A conversation with my mother put me in a trance. I have always felt, believed, seen and experienced, that love heals. But I don’t know why, it still got me thinking, and wondering, and reliving, all over again, that love heals.
It all began with a talk about the Aarushi murder case. Even though the matter is sub judice, and not that the investigation in the case inspires much confidence, and hence the doubts, about her parents being involved. The fact that the parents were home, the servant and the child murdered, and another chap dead on the roof, don’t really remove the parents from the eye of suspicion. Some suspect that it was honour killing. And even if the girl and the servant had something going on, how could one kill the child??? She was a child! All of 14 years! Children do go astray sometimes. There is always a second chance that should be granted. And I agree with my mother on that.
From there my thoughts moved on to how some kids at Snehalya have been victims. And life, gave them a second chance. Some of them have been abused, some raped, some had almost died, some suicidal, some juvenile criminals, some beggars, some abandoned, some kidnapped, some whose parents have been murdered; and all, who have strange, but scary real life stories for a baggage. They have every right to be angry with God, for they don’t have a life like we do. They have every right to be disturbed, to be mad, to hate and scorn and run away, from everything and everyone. They have every right to distrust life.
But they don’t. Because love did, and is, healing them. I know of some children, personally so. I have seen them change and respond to love. From bitter, complex, confused individuals, I have seen them transform into lovely flowers. I have seen these miracles before my eyes.
Of the many, Manni (name changed) comes to my mind. She came to the Children’s home, in sec 47, as a victim. She was abused by a lawyer, at whose home she worked. She was then raped by her neighbour. She was in the process of committing suicide by hanging herself, when the police barged in. She has a dipsomaniac for a father, 3 younger siblings, and a mother who died in child birth. On the Governor’s insistence, she was sent here at the kids home, with her siblings. Her doctor (psychiatrist) from PGI, came to visit the home first, laid down clear instructions to hide all the stuff with which she could kill herself – duppatas, knifes, blades etc.
Sister Annie gave his instructions two hoots, bid him farewell, and welcomed Maani, for she was sure, that love could and would heal her. Maani was no less, she had decided to give everyone at the home a tough time, she would faint at the drop of a hat, cry, make a mess, approach the boys and make a swollen face and sit down. But Sister was adamant. With lots of work and lots of love, we slowly saw the transformation take place. Her heart melted and she embraced all the love with open arms. Slowly she began to gather her wits. Helping in household chores was not difficult for her, she had done that all her life. But studying was. She learnt to focus her attention on learning to read and write. There were occasional mishaps, but Sister and she, both overcame them.
Today, Maani is appearing for class 10th boards through open school. She is a normal child, who plays with other children, loves dressing up, laughs- baring all her teeth, and is learning vocational skills too. Love heals.
In the course of my thoughts, I was also reminded of some of my boys from the Juvenile home. They are grown up boys, who have had a tough childhood. But in their JJ Home, there came a lady visiting them, who insisted they call her ‘mummy’. How lovingly they refer to her, expecting her to solve all their problems.
Like the girls look up to me, bombarding me with their troubles, expecting me to give them a solution to each one of them. Its funny though, when they mimic me, giving them advice on how not, and how to be! Love heals.
The little babies who cling to me, and any one else who visits them, for an embrace, a loving care, a hand, cupping their face, telling them they are beautiful, telling them they are the best. Then, I know for a fact, that love heals. The young boy who comes running, hugs me tight and shouts, “Riti didi aagaye, riti didi aagaye!”, the others who fight, what took me so long. I know for fact, love heals.
Am transported to the time, when Jesse Bhaiya and me would walk up to the kids every evening, meet them half way through in the park, and all of them would leave their play, gather around us, guide us to their home, for another round of play there – dog and the bone. Soon it would be dark. Sisters would scold us all, and we’l all sit inside. The kids studying and we, teaching and beating some. Prayers would follow. Then dinner. And then, bye bye. Love heals. It healed us all.
Now I see those same lil kids, grown up, more mature, some in adolescence, some beyond. Rahul, another one of my boys, would always be angry with me, for reasons, I could never see. Now, when I remind him of the fact, he stands with tear filled eyes, telling me, that he only wishes, that he was not. I smile, reassuring him that he’s special to me, will always be. He seems to understand, for now he is willing to see. Love heals. Him and me.
The credit, whole heartedly, go to those, who opened their hearts, in adversity, and let love overtake them; who chose to forgive, and be forgiven; who took the risk, of not remaining bitter; of letting life happen to them; letting love, heal them. Love heals, I believe.
