I wonder what it is like to be an ordinary girl sometimes, with an ordinary house, an ordinary family, a father with an ordinary job – basically a job. I see girls around me with a lot less than what I have, but they have something I will probably never have.
It’s always been this way – from school times too. But then back in school, no one knew who I was. I was just a classmate, a friend, and several boys had a crush on me. I remember the names of a few of them, faces of few others. But there is no one I remember as much as Tony. I still have a picture of the two of us together, with me holding his collar and he holding my plaits. I even had one of both of us together at our Prom; but I trashed that one away… it looked too formal, and fake, though I know it was nothing more than the awkwardness of standing next to your first crush. He used to always dress shabbily. He lived only a few minutes away from school and used to pedal down on his cycle everyday – and yet he always managed to get spoil his uniform before he even entered class. I used to like him too.
But of course, with time, we grew out of it.
I used to see my father only occasionally. He was never home every night. But he used to be home every Sunday – and he used to turn every Sunday into a mini-holiday for me. We would have breakfast at Bakers Inn, the owner being father’s childhood friend. Then we would go buy me something father called ‘Gift of the Week’ – and it could be anything from as small as a pencil to as big as a doll house; anything I pleased. And father would always find reasons to buy me the gift, so that I never felt like it was unnecessary and also never took it for granted. Once he brought Brownie home in a nice little wicker basket just because I had been a good daughter and had helped mother out in the garden. I remember getting up to being licked all over my face, and how my surprised yelp had sent Brownie off into fits of barking. I had carried him to school with me that day, and back from school, and then to my friend’s place, and back from there, and he always slept with me on my bed ever since his first day in our house. I had been very sad when he had passed away, but that was one of the best weeks of my life – as father was home every night.
I grew up and started to understand little by little that my father was someone very important. Now that I know who he is and what it is to be me, I sometimes wonder how mother and all the house servants managed to keep me away from it – but they did. Father did try and provide me with an ordinary life – but a couple years into my teens, and I knew nothing was ever going to be ordinary again.
I passed out of school, and my admission had already been secured in the best college in the city. I had lots of friends in college, right from the first day – but I had grown up enough to know they were friends of my chauffeur-driven car, my huge house, and my pocket money more than me. But I was always on guard and never let any one of them get too close to me – something I learnt from father.
But I was a teenager after all – and love soon caught me round the corner one day, and Rafael entered my life. He never tried to control me – as I had been warned some boys would want to by my girl friends. He didn’t even try to know more about me – as some over inquisitive boys had wanted. And he never ever, not even once, tried to kiss me or make a pass at me – as almost every boy in college had tried to. And I don’t know if it was this that drew me into him, or just the fact that I was ordinary when I was with him.
But I lost Rafael – even as a friend – when one of the boys in college went missing after having followed me home one evening after classes.
And I guess I knew right then – that I was never going to be an ordinary girl.
A lot of things about me have changed since that incidence.
I have lost most of my girl friends and all of my boy friends.
And my chauffeur-driven car is now tagged by another car and two bikes in the front and at the back.
I can almost feel an invisible bubble around me. Everybody maintains a five foot radius around me. Nobody sits next to me during classes. Nobody hangs out with me. A few true friends have managed to stick around though. They come attend every party and every function in our family, and I am grateful to have them. But there is a certain void that gets created in your life when you become a certain age and do not experience the things that that age brings along with it. And I feel that void every year on Valentine’s Day.
When you are who I am, people are always going to treat you with a lot of respect, and they are always going to be happy to help you and show gratitude in whatever way they can, and they are always going to feel obliged even when all you do is greet them. Your paper work is never going to get stuck, because there is never going to be any paper work. Your car is never going to be towed, because there is never going to be a no-parking zone for you. You are never going to buy anything at its original price because there is always going to be a discount on everything all year round. When you are who I am, everybody wants to be you – but they don’t want to be with you, or are afraid of being with you. Everybody wants a rose, but no one wants a black one – even if it is a rose after all.
There may be a lot of things about me, and about my life that people around me may crave for, may feel like they could give anything for – respect, command, loyalty of the people around, money of course, and perhaps power. But there is one thing that a Mafia daughter can never have, and it is probably the single most important thing to any girl in her life.
A Mafia daughter can never have love.
