WHAT
WENT WRONG - 3
My name is Sunita aged
29 years, twice married and mother of three children, two daughters and a son. Originally from
West Bengal, I came to Delhi in 1986 and am residing in one of its largest slums since
then.
Born to a poor family, I was the youngest of three daughters. My mother had died while I
was small. My father remarried. My new mother brought with her miseries. My
father took to drinking. My sisters were married off when I was still very small.
Spending miserable time with my mother at home or working in fields, which did not belong to
us, was my everyday routine.
I was never sent to school, even when I asked for. My mother did not allow me. My
father did not care. For him, girls were not meant to be schooled.
I was nearly 16 and could not recall a single moment when I got undivided attention of my
father. I did not expect the same from my stepmother. This feeling of loneliness
created a deep crater inside me. The more I looked for love and care, the more I received
rejection. It became a part of my life. I used to sulk alone and found solace in
the company of very few friends I had of my age. Seema was one of them. She had
just returned from Delhi with her husband. They had been married a few months
earlier. She used to spare time for me and even take me to the local market, where she
would buy things for herself and her husband and I felt jealous. However, she did offer
me a few gifts, value of which I was never able to find out, as I had never had any access to
such things. I do not know if it was the gifts or the affection she showered on me which drew
me closer to her and I started looking forward to meeting her more often than not.
On one of our trips to the local village fair with her husband, she put me on an auto
rickshaw. I enjoyed the ride. I got terrified when they took a lift in a
truck. They said that they wanted me to have a good time. I had nothing to look
back upon and consented for the joy ride. To my horror, they brought me to the Railway
Station. Upon my insistence to know the reason, she started giving me evasive
replies. I was shocked when she asked me to board the train. I started weeping
silently. . I had never been surrounded by so many people. People I did not know. I had
never been on the train or to a station. Seema and her husband first doled out soft threats
but turned violent on my incessant requests to return home. The co-passengers were
unaware of my situation as I was not fluent in Hindi and could manage to speak only
Bengali. I kept weeping. The train rolled on.
I was in Delhi. The city of my dreams. In a way, I was happy. I did not have
to face my wicked stepmother, or my uncaring father. My selfish sisters too would never
find me, I thought.
It was all a farce. My friends kept me with them at their Jhuggi for a few days. They
had received an advance from Saleem, a local slum dweller who wanted to have a native girl for
marriage. The deal was set for a paltry Two Thousand Rupees. When I refused
to get married, Saleem picked up a fight with Seema and her husband, asking for refund of his
money. Their threats of leaving me alone in the huge city of Delhi left me no choice but
to accept to marry. Seema and her husband were in this business.
I reconciled with my fate. I could not do anything else. I was too weak to
revolt. Saleem was a drug addict and a peddler too. He always ill-treated me, often
beating me up. I had to start working as a house maid to support myself as Saleem never
gave me anything to keep the house fires burning. I stayed with him for two years. I had
a daughter who later succumbed to her illness for want of proper medication, at a tender age
of six months. This enraged me and I left him. I borrowed some money, erected my
own jhuggi in the same slum, and started living on my own, while working as a maid.
Incidentally, Seema visited my village again and was confronted by my father who wanted to
know where I was. She pacified him and even brought him to Delhi to see me. I
refused to go back with him as I had now adjusted to my new environment.
A year later, I married Pappu, a local scooter mechanic. I was asked to discontinue
working. He brought happiness in my life for the first time. However, it did not
last long. We had a daughter. But, when I got pregnant for my second child, Pappu
expected a son, which was not to be. Pappu hit the bottle. He became
addicted to it. He left working and started staying home, often getting violent with
me. In one of our brawls, he hit me with a liquor bottle, which left a permanent scar on
my face. He now wanted me to earn and buy his alcohol. He even took me to meet people
engaged in illicit liquor trafficking and got me inducted in their team. My children and
I were going without food. I joined the group and became active in liquor
smuggling. This used to fetch me Two Rupees on every pouch of country liquor I
trafficked. This was done in boxes which I used carry on foot. Pappu's addiction grew and
condition of his liver deteriorated. The Doctor advised him to stay away from liquor
completely saying even a drop could be fatal. I had instructed everyone in the
neighborhood to not offer or sell any liquor to him. One day, upon my return home from
work, I found Pappu battling for life. He had consumed liquor. Enquiries revealed
that he had managed to get liquor through Lakshmi, our daughter, then six years old. I
cried, shouted at the suppliers, shouted at Lakshmi, but to no avail. Pappu passed away.
I was seven months pregnant then.
I was caught within days of Pappu's death, with a consignment of liquor but the Police itself
released me on bail. I decided to leave this trade. Hardships grew. I could
also not undertake any heavy work, as I was pregnant. My acquaintances gave me an offer
to store and sell smack (street name for heroin). I had no money to do so. They
offered me a loan of Rs. 4,000/-. I am still repaying it, since the interest on it was
20 % per month.
I was caught the very day I took the loan and bought the stock of the drug. Sent to
Jail, I was released on bail after fourteen months. My case was pleaded by the Legal Aid
lawyer given by the courts, arranged from inside the prison. Lakshmi stayed with
my neighbors. The rent from my Jhuggi took care of her. Saraswati, my second
daughter stayed with me in the jail. Prakash, my son was born in the jail itself. The
prison stay made me literate and taught me vocational trades like weaving and Crèche
management. It also enabled me grow and develop personally through the exposure to large
number of productive activities available. On release I was immediately employed by
Navjyoti, the organisation which was running the crèche training programs inside the
jail. I have been since then working as a Crèche worker teaching small children.
My daughters are in a convent school, admitted by India Vision Foundation, another NGO under
their project of educating children of crime affected families. I am now a woman in
charge of my life…..
IF …..
¨ I think my father should not have re-married without taking
into consideration the effects it would have on his children.
¨ Had my stepmother been kind, I would not have betrayed their
confidence when I left for the village fair.
¨ The feeling of loneliness and that of having no one to
look up to was a result of the unconcerned attitude of my parents.
¨ Had I been educated I would have at least been a little more
confidant and would have been in a position to decide for myself as to what was good for me
and also who were really my friends. Being illiterate also prevented me from writing to
my parents about my abduction.
¨ The environment in which I lived played a major role in
changing my life. Liquor and drugs are available in plenty in the slums of cities like Delhi,
which should be checked by the authorities. It will save hundreds of lives of men, women
and children. In fact slums need greater attention of the govt. agencies and the
voluntary organisations. |
