She was 13 when her eyes gleamed through the crevice of the caged balcony of the kotha when she would have seen me pacing towards the staircase that would lead me into her world, past the urinal. This urinal stood magnificently as the entrance to the 3 brothel cluster where she attended to upto 3 20 odd year olds, 2 or so 40 year olds and on some special days, 4 or so 60 year olds. They would all help her buy her bindis, bangles and beetle leaves to chew -all of them would cost her 50 rupees. She would be left just enough to buy a new 1 meter cloth for her days of the period and one plate of bhel puri. For those 82 rupees, these autowallahs and rickshaw wallahs would have her bend and swallow much to her liking. I was with ma when she had first offered me a Parle G biscuit and said: didi, tumhaara kitna mushqil ka kaam hai. Iss se toh taaqat milti hai She was 17 years old when she phoned me last evening. Each year, I have sent her a birthday card with a childish belief that she receives it. I always left a number for her to call on. So she phoned me. She said she would want me to see her. I was not happy.. Not happy to hear from her. I had long lost the stamina for her reality. When I saw her, at 17, she was no longer 13. No longer 17. Amidst the pungent urinal, this time of a hospital, she lay in the general ward and said she would see me only for do minit. She handed over the birthday cards.. All four, and a pack of Parle G biscuits (a bigger one). I couldnt, beneath the moistness in her eyes, understand if there was a loss or a sadness or a grief or an elation. There was such stark illness. She said, Maine sangeet seekha hai.. Aapke saare card mile mujhe aur har baar ek naya phone number bhi mila. Bunglor se kab aaye? Kajri toh guzar gayee. Main ab zyaada din nahi.. . I asked her: Kaunsa sangeet?.. She asked me if there was net on my phone and this is what she and I listened to, together: m.youtube/watch?v=H7DuSNdvyhA At 3.33minutes, she asked me to pause and said: mujhe aap ek Kamal ki tarah yaad rakhna. Keechad se main aakhir bachh hee gayee. It was not an HIV that killed her or Kajri or... It was a mere will to live better, if at all; and cease a life if the better couldnt be. Sometimes, I am not sure if it is a collective resilience or an apathy that lets us sleep each night, knowing yet not knowing, that there is yet another who was there yesterday, but not there, today.
Posted on: Sun, 17 Aug 2014 20:24:08 +0000
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