A NEW CHILDHOOD

It was a typical Sunday morning that my mother, despite violent protest on my part, bundled me into a taxi to take me to an Ashram. The ashram is a facility where being taught meditation rehabilitates women and girls and other skills that help them overcome trauma. My mother was welcomed there with hugs, which she happily returned. I was not yet ready to be as open and loving as her. Bored, I looked around and saw three girls huddled in a corner, terrified. The oldest couldn't’t have been a day over 10. I then noticed a drunken man staggering, yelling profanities, and trying to forcibly take the girls away. The children shrieked in terror. My mother intervened. “They’re my brother’s children. Who are you to interfere?” yelled the man. The girls clung to my mother. I found myself rushing to them. I took them in my arms, leaving my mother to handle the uncouth man. The words ‘police’ and ‘jail’ were used. This sobered him down considerably and, within minutes, he was quite willing to part with his nieces for a few thousand rupees. My mother made him sign a bond surrendering his rights over the children to the ashram and told him in no uncertain terms where he would end up if was ever seen in the vicinity again.

As the afternoon progressed, I learned that the girls had seen their parents murdered in front of their eyes. Their uncle used to force them to do odd jobs and drank away the money they earned. This would have continued had the ashram not discovered them. On the drive back, I was pensive. Even in my wildest imagination I could not have conceived of such things happening to children of my age. My life was a complete contrast to theirs. Many lives were affected that day. Now, I go back to the ashram every Sunday and see the girls growing up. I also see my own life in a completely different light. I feel grateful for my childhood and the fact that I was allowed to have one. And I feel grateful if I can help gift something as precious as that to even one other child.