Ramesh Prasad ran his household the way he ran his small electronics shop—with strict rules, sharp words, and no tolerance for mistakes. His booming voice echoed through the house, leaving everyone on edge. His wife, Meena, always rushed to do his bidding, while his children, Anuj and Neha, silently obeyed, fearful of his temper.
One evening, after a long day at work, Ramesh came home and sat down for dinner. The usual complaints began as soon as he picked up his plate.
“Anuj, how many times do I have to tell you to focus on your studies? And Neha, what are you doing all day on that phone? No one in this house understands hard work! I slave away at the shop while you two do nothing! Useless, the both of you!”
Anuj, now seventeen, had been hearing this same rant for years. But tonight, something inside him finally snapped. His hands shook as he tightened his grip on his fork. He had had enough.
“Enough, Dad!” Anuj banged his hand on the table, startling everyone. His face was red with anger. “You think we don’t work hard? You don’t know anything about us! You just yell all the time, like it’s supposed to make things better. Well, it doesn’t!”
The room fell into a heavy silence. Meena paused, her spoon halfway to her mouth, while Neha stared wide-eyed at her brother. Ramesh, visibly stunned, looked at Anuj in disbelief. Never had his son dared to speak back to him.
“How dare you talk to me like that!” Ramesh thundered, standing up. His face turned a deep shade of red as rage coursed through him. “You’re still living under my roof, eating the food I provide! You don’t get to question me!”
But Anuj was past the point of backing down. “You think we owe you respect just because you shout louder than anyone else? Well, maybe we’re tired of being afraid of you!”
Ramesh’s jaw clenched. Before he could lash out again, Meena whispered, almost apologetically, “Anuj, please. Just eat quietly. You’ll only make things worse.”
Anuj shot her a frustrated look. “Ma, why do you always take his side? Don’t you see what he’s doing to us?”
Meena lowered her eyes, not meeting anyone’s gaze. “I don’t take sides,” she murmured. “I just don’t want more shouting in this house.”
Her voice quivered as she spoke, revealing years of suppressed pain. Ramesh’s anger was nothing new to her. She had learned to survive by staying quiet, blending into the background. The scars weren’t visible, but they were deep.
Before anyone could react, Neha, who had been silent all this while, suddenly stood up. But unlike her brother’s defiance, her approach was different—more mocking, almost sarcastic. “Oh, Anuj, don’t bother,” she said, her voice dripping with bitterness. “Papa’s always angry. If he doesn’t yell, how will he feel important?”
She tossed her hair back dramatically, her lips curling into a smirk. “Isn’t that right, Papa? You shout at us to feel big. But guess what? We’re all done pretending it works.”
Ramesh blinked, taken aback. Neha, his fifteen-year-old daughter, had always been the quiet one, the obedient child. Her words stung him more than Anuj’s outburst. They carried a truth he wasn’t ready to face.
“I don’t yell to feel important!” Ramesh shouted, but this time, his voice lacked the usual force. There was a crack in his confidence now, a glimpse of doubt.
Neha crossed her arms, her eyes sharp. “Really? Then why else? Because it sure doesn’t help anyone. You just like scaring us so you can feel in control.”
Ramesh stood there, speechless. He had always believed that raising his voice kept the house in order. But now, his own children were standing up against him. The very power he thought he had was slipping away.
Meena, sensing the tension, quietly began clearing the plates, her hands shaking. She had lived in the shadows of Ramesh’s anger for so long that the idea of speaking up still terrified her. But tonight, seeing her children, something shifted inside her.
“Ramesh,” she said softly, almost trembling, “maybe… maybe it’s time to stop. Look at them.” Her voice, though soft, carried years of hidden strength. “They’re not children anymore. You can’t control them with fear. They don’t respect you—they’re just scared. And that’s no way to keep a family together.”
Ramesh stared at her, feeling the weight of her words sink in. His wife, who had never challenged him, was speaking up now. And she was right.
As he looked around the room, at his angry son, his mocking daughter, and his fearful wife, Ramesh felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—powerless. His anger had made him feel strong for years, but now it was clear—his family didn’t love or respect him. They feared him. And now, they were starting to fight back. He had used anger to control his family, thinking it gave him power. But now, that same anger had pushed them away.
Ramesh sat down heavily in his chair, the weight of the truth settling over him like a heavy blanket.
That night, Ramesh sat alone in the living room, staring at the quiet house. His children had shut themselves in their rooms. Meena had gone to bed without a word. The silence was deafening, but it forced him to see the truth.
For the first time in his life, Ramesh was feeling
powerless.