Debasish Dey

Inspirational

3  

Debasish Dey

Inspirational

Lost Horizon / Debasish Dey

Lost Horizon / Debasish Dey

15 mins
185


Today is her second death anniversary. A photo with a pretty golden frame is hanging on the wall. A garland of tuberose, which she liked, is attached along with the photo frame. The smoke coming from the incense sticks makes the room's atmosphere spiritual. Some benefactors like her are seated before her photo, praying to God for the best destiny wherever she presently belongs. Suddenly a remembrance of that very first day a few years back when I met her first time on a bus on return from the office. Though it was a co-incident, it changed my perception of life.


A young lady, around twenty-five years old, brunette, slender-bodied with a height of more than average, gazed at me with her wide beautiful eyes as if she knew me very well, and after a long time, she found me in a bus. She continued it for a couple of minutes, raising my irritation. It was so awkward for me, a mid-aged man, to tolerate for a long time. Perhaps, most of the co-passengers reckoned it with their keen observation power. Few of them were enjoying this with a typically funny facial expression. I tried to ignore it at my best effort, but it went beyond my patience. I looked straight at her and asked, "Do you know me?"

"No."

"Then, why are you staring at me in this way?"

Perhaps, she was not ready to face the sudden question, but she arranged herself quickly, looked at me embarrassingly, and her butter-like cheeks got pink.


Suddenly, I felt there was a difference between her two gazes. Her first-time stare at me was curious, but the second time she stared at me embarrassingly. She hardly answered my question with an ooze-out laugh through her wet lips," Never mind, sir. Your face is almost similar to my elder brother, whom I lost recently. He got a massive attack of pneumonia, and within a week, that snatched him forever."

"Thank God."

"What!"

I felt relieved that she thought of me as her brother, but I arranged it differently and said," No, I mean, it was really painful to him. How old he was then?"

"Only 51. I am the youngest among three."

"Do you mind if I ask your name?"

"Not at all, Anjali, Anjali Bose." She breathed off from deep inside as if she got relief from confusion.

" Okay, what do you do now?"

"I am in a private firm as a receptionist. They pay me a good salary though the hours are long, it's okay."

She talked spontaneously. The most striking feature was her dynamic personality, which raised my eagerness to know more about her.


Despite no trace of vermilion on her forehead, I asked her confusedly," Are you married?"

She ashamedly answered," No."

"As an elder brother, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

" Are you engaged with someone or in relation?

Right after asking the question, I felt I should not ask this question in such a short conversation because she might think of me as something else.

So, I asked the question making it a little bit easier.                                                                    

She smilingly answered," Not at all."

I came closer to her by making an inevitable distance between us and said almost whisperingly," You told me your elder brother looked like me. If I were your elder brother, I would have been concerned for your future. On that point of view, I have some suggestions for you. Do you want to listen it?"

"Why not."

"You should marry as soon as possible because age does not wait for anybody." Smilingly I said again," One of my young colleagues is still a bachelor. I have known him for a long time. His father was also my colleague, a little older than me. His sudden death brought a financial crisis to their family, and then his son got the job in place of his father. He is an honest guy. If you are agreed, I can put forward my proposal to him. But she looked outside the window as if she wanted to escape from the discussion on this topic. Perhaps, it hurt her. I should not discuss someone's personal affairs overwhelmingly. So, I kept quiet.


Suddenly a lady got off the bus leaving a space beside the window. Anjali at once occupied that so that she could carry out the discussion with me privately. On watching her there, I smiled. This time her gesture did not display that she was hurt. She said," Perhaps you thought I didn't listen to you, but I have everything. Thank you for the proposal." I found a change in her facial expression. Soon that turned very serious. She said in a low voice," I want to tell you something, but not here. Could you give me your cell phone number if you trust me?"

For a moment, I was confused, but desperately I gave her my number, and she at once saved it as 'dada'. 

That night, I told everything to my wife. She listened carefully, but without saying anything, she went to sleep.

For each moment, I was waiting for a phone call from her. A week passed, but no phone call. I was trying to forget it.

One morning, as soon as I picked up the teacup for a sip, my phone rang, and I said, "Hallo."

The other end responded," I am Anjali. Do you recognize me? We met on a bus..."

"Anjali, I do recognize you. At last, after silence for a week, you

remembered me."

"Dada, check your whatsapp account. I have sent you a letter. I will call you back soon." She cut the line.

I found a PDF document she sent. She had written.

 

Sir,

I am honoured to meet you. You are one of the great men I have ever met. Please delete this message after reading it because some truths are indigestible and should not be a hot cake of people's gossip. Sitting among the people, I had to answer your partially true questions. Your proposal about my marriage is great, but not acceptable. Since childhood, I have been enduring the pain of being transgender. Yes, I am a hermaphrodite means both reproductive genitals are present in my body. It is called gender identity disorder found in my body when I was eleven. Since then, I have been a sequester in my society. Without any reason, I was beaten by my parents and teacher as if I was a redundant creature, and all these were my fault. I was helpless, bewildered. I have tried two times to commit suicide between eleven and twenty. In a third-world country, it is a curse to be transgender. As soon as the deformity caught in my body, my parents took me to the clinic, but the treatment was neither advanced nor available in our country. The doctor prescribed costly and rarely available hormones those my father could not afford. That was a different history, which we can discuss on another day. With my increasing age, gradually, I felt of being an unwanted creature to society, family and friends. They felt ashamed to introduce me to others. A feeling of identity crisis threshed my wish to live. To me, the whole world became dark. I went in solitude and started confining myself in a room, putting off the light as an 

animal kept in a cage. To forget my identity, I welcomed somebody to supply me with drugs, and soon I became addicted. It was such a situation when there was no option to choose in my hand to escape from my conscience. My condition was getting worse day by day. Finally, one day I found myself lying on a bed in a rehabilitation centre. I had to stay there for a couple of months. During that time, I met a lady named Sima Bose. 


The very first day of our meeting was a remarkable incident for me because, for the first time, I felt pleasure in my mind. She was very energetic and optimistic. She spared no effort to bring me back to life. She set many examples to assure me that I am not alone. A lot of people like me are surviving in every corner here. She told me that being addicted to drugs is not a solution and advised me to submerge in work, which can offer a secure position in society, and also, I would get rid of this trauma. She had an NGO where she offered me a job. She trained me to handle the job of receptionist. One good thing in my life was my grooming in an English medium school that now helps me to communicate with different people. Since then, I have been working there. I am much more disabled mentally than physically. Secretly, I keep in contact with my family, and I send a part of my salary to them in a disguised name. I got the news of my elder brother's death last year though I was not allowed in his cremation. It was so painful to me that still now, I feel hatred for myself. The biggest tragedy is that my pain couldn't soften my parent's hearts. 

That's for the day. 

I am looking forward to your kind response. 

Anjali


I can't understand to use a suitable adjective for this incident in my writing. Unprecedented, unbelievable, afflictive, horrible, whatever I say is getting less matchable to the fact. It was as if a bolt from the blue to me. I was getting confused. I became spelt bound for a few hours. I could manage to write only a few words.

"I must contact with you soon --- Dada."


Two days later, I wrote her some lines with confusion as I could not have many ideas to suggest to her on this issue. I am grateful to my wife for compassionately showing me the way to the content of my letter.

 

Dear Anjali,

Perhaps you thought, knowing all this hatred might develop in my mind. Not at all, but rather saying it increased my respect for you for your mighty struggle against social injustice. You have defeated your physical deformation and inferiority that once grew in your mind and compelled you to destroy yourself. However, fortunately, you got someone who taught you how to overcome hurdles, which brought changes in your life. She apprehended and explained the reality of life quoted in the Geeta as 'an action denotes life'. The wrong deed leads you to an unfair destiny. She showed the righteous path to survive. Hats off to her. If society is reluctant to receive you, it shows how society lacks wideness. They live with old prejudices. They don't want to come out of the so-called orthodox ideas. So, it is not your fault, and don't get frustrated but ignore them courageously.

I can put forward some names that became successful in their respective fields after fighting lots against social taboos. The two characters of Mahabharata are transgender. One was Shrikhandi, a female, but later became a male. He took part in the battle of Kurukshetra on the side of Pandavas, and another was Iravat, the son of Arjun and Ulpi, the Naga princess. Besides, Alexandar James, an American musician, songwriter and singer; Tamara Adrian, a Venezuelan politician; Rebeca Allison, an American cardiologist and President of the gay and lesbian Medical Association and many survive in society with dignity. Therefore, keep it up and look forward. Many people like you are waiting for you because they need you. You have to do a lot for them. We are always with you. We will invite you soon to our house.

-Dada


Meanwhile, I discussed the matter with my wife. Then we took a bold decision. The decision was about adoption. We decided to adopt Anjali as a daughter that might fulfil our childless life. That was an unofficial adoption. Initially, Anjali refused our proposal, but an incident made possible easier to take shape in reality. One day, on returning from the office, some antisocial surrounded her with the intention of molestation.

Fortunately, one police officer was patrolling there and rescued her. That incident inspired her to go with our decision. That evening, I got a phone

call Shyampukur Police Station to attend immediately.

I reached there at once and found Anjali sitting before the officer.

"Are you her elder brother?" The officer questioned me curiously.

I hesitated and answered him, "Y-e-s."

"Then why are you leaving her to stay alone?"

Anjali couldn't keep quiet and said, "It had no reason, but it was my decision."

" As a police officer I will advise you to take her immediately with you because this place is not safe for Miss Bose."

My motivation intensified, and I said," Definitely, I will take her to our house. Don't be worried, sir."

Coming out of the police station, I kept quiet for a moment. Then I said to Anjali outrageously, "If you don't agree our proposal, please don't take my name in any circumstance. Try to forget me as stranger."

I didn't expect that would work at once. Anjali confusingly rubbed the forefinger with the edge of the do-patta and almost whispered, "Dada, I will go with you."

It was as if everything was happening before my eyes like an illusion. A prolonged thirst was going to end. Philia began whirling inside.


I picked up the phone and conveyed the news to my wife. Two days later, when she stepped into my house, observing her, my wife said, "She is gorgeous." Anjali looked at me bewilderedly as if she couldn't understand how to respond to this remark because none could ever think to remark like that, everybody thought her burdensome, or she thought, knowing everything about her gender identity disorder, how my wife could react in

this manner. Is it sarcasm? I helped her to get rid of that complexity.

"Okay Mira bring something for her. She might be hungry."

"sure I will."

Gradually, every hesitation of being unfamiliar among us has wiped out, and she was getting herself one of us. Soon we became essential to each other, forgetting that we have no blood relation.

Our relatives had many questions about Anjali and her living with us. Anjali became our responsibility. We were worried about her security. The most important thing was we never raised any word about her marriage as it was impossible. Since her apparent features were enough to make a perfect woman, men often fell in love with her intense beauty. Perhaps, that situation made her embarrassed. She tried to escape before anything would start.

One evening one of my distant relatives' sudden visit surprised me. After discussing some useless topics, I got the real purpose of her coming. She came with a proposal of marriage of her son to Anjali. We refused at once by saying, "No, it's not possible. She does not want to marry. We do not force her to do that. We do not do anything against her will."

However, in this way, we spent about seven years and nine months, but we never realized that behind her beatification, there was despair in the heart's core- unspoken despair of aimless existence. One day she was found dead in the toilet. Deceived by life, she finally committed suicide, cutting the artery at the wrist of her left hand. It was a long time of preparation for cold-blooded suicide. She did all these in the apartment where she lived alone. She left a letter for us and a suicidal note for investigation. One saving blade, two letters and a suicidal note were found near the dead body, later taken by the police in their custody as circumstantial evidence though they backed the letter to us. Despite having a suicidal note, they often called us for interrogation to make sure whether it was a case of genuine suicide or not. However, she had written her last letter to us.

 

Dada and Boudi,

I got more than enough from you that I cannot express myself in language. I am privileged. Despite that, I don't find any hope in life. You referred to some names who achieved purpose to strengthen their cause to sustain in life, but I am not so strong enough to fight against the social customs. Looking ahead to the future, I see the prevailing darkness along the horizon that scares me. If I want to engage myself in some benevolent works, society does not allow me to do that because I am an unholy creature to them. I don't know how they get information about my biological disorder. Neither could I dedicate myself to such a job, nor does my intellect support me adopting a profession like prostitution. What is the real sense of my existence? There is no room for a third gender in our society. A dog has the right to have the affection of a human, but I don't have. Please pardon me if you can.

-Anjali 

 People gathered in our hall to pay their homage to the young soul. They loved Anjali. They had compassion for the grief that Anjali hid for a long time.

 "Dada, let's go to the hall. Everybody is waiting for us."

"Yes, Debasish, I am coming."

As I was approaching the hall, I heard the microphonic voice of my brother-in-law, Soumen.

"......we lost a young soul. A flower dried up before

blossom. She could do a lot for the people of her same domain, but before she could do she went away." He announced after taking a pause, "I request Mr Dutta, my brother-in-law, to come on stage and pay some words for her."

As soon as I began to say something, my voice choked, and my sight blurred. I hardly

said," Pardon me. I do not want to shuffle the memory. It must be painful. I want to introduce one of my friends, Debasish Dey, the author of the book 'Lost horizon'. He wrote some words like a biography of Anjali. I request him to come on the stage and publish the book officially. I appeal you all to buy the book and spread the message among the people. We should allow them to come

with us, to live with dignity, considering that they are also the children of God. Thank you all for coming here. Before drawing a conclusion, I request Mr Dey to be here on the stage to say something."


I got down off the stage with blurred eyes and saw Anjali standing there with a smiling face. I got transfixed for a while, staring at her face. Soon after, I sensed it was not Anjali but a different girl. She introduced herself.                                                    

"My name is Manabi. Your compassion to a trans-gender is remarkable. I like to......" The rest part was fading out to the low-frequency words. Wiping off the moisture from my eyelids, I came out of the hall like a deaf.



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