Bubbly bubble where do you fly….

The huge black iron gate had kept hope and joy at bay. The premises looked like a routine government set-up with yellow painted old building and an uneven approach way. At the entrance we were met with a group of officials who were responsible to manage and run this shelter home for destitute women. Their briefing about the place created a hope that ‘all is well’. Being my first visit to a shelter home, my imagination canvas was painted with images derived from the perception of such places. The films depicted these as hub of crime, oppressed rights, hatred and despair. My expectation of an old dilapidated structure with a gloomy and dark atmosphere was confirmed by an inmate emerging out of the building. She was looking at an imaginary spot in the air, aloof of our presence. Her salt-and-pepper hair were cut too short which indicated more of the caretaker’s comfort than being a style statement. My heart missed a beat for a fear of visualizing a herd of mentally challenged women in dirty clothes, body odour announcing their being.

The caretaker took us to a side courtyard. It was recently cleaned with a colourful carpet –rug spread in the centre. Few plastic chairs placed along stated that we were superior beings than the inmates we were about to meet. The word ‘inmate’ sounds like a branding for curtailed freedom of the subject where they are dependent upon benevolence of others.

Suddenly the gloomy screensaver melted into thousands of colours; like a stream of chirpy children flowed from entrance of a nursery school. 10-15 young girls clad in simple but clean clothes gathered in the courtyard.  They were all between 16-20 years. Their eyes twinkled with enthusiasm and the face glowed with confidence. Few elder girls had a small child tagged to them. They seemed a little dull and intrigued by their role as a single, unsupported mother. Almost all the girls had a thick sindoor line   in the parting. They were decked up fashionable in the most possible way in the limited resources available with them. Three of them adorned stylish hairstyle which only a professional hairstylist could have done.

Our discussions started with small talks on their name, village, since when they are here.  Most were the victims of marrying against the family’s wishes. Parents submitted birth certificates (sometime fake) showing the girl to be a minor. The boy was alleged for alluring a minor girl and sent to jail. Some girls were unfortunate (or fortunate) to be caught before the marriage could take place. As the girl had stepped out of the parental home and not accepted in the boy’s family, she had no place to go. The court sent her to the shelter home till she becomes a major and has a place to go. This arrangement seems to be very effective and optimistic. But the trend depicts a grave scenario that these girls may stay in the shelter home for months, years, sometime almost whole life. How and when they would get out? They don’t know when their ‘husband’ is released, whether he and his family will still accept her? What if the marriage is labelled as illegal?  

These girls have taken a decision against all odds, which confirms that they are brave and confident. But the 24 hours are spent only in gossips. Who is preparing them to face the outside world? There is no way of building their vocational skills, helping them in getting a schooling/ degree. Their youth is getting waste in uncertainty costing on the confidence level. A group of chirping young girls are soon to turn into acrid human beings. Who takes its onus? These are bubbly bubbles who are doomed to burst against the hard, uneven wall of the premises.

December 2015