Vidhatri's Oasis
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Untouched
Untouched….
I spread my arms to welcome the sun allowing the sunlight hug me. I perform a ballet when the pleasant breeze makes me dance to its tunes. I blush as the rain drops fall on me, kissing me all over. I wake up in the morning drenched in the fresh dew drops that pamper me. I am very happy with the life I am leading now…being far away from all … totally untouched…may be that’s why I am rightly named as a “Touch-Me-Not” plant.
I haven’t experienced much of the world outside, but I have learnt a lot from my elders. I was taught that I was given this name because when I was touched, I would curl around and soon after sometime I would spread my leaflets. I was yet to feel the human touch. But, I guess I will never feel it because I was born in a marsh area where no human has reached yet. So, I am sure I would continue my present blissful life for ever, without anyone intruding my life. May be God is very happy with me and has bles..s..bless..e…d….Hey … Who’s that? I can feel something unusual happening now. What is it? Is there some earthquake or a flood coming my way? Oh God! What is this? I can feel a touch. Why am I curling around? Who has touched me ? I looked up and saw five fingers touching me . I looked beyond . I saw two eyes , a nose, lips and a face that were grinning at me …. Oh God! Humans have caught me !
I curled around, shrinking my whole body together. Ouch ! It aches. I cried out in pain just to be unheard. After some time when I couldn’t bear the pain I slowly spread my body only to be touched again. I curled again in pain. Now, I have lost the count as to how many times I could have opened and closed to satisfy the human fascination.
Now, What are they doing? Why are you approaching my roots ? No .. No… please don’t pluck me off . I will die. Please let me be alone. Aahh! It aches . Don’t uproot me, please. Tuck ! They pulled me off the marsh place where I had lived till now and I dreamt of living there forever. I was put into a plastic cover and carried away. Few of my roots were still intact there on the ground, which I could see were crying out to take them with me. But, sad they didn’t know that we now were destined to never ever meet again. I bid farewell in tears.
I was put into a pot of mud and a label was placed beneath the pot that read “Touch-Me-Not” plant. I looked around the place. Looked like a place where lot of humans visited. I looked to my sides. I was placed in between many pots of plants that too carried their name tag beneath their pot. “Sad Souls like me”, I thought.
I was missing everything. The sunlight doesn’t seem to be hugging me anymore, the pleasant breeze seems not interested to dance with me, and there were no rains that once kissed me … I was missing all this. Like others plants in the pot, I was also standing there leading a lifeless life.
I was getting bored. The loneliness seemed to strangle me to death. I needed to talk to somebody. But with whom? These humans …who only come near me only to touch me and see me curl in pain while they smile seeing me do so. I was fed up. I needed someone to talk to. I looked around and found a cactus plant next to me.
“Hi, Cactus. I am Touch-Me-Not. Can we be friends?
No Reply.
“Cactus, I would like to be your friend. I am feeling very lonely. Can we talk?”
No Reply.
Everyday I tried to start a conversation with the Cactus plant. But, always ended up being disappointed. I didn’t know why Cactus didn’t speak to me? Days passed by. Everybody who passed by me, looked at my name plate and immediately touched me. I had nothing to defend myself from them. So, I continued to be touched that engulfed me in more and more pain. Soon , I found my body growing weak and fragile.
“My friend Cactus, I am fed up of life. I can’t take these touches anymore. It pains. But these humans don’t understand because they have fun seeing me go in and out. I need a friend... A friend whom I can talk to … tell my miseries… My sorrow.. My pains…Please, talk to me . Please”
“Humm…. “
“Wow, I heard that. You just spoke to me Cactus. Thanks. But, please speak to me more. I am dying to talk to you “
“What do you want me to talk?”
“Talk… ok tell me why didn’t you speak to me all these days?”
“Why should I talk to you ? You have so many people who come to see you .. who touch you .. pamper you. Then, what difference does it make if I don’t talk to you ?”
“Oh! For heaven’s sake! Don’t say that. I hate what’s happening to me. When the fingers come near me I just hope that they kill me instead of just touching me. They love to see me close and open. But for their happiness I have to suffer the pains which are unbearable. This is killing me. You’re mistaken, the presence of these people doesn’t make me happy rather their presence is like a slow poison that is killing me everyday. I hope I was like you because nobody disturbs you.”
“Please, don’t they say that. Don’t ever think of being me. I am leading a life that is worse than hell. If I was in hell, I would have been happier because I would have known that I am dead that I wouldn’t have expected anything from anybody. But now I am alive, waiting to be loved .What is the difference between you and me? That, I have thorns all-round and you don’t have them. That, they derive happiness when they touch you and pain when they touch me. They don’t even attempt to come close to me. Why?”
“Cactus, please control yourself. I didn’t mean to hurt you….”
“Hurt… good to hear that. At least you understand that I have a heart that can get hurt. But these humans don’t ? Even when I blossom a flower, they give me a surprised look. A look which says that even this horny plant can blossom such beautiful flowers. But still they don’t come near me. God, has created me different. But, does difference mean not to be loved?”
I was speechless.
I didn’t have a reply because the reality is , being “different” deprives one from being loved.
I found lot of truth in the Cactus’s words. It’s true that an orphaned kid, a handicapped person, an AIDS patient, a mentally retarded man, a homeless mother, the tsunami affected people, the people who lost their limb in an earthquake, the Army general who lost his limb in a war , the beggar outside the temple, the lonely mother of two kids who begs in the traffic signal, the blind women who trips and falls just to be not caught by anyone….. and so many others who are different and thus deprived of the love they deserve. Even they have hearts that blossom love. But, their thorny reality is overshadowing their velvet soft loving nature. It would just take some pains for people to take time out and help them. But isn’t that pain worth taking when compared to the immeasurable happiness these special people get? These are people who are completely untouched by love and waiting to be touched.
Hearing the Cactus’s words I was touched. Touched because those words helped me to take a decision to live … live to bring smiles on the Cactus’s face, touched because I was fortunate to get a chance to help “the special” and at last touched of the fact that I was different from those humans who in spite of having so many people who are still untouched, touched me even when my name screamed loud on their face “TOUCH-ME-NOT”.
I spread my arms to welcome the sun allowing the sunlight hug me. I perform a ballet when the pleasant breeze makes me dance to its tunes. I blush as the rain drops fall on me, kissing me all over. I wake up in the morning drenched in the fresh dew drops that pamper me. I am very happy with the life I am leading now…being far away from all … totally untouched…may be that’s why I am rightly named as a “Touch-Me-Not” plant.
I haven’t experienced much of the world outside, but I have learnt a lot from my elders. I was taught that I was given this name because when I was touched, I would curl around and soon after sometime I would spread my leaflets. I was yet to feel the human touch. But, I guess I will never feel it because I was born in a marsh area where no human has reached yet. So, I am sure I would continue my present blissful life for ever, without anyone intruding my life. May be God is very happy with me and has bles..s..bless..e…d….Hey … Who’s that? I can feel something unusual happening now. What is it? Is there some earthquake or a flood coming my way? Oh God! What is this? I can feel a touch. Why am I curling around? Who has touched me ? I looked up and saw five fingers touching me . I looked beyond . I saw two eyes , a nose, lips and a face that were grinning at me …. Oh God! Humans have caught me !
I curled around, shrinking my whole body together. Ouch ! It aches. I cried out in pain just to be unheard. After some time when I couldn’t bear the pain I slowly spread my body only to be touched again. I curled again in pain. Now, I have lost the count as to how many times I could have opened and closed to satisfy the human fascination.
Now, What are they doing? Why are you approaching my roots ? No .. No… please don’t pluck me off . I will die. Please let me be alone. Aahh! It aches . Don’t uproot me, please. Tuck ! They pulled me off the marsh place where I had lived till now and I dreamt of living there forever. I was put into a plastic cover and carried away. Few of my roots were still intact there on the ground, which I could see were crying out to take them with me. But, sad they didn’t know that we now were destined to never ever meet again. I bid farewell in tears.
I was put into a pot of mud and a label was placed beneath the pot that read “Touch-Me-Not” plant. I looked around the place. Looked like a place where lot of humans visited. I looked to my sides. I was placed in between many pots of plants that too carried their name tag beneath their pot. “Sad Souls like me”, I thought.
I was missing everything. The sunlight doesn’t seem to be hugging me anymore, the pleasant breeze seems not interested to dance with me, and there were no rains that once kissed me … I was missing all this. Like others plants in the pot, I was also standing there leading a lifeless life.
I was getting bored. The loneliness seemed to strangle me to death. I needed to talk to somebody. But with whom? These humans …who only come near me only to touch me and see me curl in pain while they smile seeing me do so. I was fed up. I needed someone to talk to. I looked around and found a cactus plant next to me.
“Hi, Cactus. I am Touch-Me-Not. Can we be friends?
No Reply.
“Cactus, I would like to be your friend. I am feeling very lonely. Can we talk?”
No Reply.
Everyday I tried to start a conversation with the Cactus plant. But, always ended up being disappointed. I didn’t know why Cactus didn’t speak to me? Days passed by. Everybody who passed by me, looked at my name plate and immediately touched me. I had nothing to defend myself from them. So, I continued to be touched that engulfed me in more and more pain. Soon , I found my body growing weak and fragile.
“My friend Cactus, I am fed up of life. I can’t take these touches anymore. It pains. But these humans don’t understand because they have fun seeing me go in and out. I need a friend... A friend whom I can talk to … tell my miseries… My sorrow.. My pains…Please, talk to me . Please”
“Humm…. “
“Wow, I heard that. You just spoke to me Cactus. Thanks. But, please speak to me more. I am dying to talk to you “
“What do you want me to talk?”
“Talk… ok tell me why didn’t you speak to me all these days?”
“Why should I talk to you ? You have so many people who come to see you .. who touch you .. pamper you. Then, what difference does it make if I don’t talk to you ?”
“Oh! For heaven’s sake! Don’t say that. I hate what’s happening to me. When the fingers come near me I just hope that they kill me instead of just touching me. They love to see me close and open. But for their happiness I have to suffer the pains which are unbearable. This is killing me. You’re mistaken, the presence of these people doesn’t make me happy rather their presence is like a slow poison that is killing me everyday. I hope I was like you because nobody disturbs you.”
“Please, don’t they say that. Don’t ever think of being me. I am leading a life that is worse than hell. If I was in hell, I would have been happier because I would have known that I am dead that I wouldn’t have expected anything from anybody. But now I am alive, waiting to be loved .What is the difference between you and me? That, I have thorns all-round and you don’t have them. That, they derive happiness when they touch you and pain when they touch me. They don’t even attempt to come close to me. Why?”
“Cactus, please control yourself. I didn’t mean to hurt you….”
“Hurt… good to hear that. At least you understand that I have a heart that can get hurt. But these humans don’t ? Even when I blossom a flower, they give me a surprised look. A look which says that even this horny plant can blossom such beautiful flowers. But still they don’t come near me. God, has created me different. But, does difference mean not to be loved?”
I was speechless.
I didn’t have a reply because the reality is , being “different” deprives one from being loved.
I found lot of truth in the Cactus’s words. It’s true that an orphaned kid, a handicapped person, an AIDS patient, a mentally retarded man, a homeless mother, the tsunami affected people, the people who lost their limb in an earthquake, the Army general who lost his limb in a war , the beggar outside the temple, the lonely mother of two kids who begs in the traffic signal, the blind women who trips and falls just to be not caught by anyone….. and so many others who are different and thus deprived of the love they deserve. Even they have hearts that blossom love. But, their thorny reality is overshadowing their velvet soft loving nature. It would just take some pains for people to take time out and help them. But isn’t that pain worth taking when compared to the immeasurable happiness these special people get? These are people who are completely untouched by love and waiting to be touched.
Hearing the Cactus’s words I was touched. Touched because those words helped me to take a decision to live … live to bring smiles on the Cactus’s face, touched because I was fortunate to get a chance to help “the special” and at last touched of the fact that I was different from those humans who in spite of having so many people who are still untouched, touched me even when my name screamed loud on their face “TOUCH-ME-NOT”.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
It
Neither good nor bad…. Neither happy nor sad … Neither a blessing nor a curse… for I am neither a man nor a woman … I belong to the “third sex” and they call me a Hijra.
I live in a slum area in Mumbai. I share a house with four more people who are Hijras like me. Inside these four walls, I live in a world that is dimly lit, with rain water pouring in from the dilapidated roof and getting a meal per day was a luxury. But the world outside these four walls has always been flashy. Flashy with all the flamboyant clothes I wore, the gaudy makeup that covered my face, the ostentatious ornaments that made more noise than the song I sang, the jasmine flowers on my head that spread fragrance as I danced around clapping my hands continuously in a marriage function or during a celebration of a child’s birth. It’s nice to get a warm welcome when we visit these functions because people here believe that if we bless them, good fortunes will be bestowed on them. But, then how will they address me? “She has come to bless us”? Or “He has come to bless us”? No! They can’t address me either way. So, they end up addressing me “It has come to bless us”. I smile back at them when I hear them say so.
I sometimes wonder who is to be blamed for my present state... myself or God Himself. For I am now devoid of being a mother, father, sister, brother, daughter, son and many more. Now all that defines me is this two letter word “It.” This complaint I had until a touch made me feel more than just being an “It”.
It was just another day. As usual I was dressed in a shiny sari, I walked around the street clapping my hands going to each road side shop and demanding money. This was my daily routine. Few people gave me money while others just literally pushed me out of the shop. That day I entered a textile shop that stood in the corner of the main road. As I was demanding money in my usual boisterous tone, I noticed a small boy standing with his mother. I looked at him and gave him a huge smile. He got scared. Can’t blame him, because when a person with a dark complexion and lips dipped in a bright red lipstick smiles at a small kid, he getting scared was obvious. Not stopping with this, I went closer to the kid and smiled again at him. This time he got really scared and started running. Oh God! Why was this kid running? Oh no! He was running towards the main road. “Stop! Don’t run. Some vehicle might hit you. Stop”, I screamed and started running behind the kid who was moving closer to the road. Just then I saw a lorry coming close to the boy. Before I realized what happened, I saw the kid lying in the corner of the road, wounded.
I rushed towards the kid and lifted him. Thank God he was still alive. “Somebody please call the ambulance or a taxi fast”, I screamed. The boy’s mother squeezed her way out of the crowd that had gathered around us. I went on pleading for help, but no one seemed to help. These people will never change. I rushed out of the crowd towards the road to stop a taxi. But every taxi that passed by sensed that something was wrong, so they just rushed through. At last I managed to stop a taxi and caught the taxi driver by the collar of his shirt. I showed all the roughness that I had developed in all these years of my existence in this strange surrounding of mine. I warned the taxi driver to take us to the hospital, leaving the taxi driver totally petrified. The bleeding boy was lying on his mother’s lap who was weeping continuously, as we drove to the nearby hospital. It was just the day before I had blessed a new born kid for a long life and now I was the reason for making a boy live many years less than what he was supposed to.
We rushed into the emergency ward. The doctor and the nurse took the boy into the operation theater. His mom and I were standing outside the operation theater. His mother was continuously crying and wailing. I went close to her and said “Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to your son”. She stopped crying and looked at me. I could see anger in her eyes.
“You are telling me not to worry. How can you say that? Do you know how a mother feels? How will you know? You have never been one. What did my son do to you? What did you achieve by scaring my son? …”
“But I never intended to harm your son. He ran …”
“Harm… you have done that already. You are living a handicapped life, so you want my son also to lose a limb and be a handicap .You could never do anything good for your life or others …. At least spare us from your bad shadow. Please go away from here. I don’t want your bad luck to rub on my son anymore... just go away.”
I walked out of the hospital with a heavy heart. I was blamed and held responsible for something I never intended to do. I am the way I looked because I am like that. And I live like this because I was born to live this way. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and I felt that my legs unable to carry my own weight. I tired to balance but couldn’t. I sat on the nearby platform.
“.. How will you know? You can never be a mother”… did I not want to be one…“Bad luck, bad shadow”… did I ask for being one? Why was I blamed for living as an individual I never wanted to be? What was my mistake if God didn’t want me to lead a normal life? I was leading a life which gave me just two options, either live it or die before your natural death. Was it my mistake to decide to live? Till now I was leading a life full of compromises but from now I had to live a life of guilt. Guilty of ruining a kid’s life, guilty of making a mother cry, guilty of being the way I was.
That day when I reached my house, I found all my room mates in the house waiting for me to arrive. As soon as I stepped in, they told me their day’s happenings. “You know we went to this house, where a very cute baby boy was born. We blessed him and guess what they gave us so much money in return. They were very generous people. I pray to God the baby boy lives long.”, one of my room mates told me. “I pray the boy survives.” I told them . “What ?.. What did you say?”, they asked me. “Humm.. nothing I didn’t say anything”, I replied back realizing I had muttered something which I shouldn’t have. How could I tell them that while they blessed a baby for long life, I had pushed a kid into the well of death? No, I didn’t want to say, but my eyes could say the untold things. So, I rushed my way out of the house before my friends could make it out.
I sat on a bench looking at the waves of the sea splashing on the rocks. The sea looked like a mirror which was trying to show my shabby appearance. The sprinkles of water that fell on me were trying to remind me again and again that I was guilty of a boy’s miserable state. A boy who was lucky until the instance I entered his life. Yes, I am a bad shadow …a bad luck. What is the purpose of my living? Anyways I can’t do anything good to anybody but at least let me stop myself from doing bad to anyone. What difference will it make if I live or die? So, better I die. I stood on the rocks, ready to jump into the sea and kill myself. Then suddenly, I remembered the small boy’s face. What would have happened to the kid? Was he dead or alive? Did he lose any of his limbs because of the accident? I could sense a desperate urge in my heart to see the boy for the last time, so I decided to see the boy the very next day.
I slowly crept into the hospital. I didn’t know which room he was in. I enquired in the reception giving the details of the boy’s accident and the time he was admitted. The receptionist told me the room number with a very suspicious look. I ignored the look because I was happy that the kid was alive. I had to be very careful now because I couldn’t enter the room when his mother was inside. I didn’t want to upset her . I stood in the corner of the passage looking at the door of the room for some miracle to happen and I see the boy. “Oh God!. Please let me see the kid. Please. This is my last wish because I might not be alive to ask you another one.”, I prayed hard. Just then, I saw his mother coming out of the room. I immediately entered the room hoping nobody to be there in the room.
There before me I could see the small boy lying on the bed. He had bandages all over his body. I could see red swollen marks on his face. Oh God! What are you making the small boy go through? This is hell. All because of my mistake. I sat on my knees with my head resting on the bed. I wept. I am definitely a curse. That’s why even God didn’t want me to lead a normal life. I can’t take it anymore. Its better I die.
Suddenly I felt l a smooth velvet touch on my hand. I looked up. The kid’s hand was on mine. He slowly held his hand firmly around my hand. I looked at the kid. I saw a broad smile on his face. “Thanks”, he said and gave a wider smile. “Thanks for bringing me to the hospital.”, he said. I didn’t know how the kid knew about it, but then I - a hijra was the one who brought him to the hospital among those hundreds of people who stood there standing seeing the wounded boy. I burst out into tears and kissed his hand.
I don’t know how it feels to be a mother, a father, a daughter, a son, a sister or a brother. But I know when you feel either one of them, you feel divine. When the kid touched my hand, I felt divine.
A new purpose in life, a new meaning to my living, a whole new urge to live sprang in me because that moment the kid’s touch had addressed me with the names of all the “meaningful” relations making me feel just anyone else other than an “It”.
Now, I feel like… A mother because I am able to spread happiness in my own small way…. I feel like a father because I am motivating myself to live a life with pride… a life blessed with an unique identity … an identity that makes me feel like a pearl coming out of my dark world that was covered by two shells … the two shells which I call one as “ I ” and other “ T ” … It
I live in a slum area in Mumbai. I share a house with four more people who are Hijras like me. Inside these four walls, I live in a world that is dimly lit, with rain water pouring in from the dilapidated roof and getting a meal per day was a luxury. But the world outside these four walls has always been flashy. Flashy with all the flamboyant clothes I wore, the gaudy makeup that covered my face, the ostentatious ornaments that made more noise than the song I sang, the jasmine flowers on my head that spread fragrance as I danced around clapping my hands continuously in a marriage function or during a celebration of a child’s birth. It’s nice to get a warm welcome when we visit these functions because people here believe that if we bless them, good fortunes will be bestowed on them. But, then how will they address me? “She has come to bless us”? Or “He has come to bless us”? No! They can’t address me either way. So, they end up addressing me “It has come to bless us”. I smile back at them when I hear them say so.
I sometimes wonder who is to be blamed for my present state... myself or God Himself. For I am now devoid of being a mother, father, sister, brother, daughter, son and many more. Now all that defines me is this two letter word “It.” This complaint I had until a touch made me feel more than just being an “It”.
It was just another day. As usual I was dressed in a shiny sari, I walked around the street clapping my hands going to each road side shop and demanding money. This was my daily routine. Few people gave me money while others just literally pushed me out of the shop. That day I entered a textile shop that stood in the corner of the main road. As I was demanding money in my usual boisterous tone, I noticed a small boy standing with his mother. I looked at him and gave him a huge smile. He got scared. Can’t blame him, because when a person with a dark complexion and lips dipped in a bright red lipstick smiles at a small kid, he getting scared was obvious. Not stopping with this, I went closer to the kid and smiled again at him. This time he got really scared and started running. Oh God! Why was this kid running? Oh no! He was running towards the main road. “Stop! Don’t run. Some vehicle might hit you. Stop”, I screamed and started running behind the kid who was moving closer to the road. Just then I saw a lorry coming close to the boy. Before I realized what happened, I saw the kid lying in the corner of the road, wounded.
I rushed towards the kid and lifted him. Thank God he was still alive. “Somebody please call the ambulance or a taxi fast”, I screamed. The boy’s mother squeezed her way out of the crowd that had gathered around us. I went on pleading for help, but no one seemed to help. These people will never change. I rushed out of the crowd towards the road to stop a taxi. But every taxi that passed by sensed that something was wrong, so they just rushed through. At last I managed to stop a taxi and caught the taxi driver by the collar of his shirt. I showed all the roughness that I had developed in all these years of my existence in this strange surrounding of mine. I warned the taxi driver to take us to the hospital, leaving the taxi driver totally petrified. The bleeding boy was lying on his mother’s lap who was weeping continuously, as we drove to the nearby hospital. It was just the day before I had blessed a new born kid for a long life and now I was the reason for making a boy live many years less than what he was supposed to.
We rushed into the emergency ward. The doctor and the nurse took the boy into the operation theater. His mom and I were standing outside the operation theater. His mother was continuously crying and wailing. I went close to her and said “Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to your son”. She stopped crying and looked at me. I could see anger in her eyes.
“You are telling me not to worry. How can you say that? Do you know how a mother feels? How will you know? You have never been one. What did my son do to you? What did you achieve by scaring my son? …”
“But I never intended to harm your son. He ran …”
“Harm… you have done that already. You are living a handicapped life, so you want my son also to lose a limb and be a handicap .You could never do anything good for your life or others …. At least spare us from your bad shadow. Please go away from here. I don’t want your bad luck to rub on my son anymore... just go away.”
I walked out of the hospital with a heavy heart. I was blamed and held responsible for something I never intended to do. I am the way I looked because I am like that. And I live like this because I was born to live this way. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and I felt that my legs unable to carry my own weight. I tired to balance but couldn’t. I sat on the nearby platform.
“.. How will you know? You can never be a mother”… did I not want to be one…“Bad luck, bad shadow”… did I ask for being one? Why was I blamed for living as an individual I never wanted to be? What was my mistake if God didn’t want me to lead a normal life? I was leading a life which gave me just two options, either live it or die before your natural death. Was it my mistake to decide to live? Till now I was leading a life full of compromises but from now I had to live a life of guilt. Guilty of ruining a kid’s life, guilty of making a mother cry, guilty of being the way I was.
That day when I reached my house, I found all my room mates in the house waiting for me to arrive. As soon as I stepped in, they told me their day’s happenings. “You know we went to this house, where a very cute baby boy was born. We blessed him and guess what they gave us so much money in return. They were very generous people. I pray to God the baby boy lives long.”, one of my room mates told me. “I pray the boy survives.” I told them . “What ?.. What did you say?”, they asked me. “Humm.. nothing I didn’t say anything”, I replied back realizing I had muttered something which I shouldn’t have. How could I tell them that while they blessed a baby for long life, I had pushed a kid into the well of death? No, I didn’t want to say, but my eyes could say the untold things. So, I rushed my way out of the house before my friends could make it out.
I sat on a bench looking at the waves of the sea splashing on the rocks. The sea looked like a mirror which was trying to show my shabby appearance. The sprinkles of water that fell on me were trying to remind me again and again that I was guilty of a boy’s miserable state. A boy who was lucky until the instance I entered his life. Yes, I am a bad shadow …a bad luck. What is the purpose of my living? Anyways I can’t do anything good to anybody but at least let me stop myself from doing bad to anyone. What difference will it make if I live or die? So, better I die. I stood on the rocks, ready to jump into the sea and kill myself. Then suddenly, I remembered the small boy’s face. What would have happened to the kid? Was he dead or alive? Did he lose any of his limbs because of the accident? I could sense a desperate urge in my heart to see the boy for the last time, so I decided to see the boy the very next day.
I slowly crept into the hospital. I didn’t know which room he was in. I enquired in the reception giving the details of the boy’s accident and the time he was admitted. The receptionist told me the room number with a very suspicious look. I ignored the look because I was happy that the kid was alive. I had to be very careful now because I couldn’t enter the room when his mother was inside. I didn’t want to upset her . I stood in the corner of the passage looking at the door of the room for some miracle to happen and I see the boy. “Oh God!. Please let me see the kid. Please. This is my last wish because I might not be alive to ask you another one.”, I prayed hard. Just then, I saw his mother coming out of the room. I immediately entered the room hoping nobody to be there in the room.
There before me I could see the small boy lying on the bed. He had bandages all over his body. I could see red swollen marks on his face. Oh God! What are you making the small boy go through? This is hell. All because of my mistake. I sat on my knees with my head resting on the bed. I wept. I am definitely a curse. That’s why even God didn’t want me to lead a normal life. I can’t take it anymore. Its better I die.
Suddenly I felt l a smooth velvet touch on my hand. I looked up. The kid’s hand was on mine. He slowly held his hand firmly around my hand. I looked at the kid. I saw a broad smile on his face. “Thanks”, he said and gave a wider smile. “Thanks for bringing me to the hospital.”, he said. I didn’t know how the kid knew about it, but then I - a hijra was the one who brought him to the hospital among those hundreds of people who stood there standing seeing the wounded boy. I burst out into tears and kissed his hand.
I don’t know how it feels to be a mother, a father, a daughter, a son, a sister or a brother. But I know when you feel either one of them, you feel divine. When the kid touched my hand, I felt divine.
A new purpose in life, a new meaning to my living, a whole new urge to live sprang in me because that moment the kid’s touch had addressed me with the names of all the “meaningful” relations making me feel just anyone else other than an “It”.
Now, I feel like… A mother because I am able to spread happiness in my own small way…. I feel like a father because I am motivating myself to live a life with pride… a life blessed with an unique identity … an identity that makes me feel like a pearl coming out of my dark world that was covered by two shells … the two shells which I call one as “ I ” and other “ T ” … It
