" AMMA"

The stinging rays of the Sun directly fell upon my eyes and the reverberations of conch shell and the loud sound of dhak and dhol pierced through my ears thereby awaking me from my state of unconsciousness. I opened my eyes in panic only to discover that I was struck in a puddle, totally wrapped in mud. I was laying beside the banks of Ichamati river in an unknown land. My hands and feet were immobile, they were badly struck in the mush. I struggled hard to come out of it. I moved heaven and earth but all in vain. After all how much strength could a 5 years old kid have, that too a one who hadn't ate anything since a day. I couldn't help but cried. I wailed as I found myself helpless and deserted.

I was deserted in an unknown land. "Where were my maa and baba? Why were they not around me? Where was I? " were my thoughts. I was panicked and scared at the same time. My blood ran cold. 

A few minutes later I saw a lady walking by the road. She was a tall, healthy women probably in her 30s, wearing a plain cotton sari wrapped in bengali style and a large red bindi on her forehead. Seeing her, I cried " please help me, I'm struck here". Listening to my wails, she got astonished. Without wasting a second she came for my help. She took me out of the mud. She rescued me.

" Koth theke asla, aei par na opar ? Kothai basha? " she asked me ( Where have you come from, where do you live this side or that side?). I could easily figure out the bangladeshi accent in her tongue. I was a bit panicked, I slowly uttered " I'm from Taki". "Which place is this", I hesitatingly asked. "This is Satkhira, she answered. 

Satkhira is located in the south-west of Bangladesh along the border of West Bengal. And Taki is a town in the southeastern part of West Bengal on the banks of Ichamati river separating India and Bangladesh. Both the towns are divided just by the waters of Ichamati river. Just a river apart and the language, culture, lifestyle everything varies to an extent. 

" How did you reach here little one", She asked. " I don't know. I had come to see Bisorjon( Durga puja idol immersion) with my Maa, we were on the boat and all of a sudden my foot slipped and I fell in the river. After that what happened I don't recall anything ", I said almost crying. 

The BSF, BDR personnel on all other days kept a strict eye on the border but on Vijaya Dashmi day, the border remained open. People from both the countries flocked in large number to witness the Bisorjon (idol immersion). Elaborate arrangements were made at the 21 ghats in Kolkata, where hundreds of idols were immersed in the river Hooghly. 

As residents of Taki geared up for the immersion of idols, so did its counterparts in Satkhira, a district across the border in Bangladesh. The inhabitants of both towns placed the pratimas in their respective boats and sailed up to border security boats floating in middle of the river, along the international boundary. With a dozen metres between them, the two groups of neighbours waved at each other, exchanged greetings and—with deafening shouts of “Aschche bochor abar hobe!”–Until next year!–immersed the idols together. For a day, citizens of the two countries, divided by geopolitics, come together to celebrate a shared heritage.

" Where is my Maa, Baba, I want to go home", I began sobbing hard. She was trying to console me just then a BDR personnel arrived. Seeing us there he stopped and began interrogating. " What are you guys doing here? And who is this child with you", he squinted. " W-We were just walking by and s-she fell in the mud....a-and this is my d-daughter ", she said circling the corner of her saree. She badly stammered as if her theft was caught. I shook like a leaf, I was so scared that I hid behind her. 

" But how can she be your daughter?", the personell asked furrowing his brows. " N-Not my.. I mean my s-sister's daughter. She passed away, now her daughter is my responsibility " She nervously uttered looking at the ground. " Okay, okay..you may go now but remember my eyes will be upon you", the personnel asserted. 

There are human traffickers on both sides who have pro-active contact with the BSF and the BDR personnel. Only the dalals (human traffickers) knew which border guards of the BSF and BDR are vulnerable to allurements.This feedback is given to them by their counterparts who live in Indian and bangladeshi border villages and, therefore, are in daily contact with the personnel.

If she wanted she could have readily handed me to the BGB personnel and got rid of the unnessary trouble but she didn't do that. She couldn't leave me alone in that situation moreover what was the guarantee that I would safely reach home. Her soft heartedness and her kindness did not let her leave me. There was an unknown bond binding us.

She took me to her house. She lived in a kaccha house. Almost all the houses in the village were kaccha expect a few. She gave me food as I was very hungry. She bathed me and gave me fresh clothes to wear. She lived alone. She had no one in the world. She used to stitch and press clothes and sometimes work in houses to earn her living. She asked my name. She asked me about my family and about my life. 

As I was just five years old then I couldn't say much about my life but I remembered my Maa and Baba's name. I lived along with my Maa, Baba, Didi and a younger brother. My didi loved me the most. She was seven years older than me. She was the only one in the family who cared for me. Our father didn't had time for us but yes he had plenty of time for his son. And my Maa, she scorned us most of the time for no reason at all. She made didi do all the household chores for which I always fought with Maa and then ended up getting beaten by her. I don't remember the last time she loved us. But I remember she loved our brother very much. All toys and good dresses were given to him and for us there was nothing in store except scorning. My didi used to say that she was our step-mother and our blood mother passed away when I was just 6 months.

Though I was too young to understand the term "step-mother" but even as a kid I could easily figure out that Maa and Baba didn't love us the way they loved their son. 

She grew emotional listening to my story. Tears rolled down her cheeks." Why are you crying Amma.... Ummm sorry.. Do you mind me calling you Amma" I exclaimed making a puppy like face. She clutched me to her bosom and cuddled me with love. She couldn't hold her tears. It seemed that nobody had called her with that love before. 

Amma had some of her contacts in the Indian villages across the river, she asked them to search my parents and inform them about me. And luckily they found out my parents within a month but here also my misfortune did not leave me. My own parents denied to accept me. They said that they had lost their daughter in the river a month ago and she was dead for them now. Moreover did not want to carry any extra burden. 

Though Amma never revealed this to me but I somehow came to know. The thought that my own family had stranded me, broke me down. I was shattered. Now my mind said that maybe my foot did not slip, maybe Maa had purposely pushed me off the boat. They somehow wanted to get rid of me and they did. But it was difficult for my heart to accept that they no longer needed me and were not even concerned for me but Amma's love and care somehow compensated all my pain. 

Her unconditional love for me filled the void in my heart. She was the reason of my life now. Whenever I was low she always cheered me up. Her affection and care had rooted away the sorrows of my heart. My new life was a blessing given by Amma. She smiled when I was happy, she cried when I was sad, she herself slept empty stomach but never let me go hungry. I was like the warm sunrays in her dark life. I was so overwhelmed by her love that sometimes I completely forgot about my past life. But my heart ached for my didi, I wished she could be here with me. 

Amma named me " Vijaya " (one who wins), because she believed that I had defeated death and this was my second life. 

Amma admitted me to the primary school of the village. I was good in studies so I never needed tuitions. I completed my schooling from the village school. 

Years passed by, now I could fluently speak bangladeshi. I was so much accustomed to the bangladeshi accent that no one could say that I was an Indian bengali. I got a scholarship to complete my further education from Dhaka University. We moved to Dhaka and started living in a rented house. Our conditions were better now as I also started earning by giving private tutions to a few students. 

Everything was going fine but then there was one thing which was time and again bothering me. And that was the attitude of the society towards my " Amma". 

Even when we lived in village, Amma was always looked down upon. She was not allowed to take part in any social gathering. She was not called in any function or festival. She was not allowed to take water from the common well, she would have to walk miles to fetch water. She was treated in a way as if she had come from some other planet. As if she was not a human, an alein or something. 

Even the principal of my village school wasn't ready to give me admission only because I was Amma's daughter but then after so much pleadings from Amma, he agreed. I could not digest the fact that my Amma was always disregarded by the people and the society. And what for? Only because she looked a bit different from others and her voice sounded masculine? 

Whenever Amma and I walked in public places, everyone would stare at us, or rather, at Amma . They would whistle from behind, snicker and say mean things. I didn't understand why. I didn't understand why of all the ladies walking on the street only my mother forced people's head to turn in our direction. Why did people look at her with disgust, and at me with sympathy? Why did people laugh at her? Why did people trouble her? Why weren't we part of the neighbourhood we lived in? I didn't have an answer for these questions then. 

As I grew up, the narrow mindedness of the society made me realise that my Amma was different. She was not like other mothers. She belonged to the "other" group of the society that we call " transgender ".

She was the joke of the society. Everyone said that she was God's biggest mistake, and she's a curse to this beautiful world. They still say that my mother is a problem. But let me clear one thing the problem is not in me, or my Amma - it's in you, the one who cannot tolerate God's creation. God never makes a mistake, He blessed the world with a loving person like her.

A Mother is a mother irrespective of her gender, religion or caste. And her love towards her children is immeasurable. Giving birth does not makes someone a "mother", giving love, care, good upbringing to their child gives us the right to be called as a mother. 

In fact transgenders are better humans than us. I've seen parents discarding their female babies just because they don't want any extra burden. I've also seen mothers aborting their unborn foetus just because the family does not wants a girl child. Not only this we have lost humanity also. Female foeticide, human trafficking, rape, eve teasing, child labour, dowry deaths, honor killing, and many such heart rending activities are taking place everyday in the world. Problem is not in "them", problem is in our mentality. Our mentality that is growing sick day by day. 

Yes her hands are hard, voice is rough and looks are bold but her heart is soft, touch is gentle and love is absolutely pure. I don't remember my birth mother but If Amma was not there, I could have starved to death in that mud pool. "Someone gave me life and someone taught me to live". 

From the day She held my hand she never left me alone. She fought her battle, and she fought mine too. She gave me the motherly love, I had always craved for. She stood by me as a pillar of strength. 

I must have surely done some good deeds in past that I got blessed with such a lovely mother. "My Amma is my pride.. She is the reason, today I'm standing here in front of you. To my mom, to my dad, to my whole world. I love you so much Amma ".....thank you all.

"Amma this one's for you " I said as I lifted the trophy for the best work in literature given to me by Dhaka University. 

The auditorium hall rang with the sound of applauses as I concluded my speech. Tears rolled my cheeks as I grinned at Amma who was standing in the crowd sobbing as her daughter concluded the speech. I got down the stage and hugged her. 

We are all humans with two hands, two legs, one head, and the same heart. We may look different but we all breathe under the same skin and share the same human emotions. We are all programmed to love. Humanity is above all religions. Our deeds categorize us.

Differences are normal and should always be welcomed but any demonic thought that intends to harm the humanity should be nipped in the bud. 

Everyone here deserves to be respected. Everyone here deserves to be accepted and loved. 

( Note- The picture used in the story is of Gauri Sawant, an Indian transgender right activist and her adopted daughter Gayatri whose mother was a sex worker and died when she was just four years old. Gauri is also the director of Sakhi Char Chowghi that helps transgender people and people with HIV/AIDS.)