My father had two elder brothers and one younger brother. The eldest brother lived in Chandigarh—let’s call him Taya Number 1. He had a very polite and educated tone, always calm and respectful.

Then there was Taya Number 2, the most egoistic and greedy person I have ever known in our family. For context, “Taya” means father’s elder brother, and for years, Taya Number 2 was the villain of my story.

When my father passed away, Taya Number 2 was supportive—for about a year. He helped my mother with the paperwork to secure my father’s job, which I will always acknowledge. However, during that same period, he also embezzled money. For instance, if my mom gave him 200 rupees to take me and my brother to the circus, he would buy tickets for 30 rupees and pocket the rest, never returning the remainder. When she entrusted him with withdrawing money, he would skim off his cut, and my mother, feeling vulnerable, was too afraid to confront him.

At the time, my mother didn’t have a job and survived on the small amount she received from my uncles until her pension started months later. That financial struggle didn’t seem to faze Taya Number 2 in the slightest. When she received money from my father’s office, he demanded a share, falsely claiming he had spent money on my father’s care—though, in reality, he had spent nothing. He shamelessly exploited my father’s death, revealing just how money-minded he truly was.

But greed wasn’t his only flaw—he was also two-faced. In front of others, he appeared caring and kind, pretending to genuinely want to help us. Behind closed doors, however, all he cared about was the money my mother was supposed to receive. He would demand unnecessary expenses, like asking her to repair the house or buy new furniture for his room.

Though some of his support ultimately benefited my mother, his intentions were selfish. Once my mother refused to comply with his unreasonable demands, his attitude changed entirely. He and his wife made life in the house unbearable, hoping we would leave. They began shouting at my mother, using abusive and hurtful language. She would cry alone in her room while they yelled outside. They stopped me and my brother from playing outside our room and restricted us to just two rooms and the kitchen, forbidding us from using other parts of the house.

Despite using most of the house and running a TV and tape recorder all day, they demanded my mother pay half the utility bills. When we protested, they even cut off our electricity. Thankfully, my Mamaji (my mother’s brother) arranged for a separate electricity connection so we only paid for what we actually used.

During these years, I developed a fierce sense of self-preservation. When my Taya tried to intimidate us, I stood up to him. I began calling him funny nicknames, like “Lungi Chuk Pajama Pa,” because he often wore a lungi. He never dared to slap me because I warned him that if he did, I would throw a flower pot at his head from the first floor. I was only 8 or 9 years old, but I was determined to protect my family. I even kept a brick in my room as a last resort. If he ever laid a hand on us, I would have fought back.

One thing my father taught me—something I hold dear to this day—is that only weak people try to harm others. If you stand up to them, you’ll see how weak they really are. My Taya must have sensed this because he never physically hurt us, even when he threatened my mother.

Despite the abuse, we managed to stay in that house until I was 24, when I finally built a home of my own. My mother, though kind and patient, was nervous and hesitant to fight back. She never used abusive words against him, but I was different. I refused to let him or his family dictate our lives.

When I was in 10th grade, he came up with a new plan to disturb me. He bought two radios and played loud music in various languages—South Indian, Bihari, or Gujarati—making it nearly impossible for me to study. When I asked him to reduce the volume, he or his daughter would lower it briefly, only to turn it back up minutes later. My mother suggested renting a room at a neighbor’s house for me to study, but my Taya scared the neighbors into staying out of our conflicts. Despite these challenges, I remained determined. I was motivated to succeed—not just for myself but to prove him wrong.

The day we moved into our new house, a beautiful and luxurious place, our old neighbors came to congratulate us. They praised my persistence and courage, which had inspired them. I was a headstrong child who promised my mother we would have a better life, even when things seemed hopeless—and I kept that promise.

Over the years, God blessed me with loving people who replaced the pain with kindness and joy. I made friends from around the world, traveled to ten countries for various projects, and met my husband, who has given me a life filled with love and care. After hearing my story, he decided to treat me with the tenderness and affection I had missed as a child. He pampers me as my father once did, ensuring I never feel the weight of those difficult years again.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: being unapologetically true to yourself, taking care of yourself, and believing that the best revenge is success will lead to a happy ending.

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