Of dreams and damages

I was a normal village girl when I first came to town. The tall buildings, big cars and the street-light hues caught my attention, like I was some five-year old. Unlike my place, there were way too many people here. And not only the number but the fashion of people baffled me; I wondered for a long while initially whether girls wore jeans and pants instead of suits forgetfully, or wear shorter skirts exposing long ‘baits’ for perverted eyes. The place was reeling like a movie every day, enhancing the image I had in mind when I was in the bus on my way here. And best of all, I felt like a fairy-tale girl, lost in a big city, who was sure that dreams do come true. How could I not believe that? Coming here was a dream that I had seen with my eyes closed so many times, it had me convinced that I was prepared for the challenges I might have to face.

I joined work at a call centre. I had passed my 12th class with 95%, and was the pride of my village when I left to be the biggest star from my hometown. Being the only girl in my village who knew English well, my parents were extremely proud of me. Not only was I most that certain my good communication skills in such a foreign language would be the most useful talent I could yield, but I was most fascinated to do a job that applied my said skills. I also got admission in a B.A. (P) course in a college under the University of Delhi. My heart swelled up when I got my first paycheck and earned my college fees myself. I called up everyone back home to share the news, even promised to send some money back if I managed my expenses well. I took up a place on rent with two other girls – Laila and Nisha. We all were in the same course, for which I was a bit glad that I might get help with my studies. We had our differences, but they were nice to me and fairly shared the household chores.

As classes started I got busy with work and college, and the only time I saw my flat mates was on weekends. Every Saturday I made it a point to revise my course material for the previous week and catch up with the assignments. I was a happy and content life. One weekend I was reading my notes when I heard Laila call out to me. She and Nisha were all dressed up in shiny, skimpy clothing. They were going to a club in the night and wanted me to join in. I had never seen a club, wasn’t even sure what it meant. I agreed but wasn’t sure what to wear, so Nisha gave me one of her dresses. It was a knee-length dress; I was very uncomfortable when both Laila and Nisha comforted me. They taught me how to drink vodka shots with a lemon to ‘ease off the hardness’ when you drink it. I didn’t understand what it meant until I tried. I enjoyed it still, because I trusted my friends and it made them happy. The club was nice, everyone was dressed up. There were a lot of couples making out, and I bet they had no clue how uncomfortable they made me feel. Somehow I felt at ease, as people were only interested in themselves. Everyone was drinking, smoking and dancing to the tunes of recent Bollywood tracks. I am not a very good dancer but I had a lot fun. I never saw how time flew by but the party ended late in the night.

This became the new routine for every weekend. We started to keep in touch with the people we used to meet in clubs – no fun without them. And before I could blink, my friend-circle broadened. My life was going so fast that it was difficult to keep a track of time. Happy in the change, I had started to drink all kinds of liquor, even smoking weed. I hardly realized that I had made 5 boyfriends and made out with a zillion random people. Life wasn’t bad at all. My friends supported me in whatever I did. Soon exams came and I was struggling through the books which I hadn’t seen in the entire year. I was not able to understand a bit also as I wasn’t familiar with the lectures. I skipped most of them as I had to meet friends, go for shopping or plan for parties. I failed two of my modules, but my friends consoled me saying it is fine – such great friends I have. I attended many lectures stoned or drunk – it was fun.

Now, I am in an asylum, they say I am crazy, all I need is some cocaine, but they say no to that – can’t they understand? Or was I lost? They don’t even let me meet my mother. I want to tell her that I am sorry for not being around when baba died. I will surely tell her that I don’t like this place when I meet her. I want to go back to the village… with all the green trees, and the smell of muddy soil, and freshly cut crops… and help her with the cooking. They don’t love me here anymore. They don’t even give me good food; just medicines. I am scared they might kill me one day. I am not mad; maybe am becoming now, now that they give me shocks. When I try to run and dance they tie me to the bed and sometimes put me to sleep. I struggle really hard but they don’t let me go. The nurse yesterday told me she would let me go but she wanted something in return. She touched me everywhere. At first I didn’t get it but then she started pushing her body on me. Her rough hands were hurting me but I couldn’t stop her. I was sure today that she would bring ma along with her. But she came today also, alone. She hurt me; put something in me from behind. I bled but it felt worth it, because maybe… I get to see my mother tomorrow.