I was 16, my mother would leave for work at 10am and return around 6pm. My grandmother (maternal) was in her late fifties, a silent lady who did household chores during morning, slept afternoon and in evenings, sometimes went for a walk. She was a soft person, unfortunately dominated by her sons. My mother's elder brother lived with us.
He started his own business by selling half of my grandmother's gold jewelry. Business clicked in a few days, he started earning and drinking. Days passed by, business declined, his addiction increased.
Eventually, business went down and incurred substantial losses and then we had to sell my grandmothers remaining jewelry and shut his business down. He would get drunk and create nuisance in neighborhood. At home he used to abuse me saying 'This is not your house, you have no right to stay here', and what not. He had lost his mind and lost my respect as well.
One night, around 11pm we got a call on our landline from a stranger who informed me that he found my drunk uncle had fallen on the road. The stranger asked if someone could come to pick my uncle. Who could go? My old granny? My mother? Me?
I explained him our situation, and requested him if he could drop my uncle home. Fortunately, he was a kind enough to do so. This was the first time I had told someone about my family problems. I hated telling anyone about my helplessness. But this was just the beginning, we had to suffer unexplainable torture for 3 years, while he went on and off to drug rehab centers.