The Boy Who Ran Away

It was a wedding on Neel’s mother’s side of the family. Now in his late 30s, Neel was a proud father and husband to a lovely wife. Before the ceremonies began, he stood amongst a group of friends and relatives when one of them looked at him with a smirk and asked, “Aren’t you the boy who ran away?”

Though seething inside, Neel kept his composure, refusing to let the conversation continue despite the man’s best efforts. He was relieved that the others didn’t pander to the man’s sadism, though he knew they were all aware of it.

The incident had happened around 30 years back. Neel was just eight and had been left with his sister at his grandparents’ place on his mother’s side of the family while his parents were away, trying for new jobs in another city. Along with his grandparents, his two uncles and their families lived there. What he experienced over that year was relentless mental and verbal abuse. Neel excelled in school, always among the top three in his class, and was a brilliant cricketer, once scoring a half-century in fewer than 20 deliveries. Yet, to a sadistic bunch of relatives, he was always at fault. Not a day went by without humiliation or insults. The cruellest was his uncle, who took delight in scolding him publicly in front of passersby. Whether it was the way he dressed, ate, played, or simply existed—it didn’t matter. Whatever he did, it was always wrong.

His aunt also delighted in shaming him if he asked for an extra serving of food, reminding him how much it cost to feed him and his sister.

The last straw came when his uncle began shouting at him, hurling insults at Neel and his father, in front of a small crowd that had gathered outside their home. Neel still remembers the smirks of strangers watching an eight-year-old boy being humiliated. And his “crime”? He had only asked if he could spend a few days with his cousins.

Neel had had enough. One Sunday afternoon, while everyone was enjoying their siesta, he took his cricket bat and his piggy bank, slipping out through the back door. He didn’t know where he was headed. He wandered, reached a bus stop, boarded a bus, and eventually found his way to a relative’s house in another city, where he was discovered and brought back.

Looking back, he could see the hypocrisy of it all. When he returned, his uncles and aunts turned extra nice, suddenly affectionate in front of people who came by to inquire about the incident. But it didn’t last. His mother, who was informed of his “crime,” came down one day only to berate him and make it his fault. He was, after all, the boy who had “gone wrong.”

Neel had hoped that his mother might understand the pain and humiliation that had driven him to try and escape. She never did. Protecting the family’s name was more important to her than understanding her son.

Snapping back to the wedding, Neel let the memories drift away. On the drive home, however, he couldn’t help but ask himself, Why didn’t a single person from that community ask the question—Why did an eight-year-old boy run away? What could have made him do that?

No one ever had.

Neel sadly smiled to himself. Even after 30 years, no one did.

Years later, when Neel was the proud owner of a technology company, he visited the United States for a client meeting. His aunt and his second uncle were there as well. This time, they were eager to meet him—the successful boy who went to America. Even his mother had told everyone that her son was coming to America.

The hypocrisy was astonishing.

Sometimes Neel would wonder about how things might have turned out if he and his sister had been in a place like the United States or any other modern state. Perhaps a responsible citizen would have called the police, who might have put his relatives on notice. Maybe he and his sister would have been taken away and adopted by people who would have treated them with dignity and love.

Maybe.

In time, his cruel uncle passed away in a motor accident, and his grandparents, too, were gone. Neel found he did not feel sadness, though he tried, for a moment, to convince himself otherwise.

A few months later, Neel learned of an incident in his apartment building where a mother had been mistreating her four-year-old daughter, often locking her out of the apartment. The child would wander the corridors, scared and crying, pleading with neighbors to speak to her mother to let her back inside.

Neel wondered why no one was reporting this to the authorities. They won’t, he thought. That’s how this society was and is.

But, the very next day, he did. With the help of a few friends in the police, he contacted the child helpline. Officials paid the mother a visit, and the little girl was never locked out again.

There wouldn’t be another Neel—not while he was around.