Sunshine Pierces Clouds

In a small room of the huge haveli, the midwife coaxed and cajoled the would-be mother to push, to hold on for some more time. She consoled her that in some time, everything would be fine. Half an hour later, as the moans of the mother subsided, and a hush descended, the midwife came out and announced the birth of a girl. Seventy years ago, in the year 1955, the birth of a girl was not an occasion to celebrate, and if that girl child happened to be an albino, it was enough to make her arrival doubly unwelcome.

That is how I was born, with my extended family expressing sympathy, concern and consolation to my parents. But my father, an educated and enlightened man put his foot down, and decided that this note of mourning and despondence has to stop. He boldly declared, “Look! This daughter of mine is very dear to me. I will make sure to give her a good education, and mark my words, one day, she will do us all proud.” That punctured the bubble of negativity floating all around, at least for the time being.

I soon became the apple of my parents’ eyes. They showered all their love upon me and nurtured me with abundant care, insulating me like a protective shield from the derogatory comments people often passed behind their backs. Friends, neighbours and relatives often exchanged negative words about me, albeit not to our face. Sometimes, they were not discreet enough, and their callous words inadvertently fell onto our ears, deeply piercing our hearts. Someone would say, “A pigeon may close its eyes, but the cat won't disappear just by doing so.” Another would go further and add, “Mr. Malhotra! You must accept God’s will! The best thing to do would be to marry her off, though God knows it won't be easy.” After all, which normal boy would like to wed an albino girl.

Despite all such tribulations, some of our neighbours loved and welcomed me. Mr. and Mrs. Bhatia were two such people. Their children, Kuku and Meeta were my brothers and besties. I hear that I was a lively child, with a sanguine temperament and a photographic memory. Whether an incident took place ten years ago or seven months ago, I would remember its minutest details even more clearly than those involved in it. Sometimes, it was jovially said, “She can marshal details of even those things that occurred before she was born” and everyone would have a hearty laugh. Someone else would tease me by saying, “Dear Guddi, please help me recall what happened when I had fallen during our trip to Mussoorie” and all would feel cheerfully amused.

I did have to grapple with physical health issues like a very weak eyesight and extreme sensitivity of the skin, especially to the harsh sunlight. But more challenging than these were the social and psychological issues I had to face every day. My relatives and friends, my teachers, as also the unknown people on the road—either looked at me with doubt and derision, or with pity. I overheard one of my cousins saying to another cousin, “Bhai, it is so embarrassing to go out anywhere with her! You know, yesterday as we were going to market, a bunch of kids followed us and jeered at us. They teased and taunted her because of her different appearance. I have decided not to accompany her anywhere from now on.”

But thanks to my parents, who stood with me with rock-firm resilience, and provided every opportunity possible, to hone my skills. My father told me on one occasion, “Always remember my dear child! Life is not a bed of roses for anyone. Every person here has to fight his or her battles. So never complain about the challenges you have to face. Find a solution if you encounter a problem. Where there is a will, there always is a way. Why don’t you take up music as one of your subjects, to deal with the stress of reading, given the problem of your weak eyesight. And I want you to be a confident and independent girl. You have great public speaking and debating skills. I suggest you take to the stage and make the most of your natural abilities.”

Encouraged and boosted in this way, egged on with my parents’ love and guidance, I kept climbing the ladder of success step by step, undeterred by the adverse comments or ridiculing attitude of people. Within this huge world, my parents had created a miniscule world for me, where I felt loved, valued, pampered and encouraged to reach out to the stars.

Soon after completing my post-graduation, I got a job in a college as a lecturer. With financial independence came a great sense of confidence that I had never felt before. It clearly meant that I didn't have to be dependent on anyone from now on. I was on my own, with a secure future beckoning me to a new course.

The proposition of marriage for me was very challenging and tricky. The general feeling was that no normal boy would opt to marry a girl with such a disability. But my heart longed to go through this experience like any other girl. I too craved to have someone in my life who would be my soulmate. Finally, a young boy from a humble background who was still studying and was not financially steady, showed a keen interest in marrying me. My parents readily accepted this proposal, and my dream of a marriage was fulfilled. But this was only the beginning of another set of woes. Soon I realised that I was more of a pay cheque for him and his family. My husband never took me out with him, perhaps due to fear of facing embarrassment. Later, I heard tales of his many sexual adventures. Moreover, after some time, he became financially settled after completing his education. Now, he no longer needed the ladder he had once needed.

With a four-year old son, my lifeboat was stuck in tumultuous waters. Enveloped by a persistent sense of humiliation, and neglect, I tried to put an end to my life, but some kind friends saved me at the last minute. After this incident, it was decided by my parents and well-wishers that I should seek separation from my husband. In my desperation to get rid of him, I made them biggest blunder of my life: I allowed him to have custody of our son. It was a heavy price to pay in life and a big blow to my dignity.

After my divorce, the sense of relief was great, but ironically, it also brought a deep sense of deprivation. I now realized that the pain and trauma of separation from my son was too much to endure. Which mother would be at peace with herself and not writhe like a fish out of water in such a situation? I longed to get a glimpse of my son, but in vain.

Slowly, I became numb to this pain. There was a deep void in my heart. To fill the vacuum in my life, I immersed myself in social work. I wanted to be there for everyone who was in desperation and needed succour and support. Whether it was to spearhead relief-operations in cyclone-hit coastal areas or the earthquake or flood-ravaged parts of the country; providing counselling to women that were victims of marital discord or domestic violence; or giving to society through charitable service-based relief work, my commitment and passion soon earned me name and fame and brought laurels for me in the form of many distinctions and rewards. The day I received an award of commendation from the country’s President in recognition of my long and selfless service to humanity, my father held his head high with pride and tears of joy made

his eyes moist.

Today, when people look up to me as a role model and cite my example as inspiring, I bow down to my parents in gratitude for being the architects of a life of dignity for me. Some dark clouds had temporarily gathered in the sky. But soon after, the sun rose, and piercing through the thick ominous clouds, dispersed its sunshine, bright and radiant, everywhere.

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About the Author:

Seema Jain is a bilingual poet, short story writer, translator, editor, critic and reviewer. Ex-Vice Principal, Dean Academics and Head, PG Department of English at KMV Jalandhar, Punjab, India, her published works include five collections of English and Hindi poems, two edited poetry anthologies (featuring the voices of 138 Indian women poets of the 21st century from all over India and overseas one of which titled Vibrant Voices: An Anthology of 21 st Century Indian Women Poets has been published by Sahitya Akademi, New Delhi), two edited books of research articles, three books of translated poems and two novels (one of them published by Sahitya Akademi titled Mohalla and one by Hawakal Prakashana titled The Vanquished Queen: the Diary of Kaikeyi). Her poems are housed in the digital pandemic archives of Stanford University. She has published reviews in The Statesman, Kitaab, Singapore, The Dialog (a Panjab University Journal) and many other platforms.