When I was six, Baba had got me my first doll. I vividly remember her, my best friend. I had named her Sameera, she had huge eyes and wore a red bridal outfit, I would play with her all the time and one day I wed her off, wed her to another doll.

Bachpan ki nadaniyo me shayad shaadi ka koi mol nahi tha. But now that I had grown up, I knew that wedding someone wasn't just a game, being someone's wife was about much more. (We would be house when we were kids, then wedding held no real significance, I did not know what the sacred bond between a husband and wife meant)

I was in my final year of degree in fine arts, I just 21 when my life reminded me of Sameera, turned me into Sameera, jis tarah Sameera ka nikkah ek mazzak tha, ek khel uss he tarah mere nikkah ne meri zindagi ko bhi ek khel me tabdeel kar diya. (The way I wedded my doll in the game of house, the same way life turned my life into a game after getting me married.)

I am Meher Butt and this is my story.

•••

Life had been smoothly sailing till the summer of 2015, I had just turned sixteen this summer.

The house was decorated with my favourite pink carnations and rosegold balloons had carpeted the floor.

Zohra Khala had brought my dress from the boutique and the three tyre cake was already resting in the kitchen. All my friends and family would arrive in an hour.

All those English movies I binge watched with Junaid bhai made me excited about my sweet sixteen, for reason unknown.

"Meher why aren't you ready meri jaan." Amma called out as she stepped into our living room trying to fix her earring. (My dear)

Amma had single handedly made arrangements for the party, she said it wasn't a big deal now that she had been running the house for 28 years all alone, such parities didn't faze her.

Amma and Baba had had a love marriage, Baba being an orphan wasn't accepted by her parents so they had decided to elope. Amma says it had been the bravest and the best decision she had taken.

"Just heading up Amma." I replied. "Is Daniyal bhai and Baba home ?" I asked her.

"Not yet meri jaan but he will be go get dressed." She said shooing me away.

I wasn't ashamed to say I was a pampered child, the youngest of the three siblings, my brothers and father had spoilt me rotten.

Baba owned several sugar mills in Pakistan which he had himself built from scratch, my oldest brother Daniyal was a software engineer and lived in Silicon Valley in the USA, where as Junaid bhai helped baba with his business.

And then there was me, the youngest I was 9 years younger than Junaid bhai who was the middle child.

Baba had gone to pick Daniyal bhai up from the airport, he was coming home after four year, so naturally the party was more for his welcome than for my birthday, but I didn't mind sharing my moment of glory with him.

I quickly slipped into the dress Amma had gifted me, it was white silk kurta with intricate handwork paired with white pants and a white dupatta with gota work, I wore my favourite golden jutti (footwear) and lined my eyes with khol braiding my hair in a fish braid.

The familiar sound of Baba's Pajero made me scamper quickly down the stairs towards the door.

"..buss Amma a little tired, the long hours of the flight just takes away all your energy." I saw daniyal bhai complaining while hugging Amma.

"Bhai." I called out loudly gaining his attention and launched myself at him. I had missed him so much.

"Oomph!" He said stumbling a little after being thrown back by my extra weight. "Choti, ab tu moti bhi ho gayi hai." He said wrapping his arms around me, I had clung to him like a baby money to it's mamma. (Oh little one you have become quite heavy)

"I've missed you." I said burring my face in his shoulder my voice coming out muffled. "Did you bring me my chocolates ?"

"I did little monkey." He said placing me on the floor and pinching my cheeks.

Daniyal bhai and I had taken upon our mother's fair skin with her sharp Kashmiri featured and big brown eyes, where as Junaid bhai and Baba were the only ones with the punjabi genes.

"Bhai aa gaya toh baba ko kon pucheyga." Baba complained with a pout earning a laugh from all of us. (Ah whose gonna give me a little piece of love when her brother's back)

Amma pushed the father son duo to get dressed, as in half an hour the guests would start coming in.

"Amma please mere room me chai bhej de, I haven't had a decent cup of tea in years." Bhai said, picking his bag up. (Mom send a cup of tea to my room)

"Haan Minahil mere liye bhi ek cup pl-." Baba's wish for the tea was interrupted by a phone call. (Oh yes please one cup for me as well-)

A phone call which changed our lives forever, which changed my life forever.

As Baba picked the call, the muffled sound from the mobile had drained all the colour from his face.
The phone slipped from his hand and his feet staggered.

Daniyal Bhai quickly held him to support his falling body.

"Baba what happened ?" Danial bhai's panicked voice made me shiver in fear as well, he was the most calmest of all of us.

"Minahil .. Minha, sab jal gaya Minh.. sab jal." Baba stuttered. (Everything's turned to ash)

"Baba please what happened ? Are you okay Baba." Danial bhai tried to hold Baba upright.

Baba's face was covered in a sheen of sweat and painfully contoured, he opened his mouth to take a deep breath. He held his left arm with his right hand.

"Baba, ya Allah !" Daniyal bhai said panicking. "Amma call Junaid."

Daniyal bhai couldn't take Baba's weight anymore so he slumped on the floor with Baba in his lap.

"Call the ambulance Amma." Daniyal bhai yelled as baba struggled to breath with the pain, he had clutched his chest now.
His body went rigid with pain and then the very next second he went limp.

Baba had left us.

So this was the start to our downfall as a family. Baba's sugar mill had caught fire and 60% of it had burnt down to the ground. Some of you would say that insurance money would cover for it and we could easily built it up, but instead of paying to renew insurance Baba had taken the risk and invested the money in Junaid bhai's business which of course turned out to be a complete failure.

A week after Baba's death, Daniyal bhai left Pakistan again to return back to a place he now called home, and our home, the bank auctioned it for the mere money Baba had loaned from them with the house as a collateral.

Amma, I and Junaid bhai had moved to our small vacation home in Hyderabad. The only house help who stayed with us was Zohra khala, the rest had bid adieu.

Our life post Baba's death was a constant struggle, Junaid bhai apparently only had baba's looks and not his knack in business, soon what was left too was going down the drain. Amma and Zohra khala too had started earning bits by selling home made pickle and papads, I on the other hand was focused on my studies, finishing my last years of schooling before degree.

When I turned eighteen, Daniyal bhai had sent us a letter, yes a letter in the 21st century. In his letter he wrote that he had married an American woman Brenda and was expecting his first child in a few months.

That was one day after two years of Baba's death that Amma had cried her heart out. Her golden child, had practically denounced us as strangers, we felt as if we weren't his family anymore, he had married a firang (foreigner) without consulting us or even informing us and now was fathering her child. It did break my heart too, even though we all wished him nothing but happiness some part of us broke and knew that he had separated himself from us.

A year later Junaid bhai had brought a girl home, but unlike Daniyal bhai who was already married and expecting his child, Junaid bhai had committed zina (fornication) and impregnated the girl.
The same day Amma had called in maulvi sahab and got the two married.

And if things weren't bad already, the entry of Rukaiya Bhabhi had destroyed the peace of the house.
If zan mureed (hen pecked husband) had a face, Junaid Bhai would be the poster boy for it, Rukaiya Bhabhi had made all our lives a living hell.

In the beginning of second year of degree, bhai had barged into my room. He said that my studies had to end as he was running short on funds and could provide for one, my books or my food not both, so unless I paid him for one I'd have to give up on college.

I worked odd jobs, sometimes as a sales girl in shops or waitressing in cafe's to collect enough money for college.

Thankfully bhai still had some ghairat (respect) left in him to stop his wife from tormenting Amma and Khala.

Two years of listening to bhabhi abuse and curse me and Amma, I had finally reached the threshold, and one day I gave her back what she deserved. That one mistake of taking a stand from myself had lead me here today, sitting next to maulvi sahab wearing a red bridal dress similar to my doll Sameera ready to marry a man I had been sold to.