didn't let me say it, so I couldn't, but close your eyes and feel it once—with nothing but my love, all pain, sorrow, and shame can be washed away. Don't cry, Ma, just love me. Love gives great strength. That strength will keep you alive. Ma, I promise to keep you in peace throughout your life. I heard Baba say, "If you bring it into this world, I'll throw 'that thing' in the dustbin." How strange! Was only Ma dragging me into this world's light and air? Baba, had you even thought of throwing your child to dogs and cats? Would your honor have greatly increased if your child lay rotting as garbage in a dustbin? Thank God, He didn't send me to earth as the child of such a coward father. I'm amazed that like the whole world, you still think you have no child. I know you are my father, you are the father of a dead child. I'm shouting that you are that father who became desperate to murder his child before birth. Baba, please don't be hurt by my words. Stand yourself before your own conscience and think—this is the truth, this is what happened. What is never written in history continues to create history through the ages. It's written in God's book: I was murdered for no reason. I was not allowed to call my father 'Baba,' was not allowed to call my mother 'Ma.' Great injustice was done to me. Baba, didn't you slap Ma when she refused to have an abortion? That day Ma felt dizzy and fell down. Even on the day of the abortion, Ma had to go to the maternity hospital with her friend. Just before my death, I heard people gossiping that my mother was a 'ruined girl'! Alas, when will our society learn to call men 'ruined'? They kept asking Ma, "Why didn't you bring your husband along?" Ma couldn't tell them anything, she just hung her head and cried, only cried. If only I could have shown everyone your beastly form! I remember everything, Baba. When talking with me, Ma would often say, "Your father knows so much! You should become like your father." Baba, let me say something, don't get angry. I spit on the face of such wisdom! Where did you get the audacity to abuse my mother like that, tell me? When you were committing that 'sin,' where was your fragile aristocracy, your pride? Did you abuse Ma like that even before I was conceived? Had you ever strangled her before? Alas! It's my fault! My mother had to endure so much because of me! Physical pain, mental anguish. I was inside Ma's body for three whole months. Ma loved me so much. She prayed constantly, treated everyone well, helped the poor and needy. She ate a little more good food. She thought, my darling will eat too! She talked to me constantly, "I'll run far away with my baby. I'll teach children at a school, we'll live in a small hut. I'll never make any demands on anyone. No one will ever find us. Right, darling?" I didn't understand why my mother would have to run away with me. If we had to run away anyway, why did I come? I didn't come of my own will, I was brought. I'm not an illegitimate child, nor a bastard. Then why didn't you let me see the light of this world?
Father, do you know that Mother sees me every single day? Whenever her heart grows heavy, she thinks of me? I come to her in dreams and caress her before I go? The day she received that ultrasound report, you scolded her so harshly. Mother didn’t cry at all that day—instead, my foolish mother went to the children’s store and bought the most beautiful pair of pink shoes adorned with butterflies before returning home. No one will ever wear them. Father, do you know that Mother still cries, clutching those shoes to her chest? She doesn’t wipe my shoes with the cloth of her garments, but with her lips, her cheeks, her eyes, her entire body. Oh my! You know, Father, Mother has bought so many dolls for me! Almost everything she earns from tutoring each month, she spends on me. She decorates her life with the wares of false happiness. That is the most constant, intense thing in my mother’s life! Mother thinks I don’t know who bought those dolls. She closes the room door and plays with them, laughing to herself and saying, “You silly thing, your father bought these dolls for you. Are you still angry? You mustn’t stay angry with Father! Your father is truly a very good man!” Mother loves you far too much, Father. Never cause her pain.
Mother understands me so well! She only loves me and kisses me. I’m so happy that I still haven’t vanished completely! Mother believes with all her heart that I exist, that I’m growing up somewhere far away. One day I’ll suddenly come from behind and surprise her by throwing my arms around her neck. I’ll say, “Mother, here I am! Why were you searching for me like that? I’m right here!” Tell me, Mother, do you see that I’m truly becoming like Father? Is my hair becoming like Father’s? Are my eyes like yours? When I smile, do dimples form in my cheeks? Mother, may I stay with Father for a while? Will Father be very angry if he sees me? Mother, didn’t you used to say, “How beautifully my little one smiles! It seems as though God has sent a fragment of the moon into my lap!” Look, Mother, one day I too will learn to see the moonlight. That day I’ll take someone by the hand to show them the moonlight by the sea! How terribly worried you’ll all be then, won’t you? Ha ha ha ha… Father, Mother apparently sees me quite often in her dreams. When no one else is beside Mother, I circle around her, I dance, I wipe away Mother’s tears and say, “Look, one day everything will be all right! Why are you crying so much, Mother? I’m here!”
Mother, you know, I too long to climb into Father’s lap, to ride on his shoulders and roam about. They say Father’s shoulder is the safest refuge in the world. Everyone says this! I think, oh my! How foolish everyone is! Tell me, Father, has Mother told you that she bought two frocks for my birthday? She bought four soft dolls and lots of chocolates too. My mother is terribly foolish! How did she know I wear frocks? Father, why did you scold Mother like that today when she asked you to buy a cake? What harm would come from loving me a little? I’m already dead! I’ve saved your lives! Mother only asked for a cake! Still… Father, don’t think that Mother was trying to make you spend money foolishly. My mother can also buy a birthday cake for me! Mother only wanted a small acknowledgment of my non-existence! Nothing more!
Oh my! Little ones have such beautiful graves, but I don’t even have that! I didn’t even get a place in a grave. I was thrown straight from Mother’s womb into the drain! I have no place to stay, except in one mother’s memory! Though I feel no sorrow about this. Mother loves me so much, she keeps me hidden, wrapped carefully inside her heart! Father, today let me tell you something quietly. On the day of the abortion, Mother had cyanide in her bag. The doctor caught her. Thank goodness she was caught! I have no complaint that you killed me. But if you had killed my mother, I would never have let you go. When you hit my mother, I long to run and grab you by the throat! Are you angry? Don’t be angry, Father. One shouldn’t be angry with the dead.
All right, fine, forget all that! Father, oh Father! Will you give me your hands for a moment? Mother often used to say your fingers were so beautiful! Won’t you stretch your hand toward me, Father? May I caress you a little? Will you spread your fingers across my cheek? Will you hold me to your chest and give me a small kiss on my forehead, Father? Mother does, you know—she often kisses me secretly! Shall I tell you a secret? The baby in Mother’s mobile screensaver is me. In the laptop background, inside the picture frame hanging in the corner of the wall, I sit quietly watching Mother, playing with Mother, taking care of Mother. Mother told me never to tell anyone about this. Never to be naughty, never to hurt anyone. She also said not to break toys, and when I grow up, I must become big like Father. Oh my! How foolish Mother is! Father, you tell me, will I become like you?… So terrifyingly murderous that because I’ve left no trace of murder, nothing will ever happen to me? And in that supreme confidence, the murderer never even remembers his past crimes! Father, you tell me, will I become like you? I’ve told Mother, “Mother, I will be like you. Whether I can become a great person or not, I’ll be a good person. Being a great person doesn’t mean much, Mother—if I can live as a simple good person, I’ll be very happy! Just give me that blessing.” I didn’t just say it, I made a firm promise. Mother pressed my mouth and said, “Shame, child! You mustn’t speak about Father like that. He is your father!” I said nothing more. I only thought to myself, if becoming a father were so easy, then the world would struggle to breathe under fathers’ cruelty!
A child who was never born has no birthday. I have no birthday. Yet I know I had come. Those who enrolled their names in the list of the dead before birth are never truly dead. Today is the day when my embryo peeked into my mother’s womb with infinite courage. If you are real, then I am real too. Today I truly have no complaint; I consider you unworthy even of my complaints. Today I long to become greedy, arrogant, and selfish! I want to shout to the entire world with tremendous audacity: Happy Birthday to An Unborn Child!!
Yours,
Your unwanted child