Writing Through the Wound 💜

Wrapped in a Shawl | Echoes of a January Morning

Quite fresh from the Farewell Ceremony of Prof. Daniel David, me thought of reproducing here below, a moving letter, shared exclusively with me, by Prof. Daniel David, almost 17 years ago, on 6th May 2009.

Before you read this letter, PLEASE NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance it may have to any individual or individuals, living or dead, is purely coincidental. After reading through the letter, if you’re curious to know who the writer is, and if you have any comments for her, mail danyboydavid@gmail.com

6th May 2009

Dear Amma...........,

I’ve been wanting to write this letter for a very long time, but either my emotions got so intense that nothing I felt could be put to writing or I felt so high and dry that I just felt like burying my head in the sand and remaining there. But today is my 18th birthday, (or so they tell me), and I cannot think of a better day to write to you. But first I have to tell you a little story.

On a cold January morning in 1991, a newborn baby girl was found in a garbage bin outside the Government Hospital in the city of Madurai. For all practical reasons it must have frozen to death and become food for the many stray dogs that patrol the streets, as is the case most of the time. But by some good fortune, a milkman heard its weak cries. He found it wrapped in a shawl. He couldn’t afford another mouth to feed and so took it to a Charity organization which catered to disowned baby girls.

The baby was there for two years till it was adopted by a childless couple in Bangalore. She was given all the love and affection that any girl could have asked for. Nor did she lack anything materially, her foster parents being rich real estate business people. She was an only child and so received all the attention she desired. She got a Public School education. She had no idea about her origins till she was 16 years old. That was when, for some reason, her mummy got it into her head to tell her who she really was.

From that day the girl has had sleepless nights. At any rate, she graduated from Pre-University with an excellent score card and her daddy decided that she should get her higher education in his alma mater, the Madras Christian College, Chennai. It couldn’t have got better – she loves the college. But she still spends sleepless nights dreaming about her mother. She sometimes invades her sleep in some form of a bloodsucking rakshasi and she wakes up drenched in sweat and trembling all over.

Sometimes she creeps into her sleep, a dimunitive little woman reaching out and weeping for her lost child, and she spends the rest of the night trying to sob herself to sleep. Isn’t it strange how a person you have never met can dominate your life? Amma, I am that girl.

Amma, like I said, I have everything I could have ever wanted. I hope that makes you happy. And yet I have nothing. I have a Mummy and a Daddy who love me and who will be hurt if they knew the thoughts that run through my head. But I don’t have my Amma.

Do you love me, Amma? No, maybe that is too much to ask. But, believe me, Amma, I love you. I love you so much that you fill my thoughts day and night. That’s why I don’t think I can ever have a lover. You monopolize my thoughts. I like to think that you loved me at least then. Otherwise what would have made you wrap me up in a shawl? Did you have to crawl home cold and sick in the January chill because you had sacrificed your only piece of warm clothing for your child? Maybe it was that shawl that saved my life. I have that shawl with me and it is the most precious object I shall ever posses. The nights I’ve gone to sleep holding it to my breast/chest as if it could replace you!

Do you miss me? Ever wished you could have me back? Or do you feel relieved that the burden that was me is off your back, or should I say your stomach and heart? What did you feel when you put me in that dustbin? Did you put me there gently like a mother lays her sleeping child in the cradle? Such gentleness only a mother can show.

You may want to read that entire letter, HERE on our past blogpost.