This picture always breaks my heart. It was taken a few years ago when Utpal when I had to leave him someplace he did not want to be in but we had no choice and the little chap could only express his feelings with tears: tears of hurt, tears of anger, tears of frustration, tears that just meant: you did not hear me. The fact is that we did but had no alternative at that given moment. I know that the resilient and brave kid must have stopped crying and moved to survival mode, but the unshed tears I shed stayed with me: tears of helplessness and of guilt. Even when I see the picture today, I feel as bad as I did now. Many a times I thought of deleting this picture but did not as it was part of the journey Popples and I began way back in 2003. This must have been taken in 2007. He was just five and already in boarding school.

Since that day we have had occasional tears but not many. Even when he was upset in school he kept quiet and what was missing was his smile. His cries for help matured with age: bad marks in school, confidential chats with his counsellor or at best a quickly muttered: I do not like the school, within my earshot. He was again on survival mode. Slowly we adults head his silent entreaties and took the step I guess we has hoping for: a new school where he would be heard!

On Monday he visited his new school and fell in love with it at first sight. I think what he saw was people willing to listen to him, people who wanted to acknowledge his plus points and highlight them. He put his best foot forward and behaved like a Prince. He even struggled to find English words to answer his new Principal. She saw his effort and gently switched to Hindi. When I presented his last report card that was not good, she simply closed the it and said: marks did not matter! On the other hand she urged us to send him as soon as possible so that he could participate in the skating zonal competition scheduled for the end of the month. Utpal was over the moon.

Yesterday Utpal had to go back to his old school. When the car came to fetch him, he came to say goodbye, but then burst into tears exactly the same way he had in the picture. He pleaded and wept his heart out. I told him that I did not want him to leave his old school like a coward and wanted him to leave his head held high. I promised him that we would get him home today and in his new school tomorrow. He finally settled down in my arms and picked up his bag and left. His last glance was one of total trust that said: please don’t let me down.

Utpal’s tears yesterday revealed how much he suffered in silence in the last year where he was bullied and even humiliated time and again, the worst being when his class teacher chose to state in a loud and shrilly voice that he was a liar! For me that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I knew his time in that school was up.

We will bring him home today!

Dear Ma,

Today is your birthday. You would have been 96. But you left me 23 years ago to live each day of my life with memories of you. But that is not all. You were such an extraordinary person in so many ways that I feel compelled to at least live up to your expectations and make sure that I remain worthy of all your sacrifices be it your decision to not to give birth to a slave child even if that meant remaining unmarried, or the acceptance of having just one child, you who wanted to have a whole football team! Had I got siblings then maybe we together could have fulfilled all your dreams, but God had other plans and wanted me to be the one to do so. That was/is a tall order. I am still busy fulfilling your dreams.

I chose this picture to illustrate this post as this is where it all began. You were so very ill at my birth and we almost lost you. This must be one of the first pictures when we ‘met’ and in spite of the terrible surgery you had and in spite of the excruciating pain, you gifted me your incredible smile for the first time. It is this smile I held on to all my life and still do. I wonder what your thoughts were as you held this little bundle with its funny hairdo? I know that I was in heaven as I was close to the first home I knew: your womb. As I grew up I came to know your unique life path from a hungry freedom fighter’s brave daughter to an ambassador’s wife! And above all a mother to a difficult and rebellious child who grew up to be a difficult rebellious woman. I guess you are at fault here as you too lived life in quiet rebellion by fighting for every right you could have been denied: the right to education as you grabbed every single degree available to you; the right to independence as you lived alone in Delhi and worked for the right of other women when people your age were married with umpteen kids.

I slowly imbibed your every word, and drunk your every smile. I cannot ever remember you being angry. Everything you told me was safely tucked into some recess of my mind, but ma I had to live my life before I could comprehend the lessons you so gently shared over a life time. And when pa left a few months later to join you, it would take a deep depression that lingered on for years and a chance encounter with a pure soul that was considered the dregs of humanity, to jolt me out of my almost catatonic state. Will you ever forgive me for the years I wasted, you who cherished life so much that you refused any form of palliative care and bore your pain with courage and dignity, a dignity you fought hard to maintain till the very end?

For the past 15 years now, Ma I have tried to fulfil a mission dear to your heart but that you could not complete as life took over. Ina very small way I am trying to give education to underprivileged children and skills to women so that they can gain some economic freedom. Were you not the one who always told me that it was important for women to keep their financial independence. You never believed in joint accounts!

When I look back at these 15 years I feel a sense of satisfaction and contentment though there is still so much to do. I am glad that you are not here to see how we have destroyed the country you and the likes of you fought for. Today there are more hungry and dying children than when you were young and over half of the population struggles to make ends meet. On the other side of the spectrum you have riches you cannot begin to imagine. We have malls that beat Faubourg St Honore! But what is missing is compassion and empathy. It is as if there were 2 Indias that moved in parallel concentric circles. Money is today’s measure of success and in this I have failed miserably. As for compassion I have it in abundance and feel so helpless at times.

The values that pa and you taught me are difficult to follow, in today’s world they are almost a handicap, something people laugh at! I only hope that I can live by these values till my last breath. I have tried to inculcate them in my daughters though sometimes I feel almost guilty, as it will make their lives that much harder, but then they too have your blood running in their veins.

There are times when I feel like the little girl in the picture, the only difference is that the there is no one to hug her and give her that incredible smile.

I miss you mama

anou

I am over the moon today! The reason? A smile that had got lost somewhere along the way is back. Utpal’s smile! The one that  could light my darkest hour in a jiffy. Sadly it had got lost for too long. The bullies and their allies had taken care of that! Yesterday we went to see a knew school for Utpal as he was having a tough time in his present one. I was apprehensive as the new school is far bigger and joining midterm is never easy. But all my fears were allayed when Utpal began smiling and never stopped. He proved us wrong in every way imaginable. We had feared that he would be fearful, withdrawn, edgy, clingy. Far from that. He was to the manor born. His body language, his smile, his gait, everything was transformed.

Me met the counsellor and had a long chat with her and was composed and serious in the Principal’s room. He was introduced to two students and believe it or not he initiated the conversation. My heart went out to him when he struggled to find the correct English words but did not break into Hindi. never mind the grammatical mistakes. I was so proud of him. I knew that once again Utpal the survivor had come out of his shell. He knew that his life would change if the school accepted him and he put his best foot forward and walked into many hearts.

The Principal was lovely as she told him he could join now and even said she would make sure that he participated in the skating zonal competition! When I gently pushed his latest report in front of her, she closed it and said marks did not matter, what mattered was that he be happy! Marks would happen in due course. I know he will shine and make us all proud.

Today he needs our love and blessings.

Come to think of it there were two of us smiling all the way!

Utpal maybe soon moving to a new school. If all goes well it could be in less than a month. The need for the move has been on the anvil for quite some time. It had to happen for more reasons than one. For the past 3 years or so, Utpal has been deeply disturbed and in therapy. This was to be expected as the violence, abuse and pain you suffer during your very early childhood manifests itself in your pre-teens. Utpal had a very violent and unstable early childhood as the child of alcoholic parents and with the mother being severely bipolar. When he was one he also had to bear the excruciating pain of third degree burns in a country where pain management is close to non existent unlike other countries were severely burnt children are kept anaesthetised in the early stage of their treatment. Then he also had to deal with his mother not giving sign of life for 4 years. As he grew up, he also had to deal with the scars on his body which make him ‘different’ and bear the bullying that ensued. All this put together was too much to bear and unfortunately the school was not able to comprehend the extent of his pain.

The school was ideal for the 4 year old who needed to find security and love. That was given in abundance in the early years by some very understanding and loving staff members but as he grew into a pre adolescent and deal with boys, self image and other issues, the one enabling environment became stifling. Moreover the need for him to be able to integrate an English speaking environment was not fulfilled as sadly in spite of 6 years in an English medium school, his spoken English is poor. I guess this is a sad reality in our education system. I was told that in a school somewhere in rural India, children were fined if they spoke Hindi and the only language they were permitted to speak in was English. A good model to follow.

Anyway nothing is eternal and the wheel of change has to move.

I am reminded of the song made famous by the Byrds :
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven.

So maybe the time for Utpal to move on has come! He has got what he needed from this school but now he needs more: widen his horizons, hone his skills, enlarge his friends circle by meeting children from other parts of the country. But that is not all. This school having day boarders and thus buses will enable him to come home often and have regular counselling.

Utpal has always been older than his years. I realised this when he was just a toddler. Somehow this aspect of his personality got obliterated by the slew of problems he had to face, when behaving like a child was what was the right cried for help: his grades fell, his behaviour was challenging to say the least. Had he come and said what was bothering him in a serious and adult manner either one would not have believed him or one would not have taken the required steps.

Yesterday he met with his counsellor has I wanted her to have a talk with him and prepare him for the change that awaits him. He said that he did want to change schools but had apprehensions: that his English would be poor compared to that of his new school mates; that they too may make fun of his scars and above all how would he make friends? His counsellor gave him coping strategies and told him she would visit the school and talk to all concerned and explain everything. He was relieved. But I know my little man will not show his fears. We will have to stand behind him all the way and be there when needed. The counsellor also asked to speak Hindi to him when he his home on week ends and that is his comfort zone.

Let us not forget, the school he is in has been the longest ‘home’ for this child of God. He entered its portals when he was 4 and is leaving when he his almost 12. Good, bad, indifferent it was the only place he knew. So leaving will not be easy for him. The counsellor talked of change akin to seasons that change. I think he understood. Now only time will tell.

In a few minutes we are setting off to have a smart hair cut and buy new clothes for tomorrow’s interview. I hope he likes the new school. One thing is certain: if he does not like it then we put our searching boots again!

For the past nine days, India has been celebrating Durga Puja, the nine days when the Goddess is celebrated in all her divine forms. She is celebrated by one and all, including the men who rape, abuse and denigrate women each and every day. I wonder if they realise that these very women are the image of the Goddess they revere with ‘faith’. Night long prayers, visit to temples braving unheard of queues and much more. A recent advertisement campaign chose to highlight domestic violence by a depicting a series of bruised Goddesses. The campaign was received with mixed feelings. Personally, I have nothing against it it can make even the slightest difference. But that is to be seen.

Every year, during Durga Puja, I have written about this dichotomy asking myself what a young girl who is normally abused and ill treated feels when she is worshipped, as on the 8th or 9th day people gather 8 or 9 girls and wash their feet and feed them. What about the other 364 days? To me praying to the Goddess makes no sense if we as a society do not respect women. To me you acquire the right of worshipping a Goddess only after you make sure that every woman be she 1 or 100 is treated with respect and dignity. In a land where girls are killed for falling in love, babies and toddlers are raped, all you need is to have a vagina, where women are beaten and kicked, Goddess worship has no place. But that is just my humble opinion.

Yet this year the rains have played spoilsport on all the celebrations and in another part of the country we await a cyclone of immense magnitude. I would like to believe that it is a sign from the Goddess to remind us of our place, rid us of our hubris, and makes us start hearing and seeing with our hearts. I would like to believe that every drop of rain is a tear from the heavens meant to jolt us out of our indifference. I would like to believe that we realise that the Goddess is not in the image we make of her but in the depth of the eyes of the most abused woman or little girl!

I cannot end this post without writing about another aspect of these festivities, one I call feeding frenzy. During these days it is said that one should feed the poor. On every street, at every corner people erect tents and cook meals and feed whoever passes by, it could be me or you. The food is often made hurriedly, the bread (puris) cooked on high heat are often raw and thrown away. At the end of the day you are left with food strewn all over the places, precious good quality food that could feed many hungry children. This makes me sick and angry as in this very country there are mothers who ferret rat burrows to find a few grains to feed their children.

Need I say more!