In 2002 she fell for a boy in a higher class. The boy promised the world, gave her a son, and married her before running away never to be seen again. In India, with no welfare support, and having failed to finish school this was a disaster. She was fortunate however, that despite her teenage indiscretion, her family had brought her up in the knowledge that they would love her whatever the circumstance, and had taught her responsibility.
Without hesitation, she left her child at 10 months old in the care of her sister, Omu, and parents, before heading to Mumbai to find some way, any way of supporting her child. Where some might have hidden in denial, she knew that she owed it to her son to give him the best possible chance not to make the same mistakes she did. Working initially as a scullery maid, and later in various jobs of servitude, she eventually met another man. Her judgement this time was more refined, and they married, happily, for love in Mumbai.
The two of them hold down good jobs, not sponging off the state in some plush government office, but working hard in private jobs to earn their keep. What she earns goes back to her family, to support her parents, and her son, Ashit.
9 weeks ago we met Ashit, and you may remember that for me he needed taming. And he's called A-shit! How 9 weeks has opened our eyes. A polite little boy, with a beautiful smile, intelligent gentility and just occasional bouts of over-enthusiasm which can be put down to his being 9 years old, male and inquisitive. He's still got an amusing name, but he's one of the stars. A couple of nights ago, as we enjoyed dinner at Omu-miss' house, he happily chatted away about Diwali and his mother, who he hasn't seen since October, and won't until the end of term in mid-December.
This isn't an unfamiliar tale in India; one of many children sent to school thousands of miles from their parents while the parents do everything they can to support them.
No comments:
Post a Comment