Had gone visiting my aunt, she still lived in that same old building derelict and in possible state of ruins, her ceiling had started to cave in. She lived there still holding on to the memory of my late uncle or with the morbid hope of the ceiling falling on her to make her join her lost husband; I think she is the one who is lost. We (I and my family) used to stay there I had spent 22 years of my life there. I was eager to visit each lane and nook and corner of the vicinity to relive the days of my childhood and youth. Those were the boundary walls or thick fences where we pals used to sit in the evenings and talk about the latest sports events, cars, performances, movies, school, studies…… This was the lane with a dead end our last resort to playing cricket since constructions of mew buildings had taken over the maidan in front of our houses. When the maidan was there and we were playing cricket on it we could see scared cows and goats chewing on sparse grass at the far end too scared to come to our side. The commotion and noise and foreign round objects kept them at bay. Frankly both the groups were scared of each other and we kept a respectful & frightened distance of each other.
On my un destined strolls today I saw her, un-kept, disheveled wearing a torn sari sitting on the pavement clinging to a gunny bag. The bag probably contained all that she possessed in this world. Her head was shaven of and spiky strands of hair tried to hopelessly grow over her bald pate. She held a polythene bag containing some unidentifiable mix of some edible stuff. She jabbed her hand in the bag bought out a fistful and tossed it in her mouth. Her frightened eyes and a sorry grin conveyed the retard ness of her mind. A big plastic bottle half filled with water stood sadly besides her. She scraped out few crumbs and bits stuck to her cheeks and lips and licked her hand.
It is a usual sight in Mumbai, beggars, homeless people, abandoned people who live of the generosity of a handful. The percentage deception is so high that the very few people with a heartfelt desire towards generosity often ponder 10000 times and eventually move on.
I came I saw I pitied and yes I too moved on. What could I have done anyway? She was clothed was having her dinner and had a half filled bottle pf water. Assuming she had all she ever could have wanted I resumed my nostalgic trip.
Morning I woke up and wanted tea very badly. Being a late riser my aunt was asleep so I boiled some tea leaves happy to be able to do so because the insipid mellowness of my aunt’s tea drives me mad. The aroma of fresh brewing tea filled the corners of the kitchen and would soon invade the rest of the house disturbing the slumbering occupants. But horrors of all horrors!!! There was no milk. I stepped out of the house in a grumpy mood in search of the milk man. It was 5:45am and the milkman had not come yet to deliver the milk. I was walking to the milk booth where I had to cross the place where I had seen the shaven retarded woman last night. I could not see her. Her gunny bag was toppled over spilling the contents outside. A torn cotton gown, a shredded sari, some broken toys, pieces of broken twisted plastic, a rusted old bicycle bell some scraps of a busted tire and bits and shreds of paper. The plastic bottle was also toppled over and the water had trickled out. There was a huge wet stain on the pavement. It was too big a stain to come form that half filled bottle. Strong stench of ammonia pervaded the air and stung my nostrils. Just across was a huge villa, the grand entrance facing the spot which I was inspecting. A security guard sat sleepy and smugly in the security cabin near the entrance. He watched me pondering over the scattered things on the pavement. He shouted at me asking me what I was looking for. “Where is the woman?” I asked. With sleep induced drooping eyes he grinned and said “they took her away”. “Who?”, “God knows who where they”, “did you see why they took her, for what reason?”
He chuckled and told me what happened last night. It seemed to be amusing and entertaining for him and he started with “She was insane you see, what difference doe sit make anyway” As per the eye witness 3 men in a ram shackled jalopy came last night and stopped the car at a distance from the woman and walked towards her. One crouched down and started pulling her legs. The frightened woman tried to push him away when the other two men held her hands after pushing a cloth her mouth to gag her. The men turn by turn exerted their sane power and authority over the insane woman. She must have in intense physical agony screamed out but was cruelly gagged. The woman was withering and twisting trying to push/throw away the antagonizing painful experience far away from her. Finished they dragged a half conscious insane woman to the car and zoomed away.
It was a live show for the guard. Smugly and shamelessly he admitted to have been too excited that he had to release himself when the show was on. The smutty confession bought out all the disgust and hate in me. I walked away in impotent helplessness. The guard shouted back at me “She was insane what difference does it make any way”.
I thought to myself ‘Difference? She was insane, would she be aware of the brutal invasion of her self the? The claim of her physique, the infringement of her dignity? All she could have experience would be the intense physical pain, the brutal force, pain and manhandling. Fighting against which is the prerogative of all humans/animals insane or not. In comparison to the rape of a teenage girl by a policeman, the uproar in the media and the protest marches and anger shown by one and all, what chance did this insane woman stand. Was she aware that her torn sari was giving inviting signals to these 3 men? Being un aware of the invasion of her person and dignity (being a retarded beggarly woman, did she have any?) could she have cried foul? Was her effort to fight back (however futile) the manhandling and agonizing pain is similar to the impulses and responses of a “BRAIN”? Does this imply that every human has a right not to be infringed upon or be commanded over in any manner whatsoever in every respect?
Who knows where they took her and what became of her. This maybe or very much is a common happening in a big metropolitan. Being a retarded beggar does not entitle her to the concerns of the society. Would there be a protest march in support for her? Or the multitudes of insane people like her?
She was insane what difference does It make.’
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Anyways there so many diversified areas of my life, most of them contradictory of each other (in general) but I have no problem in being all of that. Every face coexists with another in harmony and perfect cordiality. Of course there are rules and principles to life and to each area (each face in my case). So as long as the sanctity of the particular area is maintained another can coexist in harmony. Sounds weird? Maybe but then it’s my life and me. I am like that, so different and multi faced. I remember my friend of college days (Subhash Dhuru) say to me once that sometimes he used to feel that he is meeting a different person than the last time. Some used to comment at times that “I am not myself” I was/am so many selves that no one knew what I am.
