Maps

It was on a late muggy evening that I landed in the southern Indian city of Hyderabad. I decided to travel with S to India and do some travelling around the country that holds so much awe, as he went ahead conducting business. He had been there many times before, but it was my first trip. Inspite of all the help, pointers and guidance I received, nothing prepared me for the next few weeks.
Getting packed off by myself to Hyderabad wasn’t exactly my idea. But I did crave for the true blue Indian experience, yes, guilty as charged.
I spent a sleepless night on a hard bed with mosquitoes singing odes in my ears and rashes that never seemed to stop lusting after my hands. Just as I managed to drift into sleep, I woke up with a start to a sound.

Allah….

The Mullah offering prayers at the mosque close to my hotel. These are things they don’t prepare you for on your passage to India. The little things. Over the next few days, I was a bit grumpy at having to go through this and I kicked myself many a times at the thought of my clean apartment overlooking the Hudson. The rashes never got any better.

The sites around the place were pretty interesting and colourful, and very unique from what I saw in other cities. This city somehow seemed more carefree, and had its own pace with things. I made many trips with my camera to the bangle bazaar which is at the older quarter of town. The colours that fill this land of mystique slowly inched towards bringing life into me.

One thing that by now I grew accustomed to apart from the Mullah offering prayers was how a vast majority of people left things of consequence to the one above. For instance while planning a party someone would give out an elaborate scheme of things and then top it off with “Insha Alaah”, meaning Allah willing. The name of The Big Guy Upstairs varied accordingly, but I bet you got that already.

One morning, as I was sipping my upteenth cup of chai, I noticed there was a little girl at the door of our hotel. She was dirty, brown and her nose was running. She had my attention because she was too little to be begging- barely a year old. I looked around.

Over the last few days I had noticed similarly dressed kids round the corner. They belonged to a tribe that had just moved into the kerb. The older of the lot made a living selling toys for kids, balloons, caps with multi-coloured feathers and such odds. The kids played around and did not seem to take to begging. They lived and conducted all their business right there.

I picked my camera and went pottering about my day. Visited a gorgeous marble temple, sipped some more tea and punched some emails back home. On my way back to my room, I noticed that the little girl was still on the street and had barely moved a few feet from where she was in the morning. I decided to put off my shower for a bit, and strolled down the road instead.

The tribe I had noticed earlier weren’t there any more. Worry for a little stranger slowly began to trickle in. I made some enquiries in the shops around the place and with the couple that owned the hotel. They did not seem to know where the kid came from, where the tribe vanished, or if someone would come back for the child. However, they seemed to concur that she looked like she belonged to the aforementioned tribe.

Night began to fall, and I grew increasingly agitated with the system and the callousness around me. I worried about the little girl being hunted down by stray dogs or being taken advantage of. The owners would hear none of letting her sleep in the veranda.

I had to take a call.
I decided to let her sleep in my room for the night, and let her back out early the next day. Who knows, someone might come looking fir her. By now, we were even slightly familiar with each other thanks to the milk and bread I had given her earlier. I lay out a pillow on a small bed made from a few towels and sheets on the floor. She barely spoke, and slept through the night peacefully.

A coupe of days went by and it became obvious that nobody would get her. All of a year old, she was left to fend for myself.

I called S in the middle of the day. We had to talk. I was getting increasing involved with her and did not see any reason why she should not be helped. Asha, I used to call her.
Hope.

I asked him to pull a chair and told him all about her- how she seemed occupied in her own little world, her little fingers, how she never cried. How little by little, with baby steps, she had begun to capture my heart.

“What do you want to do?” S asked. I told him I would probably stay a while longer and figure that out. The next morning, he flew down to meet her. He knew where this was going. By then, I began to make rounds of NGOs that worked with destitute children and also researched on adoption laws.

Things were not simple at all. First, there was nothing we knew about this child. We could have very well kidnapped her, in the eyes of the law. After a lot of running and emptying our pockets a little, we found an organisation that decided to take her.

This was only one small victory among the many battles coming towards us. Shopping and caring for her gave me the strength required to fight. We were increasingly getting fond of each other. Language is not really a parameter when you have to communicate unconditional love. A tight hug, warm smell, delirious laughter, crazy games, that can be language in itself.

Time was running out and the processing and getting Asha an identity and the million other laws kept me busy and my brows knitted together. All this at a certain point got too overwhelming for me to handle. On another weekend trip, S broke it to me.

“We can’t stay any longer”.

Tears flowed, and through the denial, at some point I knew he was right.

We paid the NGO enough for her maintenance, and also made arrangements for play school. We would continue trips as and when possible till the time came when she could come home with us.

My bundle of joy. My raison d’etre.

That afternoon, we went to say our goodbyes. For now.
Asha knew something was up, a smart little kitten. She did not let go of me for one brief moment, and finally fell asleep in my arms. When the caretaker finally took her away from me, and held her close as our taxi pulled away, I could not help but mutter- Insha Allah.