Silence !
"I have been in this orphanage for a very long time. I don't know how many years have passed since I came here, since I was abandoned. Some say, it has been 20 years. I don't believe them. None who were here on the day I arrived survive. So no one here knows my age. Neither do I. Maybe you do.
I don't miss home. I never had one. This orphanage is whatever I know of home. I have become a part of it and so has it in mine. It is the best thing that ever happened to you. After you.
When I was a kid, a sister by the name Nancy, once told me that I was dropped here on August 16. She told me I might not have been more than a day old when she first lay eyes on me. Even she doesn't remember the year. All she remembers is that when I came here, there were ten kids already and I was the pet of all. She also told me that I looked like a doll. I think she was just being kind.
Like any others, I don't remember much of my childhood. The earliest memory I have is the death of the sister. She died in an accident. A speeding lorry delivered her to Jesus. I miss her sometimes. She was the only teacher I had.
After her death, a small charity organization took over our orphanage and we moved out of old building. We were about forty kids then and I was one of the eldest. A man named Albert owned us now. He was an old man. A greedy one too. And the next few years, I begged in front of temples and churches.
I always earned lower than the other kids. Albert and the other men who ran the orphanage decided that I was neither pitiable nor loud enough. That day, I lost my right hand. It hurt and I cried for months in the end. Then my earnings increased.
A year later, my body started ejecting blood. I was very scared. I told Albert and he assured me there was nothing to worry. He said I was 'changing'. He did too. The next few days he gave me new clothes, he fed me with chocolates and kissed me in my cheek. Then he started taking me home. It was when all kindness turned to brutality. He started doing things to me, things that would leave me bleeding between my legs.
Sometimes he was alone, at others, he brought his friends. Over the next four years, I was raped repeatedly. I never protested after the first few times. Whenever I did, they locked me up in a cellar and let me starve. And the next time, they got even more brutal.
Time has taught me to erase all these memories. Only a few remain. The scars have disappeared. The wounds have healed.
Some years ago, the old man died. Some said he committed suicide, others thought that a diseased silenced him. I know the truth. I was there when it happened. The rapes had to stop. Those who knew him believed that finally God had showed us mercy. You know what I believed? I believed that finally God had given me courage.
With no caretaker, the government stepped forward to help. We moved buildings again. I begged no more. Instead, I started learning. I took classes in Tamil, English and doll making and soon, I was teaching younger kids. Finally, I was happy. I loved our orphanage, the peace that existed here and the silence that prevailed in my World.
Years rolled.
One morning, three years ago, we had a newcomer. A cute little baby girl was abandoned by her parents at our doorsteps. Right away, I feel in love with her. One month later, I adapted her legally. She became my daughter and I her mother. That moment was the happiest moment in my life. Motherhood, I never knew, was that special. It made every second of my life enjoyable.
Each day, I feed her, bathed her, played with her, recited poems to her and slept beside her. I loved her more than me. She loved me more than she loved herself. Maybe because we were the same, we belonged to no one. But then, we had each other and that gave us the comfort we were seeking.
Diana, my cute little daughter, grew fast. Yes, I named her Diana, the love of my life. Hoping that one day, she would earn of the love of everyone and the love of her parents that she was denied. As a kid, she felt bad for having been abandoned, just like me. She prayed to the lord to take her away, just like I did.
As days fled past us, we grew more close. My life started to revolve around her. All I wanted for me was a beautiful life for her. But she fell ill. Just like me.
I has taken me over 20 years to know why I was abandoned. A disease is eating me from within. I might not live long. I wanted to talk to you once before silence drowns my voice. So I write.
If this letter reaches you, come and see me. I want to see you. I want to talk to you. I want to kiss you. I want to hug you. And I want to cry in your arms.
Your loving daughter,
Name-me-when-you-see-me."
By the time, Subramaniam and Rajeshwari finished the six-month old letter, they were in tears. 27 long years, it had been.
In 1967, a broke mechanic married a lost woman. Within a year, their marriage yielded a girl child who was born deaf and dumb. The poor couple knew the difficulties in upbringing a girl child in India. They felt that the child had a better chance of getting a decent life in an orphanage. Twenty-seven years later, the couple's fortunes were improved. But their efforts at finding their daughter had not.
And then the letter arrived.
Subramaniam and Rajeshwari visited the orphanage the same day they received the letter. They gained access to building after a few minutes of pleading. A sister took them to their daughter's room where the girl lay curled up in a ball in one corner. Her face was pale. Her limbs were frozen. The sister tried to wake her up. But she did not move.
Death had raced her parents to her. HIV had finally won. No one spoke, but they were not dumb. Tears rolled out of every eye. Subramaniam asked the sister for Diana. The orphanage had no kid by that name. But there was a doll lying beside Anbu(Love).
No one heard a sound, but there were not deaf. There was just silence.
I don't miss home. I never had one. This orphanage is whatever I know of home. I have become a part of it and so has it in mine. It is the best thing that ever happened to you. After you.
When I was a kid, a sister by the name Nancy, once told me that I was dropped here on August 16. She told me I might not have been more than a day old when she first lay eyes on me. Even she doesn't remember the year. All she remembers is that when I came here, there were ten kids already and I was the pet of all. She also told me that I looked like a doll. I think she was just being kind.
Like any others, I don't remember much of my childhood. The earliest memory I have is the death of the sister. She died in an accident. A speeding lorry delivered her to Jesus. I miss her sometimes. She was the only teacher I had.
After her death, a small charity organization took over our orphanage and we moved out of old building. We were about forty kids then and I was one of the eldest. A man named Albert owned us now. He was an old man. A greedy one too. And the next few years, I begged in front of temples and churches.
I always earned lower than the other kids. Albert and the other men who ran the orphanage decided that I was neither pitiable nor loud enough. That day, I lost my right hand. It hurt and I cried for months in the end. Then my earnings increased.
A year later, my body started ejecting blood. I was very scared. I told Albert and he assured me there was nothing to worry. He said I was 'changing'. He did too. The next few days he gave me new clothes, he fed me with chocolates and kissed me in my cheek. Then he started taking me home. It was when all kindness turned to brutality. He started doing things to me, things that would leave me bleeding between my legs.
Sometimes he was alone, at others, he brought his friends. Over the next four years, I was raped repeatedly. I never protested after the first few times. Whenever I did, they locked me up in a cellar and let me starve. And the next time, they got even more brutal.
Time has taught me to erase all these memories. Only a few remain. The scars have disappeared. The wounds have healed.
Some years ago, the old man died. Some said he committed suicide, others thought that a diseased silenced him. I know the truth. I was there when it happened. The rapes had to stop. Those who knew him believed that finally God had showed us mercy. You know what I believed? I believed that finally God had given me courage.
With no caretaker, the government stepped forward to help. We moved buildings again. I begged no more. Instead, I started learning. I took classes in Tamil, English and doll making and soon, I was teaching younger kids. Finally, I was happy. I loved our orphanage, the peace that existed here and the silence that prevailed in my World.
Years rolled.
One morning, three years ago, we had a newcomer. A cute little baby girl was abandoned by her parents at our doorsteps. Right away, I feel in love with her. One month later, I adapted her legally. She became my daughter and I her mother. That moment was the happiest moment in my life. Motherhood, I never knew, was that special. It made every second of my life enjoyable.
Each day, I feed her, bathed her, played with her, recited poems to her and slept beside her. I loved her more than me. She loved me more than she loved herself. Maybe because we were the same, we belonged to no one. But then, we had each other and that gave us the comfort we were seeking.
Diana, my cute little daughter, grew fast. Yes, I named her Diana, the love of my life. Hoping that one day, she would earn of the love of everyone and the love of her parents that she was denied. As a kid, she felt bad for having been abandoned, just like me. She prayed to the lord to take her away, just like I did.
As days fled past us, we grew more close. My life started to revolve around her. All I wanted for me was a beautiful life for her. But she fell ill. Just like me.
I has taken me over 20 years to know why I was abandoned. A disease is eating me from within. I might not live long. I wanted to talk to you once before silence drowns my voice. So I write.
If this letter reaches you, come and see me. I want to see you. I want to talk to you. I want to kiss you. I want to hug you. And I want to cry in your arms.
Your loving daughter,
Name-me-when-you-see-me."
By the time, Subramaniam and Rajeshwari finished the six-month old letter, they were in tears. 27 long years, it had been.
In 1967, a broke mechanic married a lost woman. Within a year, their marriage yielded a girl child who was born deaf and dumb. The poor couple knew the difficulties in upbringing a girl child in India. They felt that the child had a better chance of getting a decent life in an orphanage. Twenty-seven years later, the couple's fortunes were improved. But their efforts at finding their daughter had not.
And then the letter arrived.
Subramaniam and Rajeshwari visited the orphanage the same day they received the letter. They gained access to building after a few minutes of pleading. A sister took them to their daughter's room where the girl lay curled up in a ball in one corner. Her face was pale. Her limbs were frozen. The sister tried to wake her up. But she did not move.
Death had raced her parents to her. HIV had finally won. No one spoke, but they were not dumb. Tears rolled out of every eye. Subramaniam asked the sister for Diana. The orphanage had no kid by that name. But there was a doll lying beside Anbu(Love).
No one heard a sound, but there were not deaf. There was just silence.
Comments