A Bond of Love

 It was a warm summer evening in London.

The city was teeming with tourists as it does every summer but this summer was special with the city being the host for the Summer Olympics. While the main event was over a couple of weeks ago, another not less important one was now underway and reaching a grand finale.

The 2012 Summer Paralympics, an event where differently abled sportsmen and women from around the world compete not only against each other but also against their own selves. The past week had been a spectacle with world records being broken and the spectators were given the opportunity to watch these amazing competitors who would have given a majority of abled men and women a run for their money.

The athletes were at the starting blocks after a few minutes of warm up and introductions. The buzz among the spectators slowly died down and there was almost a pin drop silence as everyone waited with bated breath for the starting gun. The event was the women’s 200 meters final in the T34 category and all eyes were on the local favourite Hannah Cockroft who was also the world champion at this distance. 

The sport classes 31-34 are meant for differently abled athletes who can compete in a seated position, e.g., in wheelchair racing or using a throwing chair.

As the starting gun sounded, all the athletes were off in a flash and as expected, Hannah was the early leader. Her challengers were a few meters behind and were almost in a straight line. The crowd was delirious and egged her on. As they crossed the 100-meter mark, some of the athletes started dropping behind as they were not able to keep pace with the blistering speed set by Hannah. At this stage, there were only four athletes who seemed to have a chance of a podium finish. Every one of them strained themselves to the last sinew with their goal just a few meters away. The crowd roared on and there was a deafening noise around the stadium as they crossed the finish line on their wheel chairs. It was a photo finish, possibly the closest one of this competition. Everyone waited anxiously for the race umpires to check the slow-motion replays and declare the final positions. The 4 athletes were holding each other’s hands in a show of touching camaraderie for they knew that they had all given their best. After a few minutes of nerve-wrecking suspense, the giant screen finally flashed the standings. The huge roar suddenly died down as everyone saw the name on top of the list. It was not Hannah Cockroft but a name which no one realized had even been part of the final.

The name was Rani Mishra.

No one had even noticed this petite athlete from India, who had reached the final almost unnoticed.  The shock of Hannah’s defeat was slowly replaced by claps of appreciation as the entire stadium stood up to applaud the feat of Rani. This was her moment of glory, something she had dreamed of for most of her 25 years of existence.  She had a broad smile as she waved to the spectators and started her lap of honour. At that very moment, a pair of moist eyes were watching the live telecast of the games in a small village in faraway India.

The hall was packed with journalists and photographers. The ‘end of day’ press conference was about to begin and there was a buzz around the room as many realized that they had been witness to a historical event. An athlete from India had won a track and field event on the world stage, something which had never happened before. One by one, the winners came in and answered the questions thrown at them by the paparazzi. The loudest cheer was however reserved for Rani as she made her way into the hall. As the journalists settled down in their chairs, there was a moment of thoughtful silence as everyone waited for Rani to soak in the atmosphere.

“You may start with your questions” said the moderator as he began proceedings

There was the customary “How do you feel?” kind of questions before one of the Indian journalists asked “Rani, who is your inspiration?”

This question seemed to touch a chord within Rani and for the first time since her entry into the hall, she displayed a hint of emotion.

“Sir, if I name just one person, I would not be doing justice to all the others because of whom I am here in front of you”, she responded in broken English.

"My mother inspired me to live a life without any expectations even from the one I loved the most.

She brought me into this world where the birth of a girl child is mourned even more than the death of someone dear. She had to face the ire of her husband and his conservative Brahmin Mishra family of late 20^th century Bihar. She, the eldest daughter-in-law of the family became an outcast overnight. To her credit, she did shower me with her love in those initial days which unfortunately created a desire in me. However, the pressure from the family was too much for her to sustain when I was diagnosed with Hypertonia. If she had thought that there was nothing worse than bearing a girl child then she had the answer now. A handicapped girl child!

The constant attention that I needed, the frequent visits to the hospital and an un-supporting husband and extended family led her into a state of depression. All I longed for, from the confines of the bed, was to feel her touch, hear her voice, sense her presence beside me but even these moments became few and far between. And then it all stopped completely when my little brother came into the world. I had been in the same womb as him but his entry into this world was very different from mine. My mother, the only source of love I had was now the mother of a son. I had never seen my mother so happy. I did not realize at that time that it was my presence which had been the cause of her agony until now.  I would cry myself hoarse and fall asleep with the sounds of the lullaby that my mother would sing for my little brother. As I became older, I began to realize that a girl and boy are different and a girl is not supposed to have any expectations from anyone, including her mother. I only wish that she had not given me the taste of love in my initial days since it took me many years to overcome it. I should thank her for making me realize that living a life without any expectations was so much better"    

 

After a small pause to gather herself, Rani continued as the media listened in rapt attention

“My father taught me the importance of love with his hatred.

I do not recollect a moment where he would have even looked at me with love. It was only when I started going to school that I realized the presence of a father in a child’s life. I would stand at the school gate and look longingly at the children who came with their fathers. I could see the lack of fear in the eyes of the other children when they held the hands of their father. Again, it was thanks to my brother that I realized my father also had a different emotion in him. He would take my brother in his arms, cradle him and play with him while I waited for my turn, which never came. My only recollections of his touch were the times when he would slap me for taking my brother’s toy or when he had to sign on my poor school report card where the law required him to attest him name as my father. I can vaguely remember the inhuman treatment that he meted out to my mother before my brother was born. I, a terrified toddler, would hide my head with a pillow as my mother pleaded with him to show mercy. I hated him for being a part of my life but as I grew up I realized that it was this hatred which made me understand the true meaning of love”.

The media persons were stunned. They had least expected this outpouring of emotion in the press conference of a sporting event.    

“My extended family taught me the significance of respect with their constant show of disdain.

 The Mishra's were a well-known name in Patna not only due to their flourishing chain of sweet shops but also for their involvement in many of the religious events in the city. They were ardent followers of the religious guru, Swami Sadanandji and every year they organized a (satsang) for their Guru which would see lakhs of people turning up to seek his blessings. While the business was doing very well, my birth had cast a pall of gloom around the Mishra household. There were no celebrations which usually follow the birth of a child and even my naming ceremony was done more as a formality than a want.  I am told that Guru’s are enlightened souls who are supposed to show the way for others but it was our Guru Sadanandji who suggested that my father perform a huge yagna during the festival of Pausha Putrada Ekadashi, which is celebrated in order to please the Gods and be blessed with a son. And they finally got their wish. That was the last I heard from my so-called family. I was just like any other child who craves for people’s attention. I wanted people to carry me in their arms, bring me toys, offer me sweets but these were all reserved for my little brother while I lay on my bed and occupied myself by looking at the ceiling fan as it went about its business without a care in the world. I used to get angry at myself for being born as a girl but then I learnt that being born as a girl was not my choice. That, I was inflicted with this crippling disease was also not my choice. The choice to treat me with contempt was made by my family and there was nothing an infant in the cradle could have done about it. Letting the derisions affect me or otherwise was my choice and I am happy that I made the right choice”.  

 

The press conference had continued for 30 min now but no one was willing to stop the proceedings.

“While I refer to my mother, father and family as my teachers since they taught me very important lessons in life, the one person because of whom I am here in front of you is my Budee (old lady in Bengali). 

She was the person who truly motivated me to fight against all odds and prove something to this world.

 I should thank my mother’s indifference, my father’s hatred and my family’s disdain due to which Budee came into my world. She would be with me the entire day and take care of my needs. Budee was a no-nonsense lady who apparently had seen enough hardships in her life to make her emotionally strong. In the beginning, I would be scared of her since she hardly ever smiled, her hands were rough and her appearance ugly. It was only later in life that I realized that these physical traits were of no significance. I am not sure whether it was my dimpled smile, my eyes which showed a longing or possibly my disability which made her show an increased affection to me. Budee had never been emotionally attached to the people she worked with but she somehow felt a rare connection with me and her dormant motherly instincts slowly took over. She ensured that I was fed right, my medications were administered on time and even followed up with my mother for the periodic check-ups. She would keep talking to me about her own life and tell me stories that she had heard from other people and I would listen intently to the only voice which seemed to care. When I was ready for school, she would lift me onto a wheel chair and push it to the school and back.  Along the route to the school, was a playground and I would insist that we wait there for a few minutes and watch the kids playing various games. My eyes would light up every time I was there and probably Budee realized that. I would also spend hours watching sports on TV.  While she knew in her heart that I would never be able to play any physical sport considering my medical condition and the apathy of my family, she would give me hope of joining the kids one day.  

No one knew of Budee’s past and no one even dared to enquire about it considering her strong persona. The reality though was very different. Budee had been part of a happy family living in Naxalbari, a small village in West Bengal. Her husband was a farm labourer and her 2 kids were growing up well. During 1967, the Naxalite movement took a turn for the worse and the resultant violence claimed the lives of her entire family while she had to flee her village with nothing but a few rupees in her possession. She got into the first bus that was leaving the town and landed up in a town called Madhubani in Bihar. For the next 10 years, she experienced the brutality of our male dominated society where a young woman in alien surroundings with no money has very little chance of an honorable existence. She moved from one place to another before landing up in Patna as a lady bereft of all emotions and wiser to the realities of this world. She did odd jobs before becoming a full-time maid who just went about her duties without a twinge of emotion. That was until I came into her life.”

 

“Budee took it upon herself to get me included in the games that the kids would play. Her stern demeanor meant that the kids did not have a choice. Seeing my level of interest, she spoke to people and even found a coach for me who started training me on the basics. I am still not sure how she paid the coach’s fees. Budee would spend hours giving my tired hands and feet a soothing oil massage while making me dream of the day when I would be winning a medal on the world stage. She would influence the cook to prepare high protein meals for me so that my weak limbs could get the necessary strength. Her undying efforts slowly started bearing fruit as I was considered good enough to participate first in local and then in State and National level competitions. My parents and family remained oblivious of this new dimension in my life and even I did not feel the need to show my trophies and medals to them. These were all proudly displayed on the rather ordinary wooden shelf in Budee’s dwelling. My success ensured that professional coaches started showing their willingness to make me their wards. Budee would screen all of them and finally settled on Javed sir, who is here with me. While Javed sir gave me the skills, Budee gave me the motivation. While Javed sir honed my technique, Budee worked on my psyche. While Javed sir made me a good athlete, Budee made me a proud human being.

She looked at Javed and with eyes filled with gratitude “Thank you Javed sir”

“I would also like to thank the Sports Authority of India for having sponsored my trip here. I have a request to the media present here” She paused for a second as the media braced themselves for what was coming.

“I was in the coaching camp at New Delhi for the last 3 months. A few weeks ago, I got a phone call from my friend that Budee has gone away. It seemed that some money went missing in the house and everyone blamed Budee. She was asked to leave immediately. No one knows where she went”

Rani could not control her tears any longer. There was pin drop silence in the media room in a show of unequivocal sympathy.

“How can my Budee steal something? She did not want anything for herself. I am sure there is some mistake. I plead the media to help me find my Budee” she barely whispered before finally breaking down completely. 

As she was speaking, her coach Javed who was sitting next to her, took a crumpled envelope from his pocket and removed a piece of paper. He slowly opened it under the table. It was a letter head of Sports Authority of India. With moist eyes, he read the contents of the letter, something which he had done many times since he had received this letter almost 2 months ago. It read [We are sorry to inform you that your ward Miss Rani Mishra is not eligible for the Sports quota and hence we cannot fund her trip to the United Kingdom…]  

 

At that very moment, a pair of moist eyes was watching the live telecast of the games in a small village in faraway India. The person to whom the eyes belonged, let a faint smile decorate her lips. She felt at peace with herself. 

The world did not even know her name but she had given an identity to this world.  

Coach-Ram