Refugee for Life

This belongs to a time when I was learning life as such. It was Delhi and the summers there. While doing my internship I had nothing much to do on Sundays and other offs. Having heard a lot about Delhi University and the life it saw every Sunday it used to be my hangout.

It was one such Sunday when I saw a young feeble girl crouched over what looked like a mass of handwritten papers strewn all around. I was drinking tea and with no one to give me company I decided to offer her. She instantly accepted. Her name was Rezah. Over innumerable glasses of tea I learnt she was a Bangladeshi Refugee who like thousands of them had crossed the border along with her mother. With no source of income she had taken up this writing of various forms. Later in the day she took me home to meet her mother. It was anything but home. A worn out charpoy was the only fixed asset of this shack. Her mother must have been in her early 60s. Frail on the body but definitely not at heart, she welcomed me with a warm hug as if a long lost daughter.

Once with them it was difficult to believe life in such ruthless terms. They told me refugees do not exist, for either of the governments. They do not have any rights, whatsoever. Well, so much for the government taking measures to improve the quality of life. They were, just the two of them for each other. I have always thought that to be the worst punishment ever inflicted on any soul. An over populated universe with no one to share your existence with. Whether it was sympathy or the warmth they became my family for sure. I used to join them whenever I could with all three of us eating together and talking about what mattered to us. 3 months flew by like this when one day I reached the shack to see the mother daughter duo curled up in a corner with tears streaming down their faces. They opened up to my questions after what seemed like an hour long comforting. Some barbarians at the campus had plundered her honor while she was returning home. As if that were not sufficient she was beaten mercilessly. I was shocked beyond belief. These incidents are a distant reality till they come time checking at your door.  Such surrendered were they to their destinies that these hospitals, police stations were not meant for them. Asking for help was only increasing the agonies.  I was appalled at this wretchedness of life. For the first time probably and the hard way it jolted through me. Yes, it was different. They lived but they did not exist. The entire documentation of states and governments had failed to earn them a life. I cringed at this brutal joke that was cracked at their expense.

After giving them medicines and food, of whatever bare they could eat, I headed home. Invariably I was only pilferaging their sorrows which they wanted to hold dear. For the next couple of days I could not muster the courage to meet them. When I finally went there a week later I found the mother alone. Her face was a torment of emotions with tears having dried in their pursuit of endless streaming. She handed me a letter. I opened the letter with a quivering heart, Rezah had decided to end her struggle in life. She no longer wanted to be at the mercy of this territorial divide. How, where, she did not mention. All it said in the end was to take care of her mother, if possible. My brain stopped functioning, my senses grew numb. I had to hold on to the charpoy to keep steady. From the distance I could hear her mother requesting her whereabouts, asking why she had not returned home from last 3 days,  what was to happen to her as if she had already realized Rezah was not meant to return. I had no answers. Guilt weighed heavy on my heart. I might have been able to save her life had I given her my comforting shoulder, a ear to hear and not run away like a coward. Was that too much to bargain for a life. I stayed overnight with her mother, though neither of us spoke. Perhaps we were both trying to sort our destinies. As the sun rose, I made her tea and sought her permission to step out for some time to buy stuff for the house and apply for leaves in my office. Not daring to look into her eyes, I made my way out.

Once out I smelled the sun. Was it a different day or was my mind too fogged to care. I wandered aimlessly for around an hour trying to clear my mind. It must have been late afternoon when I decided to head back. I reached home... to a vacant charpoy. I looked around but in vain. I sat in the house cursing myself for hours but the last occupant of the shack did not return. My mind reverberated with the pleas of Rezah. To the letter she had bound me to, her mother had sought liberation, for I could not locate the letter anywhere. Was it relief that was flowing through my body as I latched the door. I could not decide what described me better....Insensitive or Practical.

To this day I think of Rezah and thousands like her. We fight for water, electricity, housing and they.....merely to be acknowledged.