Breaking the Cycle

It was the last evening of the year, and the house glowed with warmth, light, and the quiet hope that a new beginning was only a few hours away.

The kitchen was alive with movement. Steam rose from pots, cumin crackled in hot oil, and the fragrance of ginger and cardamom drifted through the air. Rita stood near the stove, slowly stirring a pot of dal, while Rohan began cutting the salad on the counter. Kavya moved between them, carrying plates to the dining table, her hair tied loosely in a messy bun. Outside, faint sounds of early fireworks echoed in the distance, reminding them that midnight was not far away.

“Beta, taste the paneer,” Rita said gently, holding out a spoon to Kavya. Kavya tasted it and smiled. “Perfect, Mom. Just like always.” Rohan laughed softly. “Of course. Your mother doesn’t cook. She creates magic.” Rita rolled her eyes playfully. “Bas, bas. “Stop flattering me and finish cutting the salad.”

The doorbell rang.

Kavya’s face lit up. “They’re here!” She ran to open the door. Shriya stood outside, smiling brightly, holding a box of sweets. Behind her were her elder sister Tina, their mother Meena, wrapped in a silk shawl, and their father Darshan, carrying a bouquet of flowers. “Happy New Year in advance!” Shriya said, hugging Kavya tightly. “Come in, come in!” Rita welcomed them warmly.

Shoes were placed near the door, coats hung carefully, and laughter slowly filled the living room. The dining table was set beautifully… simple but elegant, with candles flickering softly. The girls sat together, whispering and giggling, while the parents settled into polite conversation.

Dinner began with warmth and gratitude. “This food smells amazing,” Meena said, taking a bite. “Rita, you always cook with so much love.” Rita smiled. “Food tastes better when shared.” Darshan nodded. “That is true.”

As they ate, the adults talked about work. Rohan discussed changes in his company. Darshan spoke about new policies at his office. Meena mentioned rising prices and the pressure of managing home and work. Rita listened thoughtfully, adding gentle comments here and there.

Upstairs, the girls had gathered in Kavya’s room. Soft fairy lights were strung along the wall. A small speaker played low music. They sat cross-legged on the carpet, plates of snacks between them. “So,” Shriya grinned, “last New Year’s Eve we were in pajamas eating chips. This is an upgrade.” Tina smiled faintly but remained quiet. Kavya noticed. “Tina, are you okay?” Tina hesitated. She looked at the window for a moment, watching the night sky. “I’m fine,” she said softly.

But silence hung in the room.

Shriya nudged her gently. “You can say it. It’s just us.” Tina took a deep breath. “When I was in elementary school,” she began slowly, “my parents used to fight a lot.” Kavya and Shriya both looked at her carefully. “It wasn’t just normal arguments,” Tina continued. “It was shouting. Crying. Doors slamming.” Her voice trembled slightly. “I would sit in my room and cover my ears with a pillow. I felt scared all the time.” Shriya looked down.

Tina swallowed. “My father hit me a few times. I don’t even remember why. Maybe because I talked back. Maybe because he was angry.” Kavya’s heart tightened. “One day,” Tina whispered, “my mother showed a knife to my father during a fight.” The room felt suddenly heavy. “I was shaking. I didn’t know what to do. So… I called the police.”

Shriya wiped her eyes quietly. “I was just a kid,” Tina said. “But I felt like I had to protect everyone.”

Silence followed.

Kavya reached for Tina’s hand. “I’m so sorry.” Shriya spoke softly. “They always compare me with other kids. ‘Look at her grades. Look at her behavior.’ Sometimes they tease me in front of others. It feels like bullying.” She paused. “They manipulate me. They say things like, ‘After everything we did for you…’ It feels like emotional blackmail.” Tina nodded.

Kavya listened carefully. Her voice was gentle when she spoke. “Our parents grew up in India,” she said thoughtfully. “Sometimes they didn’t learn healthy parenting. My mom used to treat me like a trophy kid. Everything was about grades and achievements.” She looked down for a second. “It hurt.” Shriya looked surprised. “Really? Your parents seem so perfect.”

Kavya smiled faintly. “No one is perfect.” She continued softly, “But my mom changed. After reflection… after realizing she was hurting me. Now they support me. They listen.” Tina looked at her closely. “You’re lucky.” Kavya shook her head. "Change is possible.”

Downstairs, the adults laughed lightly over tea. But Rita felt something strange in her heart. She noticed Tina’s quietness during dinner. She noticed Shriya’s forced smile. Midnight arrived. Everyone gathered in the living room. The TV counted down. “Ten… nine… eight…” They held hands. “Three… two… one!”

“Happy New Year!”

Hugs were exchanged. Smiles were wide. For a moment, everything felt light. After dessert and more conversation, Shriya’s family left around 2:00 a.m. “Drive safe,” Rita said warmly. “We will,” Meena replied.

As the door closed, the house became quiet. Kavya turned to her parents. “There’s something I need to tell you,” she said gently. They sat together on the couch as she shared what the girls had discussed upstairs. Rita listened carefully, her heart heavy. “Poor children,” she whispered. 

Months passed. One afternoon, Rita’s phone rang. It was Meena. Her voice sounded tired. “Rita,” she began, “ I want to share something with you, my husband and in-laws emotionally abused me in the early years of marriage.” Rita listened quietly. “They criticized everything,” Meena continued. “My cooking. My upbringing. I felt alone.”

Rita spoke gently. “Many Indian women go through emotional struggles in early marriage years. Sometimes things improve with time.”

“Yes,” Meena sighed. “But some wounds stay.” They ended the call after a brief conversation. Rita sat silently afterward. She already knew much of the story from Kavya.

Years passed again. Another phone call came. Meena’s voice trembled. “Tina doesn’t call me anymore. If I call her, she barely talks. Shriya gets angry easily. I don’t understand.” Rita closed her eyes for a moment. “They are your children,” Rita said softly. “You raised them. You know them best.” Meena’s breathing grew heavier. “Some emotional damage heals with time,” Rita continued gently. “Sometimes children carry it for life.”

Silence.

“If I were you,” Rita said carefully, “I would stop expecting anything. I would just do my duty. Support them. Serve them. No criticism. No judgment.” Meena’s voice cracked. “Did I hurt them that much?” Rita answered honestly but kindly. “Sometimes parents are not aware that their behavior causes harm, they have unnecessary expectations. It causes emotional pain in childhood. But change is possible.” She paused. “Change only happens when we take responsibility and accountability for our actions.”

Meena whispered, “I also have trauma from my childhood. My in-laws were controlling and abusive.” Rita’s voice softened further. “Many people who behave in controlling or narcissistic ways were once wounded themselves.” Silence filled the line. “Who will break the cycle?” Rita asked gently. Meena didn’t answer immediately. “If previous generations lacked awareness,” Rita continued, “maybe we can choose healing. Through reflection. Therapy. Spiritual growth. Education.”

Meena began crying quietly.

“The cycle of hurt can continue endlessly… unless someone chooses to heal instead of repeat.” Rita added kindly. 

After a long pause, Meena spoke. “Thank you, Rita. I will try. I don’t want my daughters to carry pain because of me.” Rita smiled softly. “That is the first step.”

Months later, small changes began. Meena stopped criticizing Shriya. She apologized to Tina one evening. “I’m sorry,” she said with trembling hands. “I didn’t know how much I hurt you.” Tina looked shocked. “You’re apologizing?” “Yes,” Meena whispered. “I am learning.” It was not instant healing. There were awkward silences. Tears. Distance.

But something had shifted. One evening, Tina called her mother. “Hi, Mom,” she said quietly. Meena’s eyes filled with tears. “Hi, beta.” The conversation was short. But it was a beginning.

Another New Year’s Eve arrived. Rita stood by the window, watching fireworks. Rohan joined her. “Thinking?” he asked gently. “Yes,” she replied softly. She thought about cycles. About pain passed down like inheritance. About how one conversation could plant a seed.

Upstairs, Kavya laughed on the phone with Shriya.

Life was not perfect. No family was perfect. But awareness had begun. And sometimes, awareness is where healing starts. The house felt peaceful. The kitchen smelled of fresh tea. And somewhere, quietly, a cycle was breaking.