A few years ago... I met a boy about 16..when I worked with NASEOH (National Society for Equal opportunities for the Handicap) ..an NGO that did just that .. gave and asked..No, demanded Equal opportunities for their children..not sympathy.
The director, Mrs. Sudha, a formidable lady ran the place like a well-oiled large corporate entity where timelines were adhered to, and, I can't see or walk..could not be used as an excuse for mediocre work. She also asked that the "Volunteers", like me... have a time table and stick to it. And once in a month we would have a review... and 3 times miss mark(late coming or no show) was the limit. After which, you were asked to (sometimes Not so politely) go. She was very clear that her children could not be used as an excuse for someone to feel good. They, kept to their time lines and who ever worked with them ..needed to be in integrity as well.
I learnt a lot from hey way of Being..
I have digressed...
The Story I want to tell here is of this boy, Shrikant..a quiet shy lanky chap..who would keep to himself most times. He had lost his right leg in an accident and refused to wear prosthetics. Shri, was way too old for his 16 years. I used to teach "Basic Computers" to them so that they would then be able to get data entry job work from leading IT companies..
Shri would sometimes just linger on after the class.. and after a few weeks, I realized he wanted me to initiate conversation..which I did. He was very cynical about most things..and a rebel. He had a natural inclination to the subject, but it seemed like he didn't want to succeed or go ahead. He refused to move ahead..and knew that he was refusing. He was fighting on the inside ..demons that only he could see...and I could sense. He would, on some days, look long at me..silently beckoning me to understand ..read his mind... get him out .. fight him, for him... I remember feeling extremely helpless..
So we would sit in silence..and then he would make some random comment and the conversation would build one tiny scrap at a time...till after a few months I began to see the story forming....and begin to understand some of Shri's demons. These stories that he told me..kept moving between past, present and future, like wisps of black smoke, on an unpredictable windy day, and sometimes..as he spoke I got this feeing that he could see beyond this lifetime... he would have a faraway look..of anguish..in his eyes..
Shrikant was a child born out of a brutal rape. His mother, was abandoned by her family and society and left to fend for herself ... with Shrikant. She became a domestic help and eventually when Shri was 6, she died of untreated tuberculosis. Shrikant..had been drifting ..from friend to social homes.. till he landed at NASEOH when he ws 14.
I could understand his angst for the unjust world that behaved unjustly with his mom and him..how unwanted he felt.. judged, for no fault of his...
and that is when I wrote this Poem .. as I Imagined him..
Born..Still.
Splash, burst
White light
Blinding pain
Wet sticky dark,
Oh No!
Not again.
Fast forward
A Long, a very long journey
Source -Non-initiated
Destination-Not interested
Voices-Loud
Whispers.
A dark shroud.
What are they talking about?
Speak louder.
The whisper is deafening
It reaches me.
And my yet,
Not numbed consciousness
I remember now
Memoirs
Managing to pierce through
My self-inflicted anesthesia
Of time gone by
Days, Years,… lifetime?
What difference does it make?
It is still the same out there
People clinging to life
In a dead world
Relationships twisted with meaning
Waiting for death
Lie Shriveled an curled
Communities and Countries
All fighting for the same space
Actors, beggars, Authors, clowns
Crying behind the painted face
Hey! People
It's the same door in the end
The same old race
So predictable -so shallow
So false-So narrow
The minds of people.
Don’t want to do down that road again
I have yet to erase the past tracks of pain
Time grotesquely bloats
Space expands
Screaming, Shouting
A lot of unrest
Resistance Suffocation
Acute discomfort
Thrown
Pulled
Dragged
Against his will
Humiliated
Bleeding
hurt
In pain
He is born
Still.
...........
I was with NASEOH for 2 more years after that ..and Shri gradually started looking up..and not away. He started taking more interest in his work..and by the time I left, he was in the running for a Team leader position. Still quite shy ..but now somehow ..straighter.
Sometimes...our own stories have the power to transform us. ..not to mention the one who listen to them..
I am struck by the power of bearing Witness...and the privilege of doing so.
Rhea.
Phew!
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