She was just a four-month-old baby. I asked Noori, her mother, if I could hold baby Maira in my arms, and she happily obliged. She said, “Didi, do not be afraid to hold the baby. Just be mindful to support her head and neck.”
I nervously lifted her up. The little one sensed that from her mother’s arms, she had been handed over to a stranger. I was anxious to impress Maira. A few minutes back, I had triumphantly declared, “I have never seen a baby dislike me. You give me half an hour with the child and I’m sure we’ll become best friends.”
Noori saw me helplessly humming a song to pacify the baby and volunteered to take her back and let me pursue my efforts. She started chatting with my mother.
For the past 10 days, Maira had been admitted to a Government hospital in Delhi. She had an infection in her lungs and needed serious medical support. The visible cuts and scrapes on her hands bore a testament to the intensive medical care. My mother angrily told her, “I don’t know why your mother got you married to a boy who is barely literate. You are 25 years old. Within two years of your marriage, you gave birth to two daughters. How will your body cope with it?”
Noori was the daughter of our household helper. She had completed her schooling and worked as a saleswoman for a while in Delhi. At 23, she was married off to a distant cousin in Mathura. She had been visiting our house for the past decade or so. She didn’t take any offence to my mother’s advice and added, “Her father refrained from using any birth control measures. I could not do anything to change his mind.”
My mother understood that she was in pain and did not discuss the issue any further. She immediately called out to my helper saying, “Seema, your daughter has come after so long. Who keeps their child hungry? Get her some chai and mithai.” My helper, without moving an inch from the kitchen, screamed and checked with her daughter if she would have chai.
Our chai at noon is a grand affair centred on venting out our angst against the world. Our helper usually shares tales of her husband, difficult sons and so on, and I usually share gossip about distant relatives or some work-related problem. We have our chai while sitting on the floor and resting our backs against the wall as my helper keeps iterating that it will help us relieve the stress in our lower backs.
All of us sat down in a circle and my mother was sitting on the bed as her weak knees did not allow her to sit on the floor. I had little Maira in my arms and requested Noori to hold her. By that time, the little one had become quiet. My helper was boasting about my new job to her daughter saying, “Aastha has again started working with a big organisation. Look how diligently she is working towards her goals. She has completed her MA and she has been working for a while. All we need to do is find her a good boy and then she can start her own family.” I humbly brushed off her compliments and told her that I do not want a partner but I merely wish to raise a child on my own.
She jokingly whispered in my ear to ask her daughter if she would be fine in giving her newborn to me. I went along with the joke and asked her the same. She said, “It would be her good fortune to be raised by you. You could give her everything a child deserves.”
I looked at little Maira who was happy in her mother’s lap. I understood from Noori’s response how my privilege in the material sense could secure her or any child’s future. I thought to myself, “I am sorry little Maira. The world you stepped in is unfair.”
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