Forlorn

As my vehicle approached the old building that stood on a lonely hill, I felt uncanny, seemed like I was looking at an old mansion in a horror movie, that held the souls of the abandoned. As I got closer, I could see little hands and faces peering out of the window.

I walked over to the building, which from outside looked filthy and old. I was hoping it would be much better inside. But I didn’t have my hopes high because it was a government facility and that meant things never improved much. I was greeted by humming sounds, which I had no clue as to where it came from. I headed straight for the reception. After the conversation with the caretakers I realized that none of the nursing staff actually ever bothered to visit children physically. Their monthly visits would end at the reception where they got a fair idea from the caretakers about the condition of the children. They would then fill in their register and leave.

I insisted on meeting the children personally. As I walked through the corridors to meet them, I was appalled by the decrepit condition of the building. From rusty, leaking roofs to filthy and smelly bathrooms, things looked horrific. More than any of those what struck me most was the state of children. All caretakers but one named Sarala refused to accompany me. I noticed chairs and on some of them sat children rocking, rocking relentlessly. I was particularly drawn to one child who sat in one corner and rocked. “He is Satya,” said Sarala “When he had come here, he was able to run around, but slowly his condition deteriorated”. “But how”, I asked. “His legs got weaker, as he suffers from cerebral palsy, and moreover he wasn’t assisted to move around much. He gave up bit by bit and became restricted to the chair”.

In another corner, I came across little Nikki who was being mercilessly tossed and turned for a change of her diaper and clothes. The caretaker was cussing under her breath and she pushed me aside and walked away. “Does your duty end here?” I asked Sarala. With no answer to give me, Sarala began to walk away. But I stopped her and demanded an answer. “I alone can’t make much of a difference” she said. “We are paid just to attend to basic needs. That includes feeding, bathing and changing them. More than that no one cares about anything else. When I feel sorry, sometimes I take them for a walk or spend some time talking to them. We all have our limits, don’t we?” she said. “OK,” I said and walked away immediately.

As my vehicle veered off, those little heads were again peering out through the windows. But this time, I knew that they were secretly asking for much more, maybe to be loved.

I thought again and again of what I had seen and what I was told about. The sights refused to fade away. I thought about little Satya who had been abandoned by his parents for no fault of his own. A child who once ran around and danced to music, now just sat on a chair the entire day and rocked himself.

His limbs were wasted because he never used them. He was never talked to, not cuddled, not even tucked into bed with a goodnight. Since he was born blind, he never attempted to wander on his own. All these children were mechanically looked after, bathed, changed and fed. They have never experienced a mother’s love or a father’s protection. Those born blind were not even told that the sky was blue road that the birds flew. They were outcomes of poverty, rape and hatred.

The caretakers weren’t paid to look after their emotional needs. Then why would they do it? If their own parents didn’t want them, then who would? After all they were children of the sky and earth born to be abandoned. They rocked themselves to sleep, they hummed to themselves for entertainment and sucked on their fingers or comfort. While the television set and radio blared, they remained oblivious to everything around. Some fiddled with a piece of cloth. Others hurt themselves because they were possibly venting their frustration. Nobody bothered to hold their little hands and walk them around. They weren’t told how beautiful the flowers were and how lovely their fragrance was. The only had each other for help and companionship. They never communicated but I think they recognized each other through their hums.

Whom shall I blame,I thought. The government, the caretaker,the people who created them and then decided to abandon them or God Himself? They were hurdled like cattle, during their meal hours. They ate with great urgency and tried to snatch each off of each other’s plates. Nobody had taught them table manners after all!

I knew I was only looking at the tip of the iceberg. These were the few who were rescued from dump yards, or found on the railway tracks wrapped in plastic bags. There were many others unseen and unheard of. The government and caretakers can never make up for the love and care a mother has to offer.

The next day, instead of going to work, I headed straight to the orphanage. I had carried with me lots of supplies including food, clothing, medicines and toys.

Directly, I went to see Satya. I sat next to him. He was rocking. I asked him if he slept well but got no response. I then gently touched him on his shoulders. He stopped rocking and reached out for my hand. He took my hand and bought it close to his mouth. I ran my hand through his hair and hugged him. He didn’t move. He hugged me back and I gently rocked him. He lay rocking against my chest and in a matter of minutes, the little five year old was asleep. I gently lay him on his cot and told him to remember me. He smiled in his sleep, I went away feeling happier. A motherly affectionate heart was melting with the warm touch of Satya.

I was happy about donating something that was not materialistic. I was happy about donating some of my motherliness to at least one of the children, who found it so comforting. This needs were so little and yet nobody understood them. I knew I would come back to this place for Satya, for Nikki and for many other quiet, unwanted souls. Or the mother in me would never be complete and motherhood would remain unaccomplished.