A mother and her child (NaBloPoMo Day 7)

One post every day in November

A friend recently shared an experience with me. Travelling from Mumbai to Goa, she and her sister were in the train at VT station (now Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus) when they espied a woman, destitute and mentally imbalanced, sitting on the platform. The woman stuck her thumb on her tongue, and made an imprint of the thumb on the dirty platform, then stuck the thumb on her tongue once again, and made an imprint on her own forehead. She persisted in this activity for a while, never once missing a step or even the sequence in which the steps occurred.

By and by, a little girl, about five years old she must have been, joined her. The woman now took a break from the sequence to initiate the child into her little game. While the basic activity remained the same, it was the child’s forehead that now received the thumb print. The child sat on, reasonably still, and allowed the woman to have her way, without any interruption.

My friend and her sister were moved by the sight of that pair. The train was about to pull off at any moment. They quickly called the child to the window. She came, not stopping to consult the woman about the wisdom of answering the call of two strangers, and received with a beaming smile the packet of Glucose biscuits that the sisters handed out to her through the bars of the window. With a light step, she skipped over to the woman, tore open the packet and shared the biscuits with the woman. Both ate in silence.

The train pulled off, leaving the woman and the girl behind, yet my friend could not shake the thought of the child from her mind. Nor could I, when she related the story to me.

As a mother, everything I see, especially when it relates to children, gets coloured by my mother-view, seen through the prism of my perceptions and feelings. That poor little girl, just a year older than La Niña, yet forced to fight demons and do battle with the dangers of the street, my heart went out to her.

I could see her, in my imagination, forced perhaps to grow up long before her time, and yet she was unmistakably a child, as evidenced by the delight with which she took the proffered biscuit packet. Her innocence was intact. As was her love for the woman.

A child’s love draws sustenance from its mother. How strong must be the template of mother love if it had succeeded in penetrating the heart of the child through the haze of the cobwebbed, befuddled mind! How had the destitute managed to achieve that? Her mind had shut itself down, but something in it was alive, something that looked out for the little one, something that showed care and concern.

I thought of that pair, homeless and friendless, and heart-achingly vulnerable to the snares of the street and the deviousness of mankind. How did they survive?

As parents who live within the ambit of societal structures, we have the means and the ability to safeguard our children from evils that childhood should never know about. What recourse does she have, living as she does with nothing to call her own? How will she protect her child? How will her child protect her?

I tell myself, they couldn’t possible survive on their own. Maybe there is someone, a kindly guardian, another denizen of the streets, who is watching over them.

Is that something I am saying to soothe myself? I, another member of that same selfish society – am I using that empty consolation to cover my own discomfort and guilt? Guilt at being better off than they are? I'd rather not think about the answer.

But every once in a while, especially when I rejoice in the company of my kids, I find myself thinking of that lonesome mother, who cannot revel in the gift that is motherhood, and of that little girl, who will never have her mother all to herself.

Or maybe I am wrong. I hope I am. Maybe in some magical way that only the Keeper of the Lost knows, they are both being watched over.



Strapped to his heart (NaBloPoMo Day 5)

One post every day in November

We hear, see and talk about so many instances of Mother Courage that it is almost tempting to think of father’s love and sentiments as always ceding Pole position to the mother. And yet there are many cases of fathers who place their lives on hold as they seek to be there for their children.

 

One such unsung hero is Bablu (may his tribe increase), resident of Bharatpur in Rajasthan, a state sadly too well known for its depressing maternal and infant (especially girl child) mortality figures, and the father of 45-day-old baby girl Damini. When his wife died in childbirth, this rickshaw puller found himself forced to look after the infant while struggling to earn a living. So he fashioned himself a cloth sling and began to carry his baby around. With his right hand steering the cycle handle of his rented rickshaw, and his left protectively holding the little baby, Bablu set about his daily work – too proud to ask for help or beg.

 

Deprived of her mother’s milk and care at birth, the health of little Damini, with a birth weight of just 2kg, was a matter of great concern. She was steadily losing weight and severely malnourished and anaemic. She was also suffering from respiratory problems and infection in the blood and needed an urgent blood transfusion.

 

Bablu, meanwhile, tried desperately to seek help for her, but was turned away at most places on account of his poverty. He said, "Damini needed urgent care, food and treatment but I was completely helpless. I could not even buy food and medicines."

 

The plight of the father and daughter came to the notice of the authorities, thanks to prompt media action. The district collector picked up the tab for Damini’s treatment. She was treated at Fortis Hospital, Jaipur. The treatment was the best of its kind and soon Damini began to respond positively. She began to gain weight and was taken off the ventilator yesterday. She was discharged from the hospital today.

 

Meanwhile, total strangers sent in their generous contributions. Today Bablu has a new rickshaw and Rs 14 lakh in his bank account. He is now determined to give his baby a good education and to ensure that she grows up feeling loved and with all the opportunities that every child deserves.

 

Far from abandoning the little one to the care of NGOs, who offered to look after the little one for two years, he has insisted on his right to bring her up, and is willing to shoulder all the responsibilities related to her growth and upbringing.

 

In a world that is often careless of the needs of the girl child, Bablu, an illiterate rickshaw puller, deserves our utmost respect for his willingness to go through hardships in order to keep his child alive. By strapping his precious baby close to his chest as he went about the task of earning his living, Bablu has proved beyond doubt that little Damini’s needs will always be close to his heart.



An ugly baby? What's that? (NaBloPoMo Day 2)



One post every day in November

Sometimes you hear of the most bizarre things. I just read the strangest news on the Net. It was so strange that at first I thought it was one of those hoaxes that seem to go from strength to strength online.


Apparently, a Chinese man named Jian Feng not only divorced his wife but also sued her for giving birth to an ‘ugly’ baby.

My first thought was -- aren’t all babies beautiful? Is there such a thing as an ugly baby? Aren’t the very concepts, ugly and baby, thoroughly and utterly mismatched? Should they even be in a sentence together?

The very handsome (by his own admission), Feng married his wife for love. At least that is what he told the judge. And yet, when the daughter that she gave birth to was presented to him, he was horrified. He could not believe that a child born to such good-lookers as he and his wife could be that ugly. Since the baby didn’t look like either of her parents, Feng assumed that his wife had been unfaithful. (Yeah, blame it on the Other Man).

Lady Feng insisted the baby was his. She’d been properly pativrata and all. A DNA test proved her right. But Feng wasn’t about to buy that. His DNA would have produced a Chinese variety of a miniature Greek goddess or at least a Miss Universe pageant winner.

That is when the truth tumbled out of its hiding place. Lady Feng had not been unfaithful. In Feng’s eyes, her confession was even worse. She didn’t exactly quote Shakespeare, but she did admit that God had given her one face and she had made herself another. She said that she used to be ugly and that she had spent $100,000 on getting plastic surgery done in South Korea to completely make a new woman out of her. (Face off, anyone?) And yes, she got so carried away at all those lovey-dovey, romantic dates that she may have forgotten to mention it.

More horror in store for Feng-man. This ugly baby was totally her fault. He filed for divorce and took her to court, alleging that she had gypped him. He had married her under false pretences. There was no doubt about it. His wife had shown herself to be two-faced. Pre-surgery, Lady Feng might have said like Abraham Lincoln, “If I were two-faced, would I be wearing this one?” As it is, she only kept quiet.

Strangely, the judge took the Feng view of the case (That’s why Charles Dickens said, The law is an ass) and asked Lady Feng to pay him $120,000 as compensation for the deceit she had practiced on him.

Hey, what about his deceit? He claimed to have been deeply in love with her, but it appears that while beauty is only skin-deep, his love was even shallower. To him, she was nothing but a pretty face – no personality, no love, no affection. Nothing else to redeem her other than her mug.

Personally, I think that other than the payment, which is a big Ouch factor, she’s still much better off without the likes of him in her life. Only a boor and a fool could gaze into a baby’s cute face and feel repulsed.

In a fairer world, the judge would have penalized him for disturbing the court’s time with such a frivolous case. Maybe in a few years, he will lose his hair and his front teeth and his face will be riddled with acne. Then Lady Feng and her lovely daughter (and we) will have the last laugh.

Daughter of the Soul Goes Home

The results are out. Rashmita and Susanta Mallick are the parents of Baby Atmaja.


After a drama that panned out for four-and-a-half months, the High Court of Orissa has finally revealed that Rashmita and Susanta are not the biological parents of the boy, based on the DNA report submitted by genetic scientists at the Hyderabad-based Central Forensic Science Laboratory. The report, resorting to typical legalese, stated that Rashmita Mallick could not be excluded as the biological mother of the girl child, while she could be definitely excluded as the biological mother of the other male child.

For those who came in late, Baby Atmaja had been lying unclaimed at the SCB Medical College and Hospital in Orissa where her mother gave birth to her on March 30, 2012. Her parents had refused to accept her, alleging that the hospital had goofed up and swapped their baby with another couple who had the same surname. They added that another baby, a boy, born around the same time, was in fact theirs. (You can read more about that episode in my post HERE.)

The court’s verdict was accepted amid resounding cheers by the hospital. It had cleared them of the accusations that Susanta and Rashmita Mallick had hurled at them. But the joy was overpowered by sadness at the thought of parting. For more than four months, they had looked after the baby girl and they had learned to love her with a love that only those who have been slaves to a baby will know.

Scouring the Internet for some news of Atmaja, I caught a few stray sites that had reported the news of the resolution of the case. I also caught these videos from Orissa TV. The details were lost on me as I don’t understand Oriya. But the moving images helped. Then a friend of a close friend very kindly obliged with a translation and helped me fill the blanks in my understanding. If you understand Oriya (and even if you don’t), you must view the videos, HERE and HERE.

The hospital authorities had completed all the formalities for handing over the baby. But the task of bidding goodbye to the little one proved to be much too big to handle.

I was touched by the sight of the nurses, the doctors and even the ayahs of the Neonatalogy and Obstetrics and Gynaecology department at the hospital, as they all sought one last chance to hug and kiss the child that they had so unconditionally made their own for the last four-and-a-half months. Despite knowing that this moment would come, despite being prepared for it, most of the nurses, doctors and ayahs were in tears.

Apparently all the 20 nurses in the department, along with the students and doctors, including those whose who weren’t on duty then, had been present since the morning so as not to miss the chance to say goodbye to Atmaja. They even made it a point to pack and send with her the dresses, toys and other items that they had bought out of their own salaries for her.

The child had thrived well under the love and care that they had lavished upon her. The high court had directed them to look after the child, pending a resolution of the case. But most of them went beyond the call of duty, laughing with her, feeding and cleaning her and buying her toys. They came to work a few minutes before their shifts began so they could spend time with her. They even went to the extent of naming the child, Atmaja, and observed the proper rituals 21 days after her birth. In turn, little Atmaja responded to their affection, as only a child can. She rewarded their attempts to do the right thing with coos and gurgles. She smiled and laughed and blossomed in their care. She became their world.

And then the results of the DNA test arrived, bearing tidings that they had been both longing for and fearing. Baby Atmaja was handed over to the mother who had rejected her at birth. The father was still in Dubai where he worked.

And so it was that Baby Atmaja received her first kiss from her mother a full 134 days after she was born. Rashmita, the mother, hugged the child close to her chest as though she would rather die than be parted from her child. She said, “I am now sure that this baby is mine and I am extremely happy accepting her.” She also expressed her gratitude towards those who took care of her baby. In response to a reporter’s question, she added, “My husband has spoken to me after the High Court verdict came and he has also expressed his willingness to accept the baby.”

Call me biased, but I was unmoved by their noble and generous willingness to accept the baby after the High Court left them no other option. For the sake of the baby, I hope that the choked voice in which the mother spoke to the reporters, the look of anguish that she bore about her and the tight stranglehold of a clutch in which she held the child are not elements of an elaborate act put up for the benefit of the Court authorities, the hospital staff, the dignitaries present and the media representatives.

The reporter accompanied Atmaja home, and gave us a glimpse of the welcome that was accorded to her. A pooja were organized, along with the rituals that are conducted to welcome a newborn home. The child's forehead was adorned with the traditional teeka to ward off the evil eye. She was also renamed Jyoti.

That saddened me. Was this an attempt to erase the memory of the last 4½ months? Were they right in hiding the truth from her? How will she feel when she grows up and finds out?

One sour note was sounded by Rashmita’s mother-in-law Lata, who, unconvinced by the indecisive nature of the DNA report, likened the experience of accepting Atmaja into the family to adoption. Earlier she had claimed that she had seen Rashmita give birth to a baby boy in the labour room.

There is a Nigerian Igbo proverb, "Ora na azu nwa," which translates into “It takes a village to raise a child.” In Atmaja’s case, it was the nurses, doctors and ayahs who gave her the nurturing that her parents refused at a critical period in her life.

If Rashmita Mallick is indeed grateful to the staff at the hospital, she must show her gratitude by sharing that story with her daughter.

Daughter of the Soul

Her name, Atmaja, is Sanskrit for Daughter of the Soul. It is a name that the doctors at the SCB Medical College and Hospital in Cuttack, Orissa, India, have given her. Her biological parents have neither the time nor the inclination to look for a name for her. They are too busy shrugging off parentage, disclaiming her, disowning her.


Born on March 30, 2012, Atmaja was born around the same time as another baby, a boy. However, when hospital staff presented the little baby to her father, she did not receive the treatment that fathers of newborn babies customarily offer to their young. No hands caressed her tenderly; no lips laid a sweet kiss on her forehead. No eyes crinkled in delight at the sight of her cute little feet and no mouth gaped in sheer awe at the miracle of perfection that is a baby.


Instead, Susanta Mallick and his wife Rashmita alleged that they were the rightful parents of the baby boy and that this baby girl was swapped by the incompetent hospital staff. The couple went on to say that the other woman, Nirupama Mallick, and her husband Sukanta Mallick of Jajpur district were in fact the parents of the baby girl. Refusing to acknowledge Baby Atmaja as their own, Susanta and his wife insisted on a paternity test and, when that was refused, went on to file a petition in Orissa High Court.


On April 24, the court directed that the two mothers who had delivered at nearly the same time and the two babies under dispute should undergo a DNA test to ascertain the parentage of the child. Blood samples of the four were dispatched to the Central Forensic Science Laboratory at Hyderabad under the supervision of a court official. While the jury was out, Baby Atmaja waited for the mother that would not come.


Two months later the results were revealed. Report: Inconclusive evidence. The genetic scientists at the laboratory were unable to give a conclusive DNA report based on the blood samples of the two mothers and the baby. A positive result would have allowed the little one to see her rightful home for the first time. The inconclusive result meant a return to the hospital, pending a resolution of the case. It was detention of a different kind.


The laboratory informed the Orissa High Court that the blood samples of both the contesting fathers would be required to make an accurate analysis about Atmaja’s parentage. This stage of the examination was delayed further as it was revealed that Susanta Mallick, the man who had filed the case in court, had only lately gone to Dubai where he worked. Apparently, he would not be able to return to India for another six months. The other father, Sukanta Mallick, was working in Kolkata. Relatives of both men filed affidavits in court to state that it would not be possible for them to return to Cuttack to give their blood samples.


Even as this extended game of tug-of-war plays on, Baby Atmaja continues to stay at the hospital. For four months now, Atmaja has been living there, deprived of a mother’s love and care. At an age when other more fortunate babies are suckling greedily and contentedly at their mother’s breasts and reveling in the warm comfort that is a mother’s embrace, this poor little child goes without. She has never known even a moment of love. Her lips have never tasted her mother’s milk.


She is not without surrogate mothers, of course. The hospital, charged by the high court to look after the little one until the matter is resolved, has sheltered the baby in its special neonatal care unit. Two beds were removed to accommodate the baby and her crib. She also received the vaccinations and immunization as per schedule.


What she didn’t receive is the one thing that no baby should go without: a mother’s love. I strongly urge you to read this article when you have the time, but for those who don’t, I will offer a gist. The article says that there is a growing body of scientific evidence to support a truth that mothers have always known instinctively. The way babies are cared for by their mothers affects their emotional development and the biological development of their brain and central nervous system. Writer Cory Young says, “Mother’s love acts as a template for love itself and has far reaching effects on her child’s ability to love throughout life.” The article goes on to say that “Hugs and kisses during these critical periods make those neurons [in the central nervous system] grow and connect properly with other neurons. You can kiss that brain into maturity.”


Newborns, says Young, are born expecting to be loved, kissed, cuddled, even licked. Even animal mothers know that. In fact, James W Prescott, one of Young’s sources reveals, “The easiest and quickest way to induce depression and alienation in an infant or child is not to touch it, hold it, or carry it on your body.”


Fortunately, none of that negativity will touch Atmaja’s life. Nurses and attendants are working round-the-clock, struggling gamely to meet her needs as best as they can. Other mothers of newborns give in to their newfound maternal instincts and nurse the little one out of a sense of sympathy and compassion.


Little Atmaja is a healthy baby and growing well. Her smiles and gurgles have earned her a special place in the hearts of all those around her. Apart from the nurses and attendants who are her constant companions 24x7, she has also become the darling of visiting medical students and the doctors who pamper and cuddle her. Staff members have brought in toys for her. Incidentally, the district administration is providing funds from the Red Cross Society for her care and feeding.


But there must be some instinct in human beings even when they are babies. Despite being well looked after by the nurses, Baby Atmaja’s eyes search the faces of those around her for that one face that Nature has ordained she will instantly recognize. But the parents, despite being genetically wired to love their own offspring, aren’t in a hurry to oblige and continue to hanker after the baby boy. And why not? Don’t they live in a culture where the peda, irrespective of type, price and quality, ranks higher in the pantheon of Indian sweets than the barfi?


The Orissa High Court has now taken a tough stance to resolve this row. On July 17, the court refused to order any more blood samples and ruled that the laboratory must draw a conclusion about the parentage from the blood samples available to them. While that is good news because it spells an end to the dispute, the eventual resolution of the contest also worries me.


What happens when the laboratory comes to a conclusion and releases conclusive findings with regard to parentage? Will the Mallicks recover lost ground? Will they acknowledge the treasure that is a daughter? Will they get a glimpse of the joy that a little girl can bring into life? Will they be able to show the baby all the affection and love and tenderness that has been her right and due? Will they give that love grudgingly? Will it be as easy as turning on a tap?


Most likely, not. We are a nation that famously worships its female deities but disowns its daughters. Oscar Wilde was right when he said, “How strange a thing this is! The Priest telleth me that the Soul is worth all the gold in the world, and the merchants say that it is not worth a clipped piece of silver.”


I don’t know how this drama will play out. For her sake, I pray that Atmaja may grow up to be a kind, generous and wonderful woman, a spectacular human being. I pray that she may suffer no issues of self-esteem on account of having been abandoned by her own parents for nearly four months.


I pray that her little brain may cherish the love she is receiving from the most unlikely sources and thrive upon that love.
Above all, I pray that she may live up to her name and be a true Daughter of the Soul, even though the stock that she hails from lacks that precious ore.