Whenever I went there I felt life was colourless, cheerless, miserable and depressing. There were very few smiling faces. But then how could they smile when they were driven out of their own houses by their family? How could they smile when they knew that their days on this planet are numbered? I am talking about the home that Udavum Karangal has built for the mentally ill and HIV positive women. Unlike the home the Madras-based NGO has for little children where hundreds of babies surround you with hands outstretched, begging you to pick them up, where the little ones sing for you, this home will make you a depressed wreck. But this once, there were a few cheerful faces. Like Padma Priya's. She knew she was suffering from AIDS and would die soon. But that did not dampen her spirit. She was well dressed and looked lovely in a pink salwar kameez. She loved singing. She sang Kannalane... from the Tamil version of the film Bombay beautifully for me. I couldn't believe myself when Vidyakar, the man behind Udavum Karangal, said she had been in Bombay's red light district for nearly five years! Even after going through all that, I felt she had not lost the child in her. When Priya stopped singing, I asked Vidyakar, "Where's Vijaya?" I had met Vijaya some two years ago. Her face haunted me all the time. I couldn't stop thinking about her and the life she was forced to live. I couldn't forget those huge tears that rolled down her cheeks. I couldn't forget the way she clutched my hands and said, "I wish I had another chance..." "Vijaya? Do you want to see her? I will bring her." Priya ran to another room and came back with a tall woman. She was wearing a housecoat, her hair was cropped and she had a vacant look on her face. "No, not this Vijaya.' I said. From behind, Vidyakar said softly, "She passed away two months ago." Was I shocked to hear the news? Was it unexpected? I knew Vijaya was suffering from AIDS, I knew she would not live for many years. Still, the news of her death disturbed me. I didn't know how to react. I still remember how Vijaya had stood, leaning on the wall, shrinking away from me. She didn't want to be near anyone; she wanted to distance herself from others. I have not forgotten the pale green churidar kameez she wore that day. Her hair was plaited and she had lots of talcum powder on her face. It made her look even more colourless and pallid. Her hands were thin, her lips cracked. Vijaya stood there, looking away to avoid our gaze. "Vijaya, why don't you look at this akka [elder sister] and talk to her?" Vidyakar said. She turned her face and looked at me. But only to turn back away immediately. "Won't you talk?" Vidyakar asked again. "What is there to talk?" she said, not looking at me. I couldn't bring myself to ask her anything. I just stood there looking at her through the corner of my eye. There was only silence in the air. Suddenly she turned her face, looked into my eyes and muttered: "Akka, I know what I am suffering from. I am suffering from AIDS. I also know what will happen to me after some time. I know I will die soon. "Now I can come out of the room, stand here and look at the sky. See this tree. How beautiful it is! I love the green colour of the leaves. I love flowers too. I love white flowers. Jasmine. They are so beautiful. I love the smell of all flowers. I love to have white flowers in my hair. Sometimes I don't keep flowers in my hair, I carry them with me so that I can smell them all the time "I had a vine of jasmine in my house and as a young girl. I used to water it everyday. It was planted by my mother and I even remember the day she planted it. She told me, 'Vijaya, you should water this daily. You should also talk to the plant daily. Only if you love the plant, will it give you flowers'. "I watered, I talked and I loved it. Soon, it began giving me flowers daily. I didn't keep those flowers in my hair. I didn't even keep them in the puja room. I kept them under the tree for my mother. She might have been happy to have them! My poor mother! "My mother left me when I was seven. No, she didn't run away with another man. She was killed by my father. My father used to kick her every night and she used to scream. I used to fall over her, pleading with him not to beat my mother. He would then kick me too, or he would throw me away. One day when he kicked, she didn't cry, she didn't even move. She lay still. "I hated my father from that day and I still hate him and wish him all bad things in life. I do not know whether he is alive or not. I want him to live and suffer, suffer like my mother did and I do now. "Life was hell after my stepmother came home. Sitting close to the jasmine plant, I tried talking to my mother but she never answered me. She never wiped my tears. She never hugged me. I was all alone in the cruel, sad world. "The only ray of light came from the young man who stayed next door. He was fair and handsome. He had kind, loving eyes. With his look, he could hug me and kiss me. Oh! I loved him so much, more than the jasmine plant, more than the jasmine flower and more than the memory of my mother. He had soft hands and his touch also was soft. I wanted him to touch me all the time but I was also scared of my father and stepmother. "One day when I was standing near the jasmine plant, he came very close to me and said, 'Will you come with me?' All those days, I had been waiting for him to ask that question. I was so happy that I didn't even take all my clothes with me. I just packed a few of my dresses and ran out but I didn't forget to keep a handful of jasmine flowers in my bag. "As we walked hand in hand, I felt I was the luckiest and happiest person in the world. When we were alone, I hugged him tight and said, 'Tell me you won't leave me. I don't have anyone in the world but you.' "He touched my hair softly and said, 'No, I will never leave you. I will make you the happiest girl in the world.' I felt then that he smelt so good, better than even the jasmine flowers. "I am a fool, akka, a stupid fool. Do you know what he did to me? He, the person I thought was kind to me, the person I thought would make me happy, he sold me to a woman for a few thousand rupees! I didn't even get a chance to see him and beg him to take me back home. He just vanished. "I was pushed by a fat lady into a room. It was dark and scary and smelt very bad. I sat in a corner and wept and wept for hours. It was then that an old man came in. He asked me why I was crying. I didn't answer. I went on crying. "The man who was older than my father dragged me to the bed and climbed over me. I hated the bed, which smelt of sweat and dirt. I hated the man whose smell made me vomit... I cried and cried and cried. "Many men came to the room. All were like animals. By then I had stopped crying as there were no more tears in my eyes. My body had become numb too. I do not know how many days passed because there was only darkness around me. I only knew that many men entered the room. "One day, the police raided the place and all of us were caught. I was so happy to get out of that dark, stingy room. We were taken to a hospital and they tested all of us. I turned out to be HIV positive. Finally I am here. "I hate my father. I hate the man whom I loved. I hate all those men who forcibly had sex with me. I hate all men, except Papa [Vidyakar]. I can now come out into the open, look at the sky, water these plants and talk to them. I know that a day will come when I will be denied all these luxuries. I will have to confine myself to bed. I will then be able to smell only the sheets and not leaves or flowers. Yes, I have seen how other women with AIDS suffered. I have no escape from that reality." As she talked, she came closer to me. All of a sudden, she caught hold of both my hands and asked: "Akka, can time go back? I wish my mother had not died. I wish I had not gone with that man. I wish I was not sold. I wish those men did not use me. I wish I did not have AIDS. I want to smell flowers. I want to be happy. I want to live. "I am only 20, akka, I want to live some more. Why did this happen to me? I know I am asking stupid questions but I want to live. I wish I was given another chance." Vijaya let go of my hands. Tears started rolling down her cheeks. And now she was dead. Shobha Warrier covers Madras like few others do. Tell us what you think of this diary
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