I slowly open my eyes and stare beyond the spherical dome that envelops me. Strangely, my eyes can pierce through the fluid, opaque darkness around me. I see the rickety old fan turning at a lazy pace on the dusty ceiling above, doing nothing more than disturbing the matted cobwebs around. I look around and notice the pale blue paint peeling off the walls in this hot, still afternoon. There is a sudden movement to my right and I see a woman donned in a starched white uniform holding a syringe against the light. There are others boiling sharp tools – scissors, scalpels, tubes and needles, bringing clean sheets and rushing around as though gripped by a purpose. The old wooden door leading outside is open and I see a small crowd of people standing around looking a tad anxious. Some of them have their hands clasped, a few words on their lips as they look heavenward. I wonder what they are praying for. One of the ladies clad in white, rushes to close the door and at the same moment, a man darts towards it, as though to catch a final glance at someone who’s going far away. I catch a glimpse of his eyes and the expression confuses me. What was it that I see? Is it hope? Is it fear? Anxiety? Worry? Do his lips betray a fleeting prayer?
I look back inside the room and it takes a moment for me to realize that my point of view has changed. What is this I’m having? Is it an out-of-body experience? Or is this something normal that everybody goes through? My thoughts are jarred by a sudden scream and I now see a woman lying on the bed, clutching the sides of the cot, tears of pain streaming from her eyes. One of the white clad ladies grasps her left hand and tries to calm her, asking her to breathe. I try to scrutinize her expression behind those moist eyelashes as they flutter in pain. What are her thoughts at this moment? Somehow, I need to know. It is critical to me, since today, I have to make a choice. A choice of whether to move on or turn back. For, in a few minutes that crying woman could be my mother, for I am already her unborn girl child.
I stare on at the scene as though detached, unconnected. Yet, the choice I make today, in a few moments in fact, will impact my very being. The realization slowly dawns on me that we all have a choice before we are born – of whether to take in those first few sharp breaths, to breathe in the elixir of life or to hold our breath, turn blue and be gone in a matter of minutes, despite desperate attempts to keep us alive. Today is my turn. The choice for our brothers is always easy, which is why they come parading into the world, a little too eager, a little too early. However, the decision for us girls is harder. Especially, if the womb we have been put into is located in this rural district of Haryana, belonging to an illiterate homemaker and a poor farmer. However, I must give credit to this duo for not choosing to go for the sex determination test that a very “concerned” aunt was thrusting onto them. Consciously and unknowingly, they put the decision in my hands, and here I am today pondering over that question that plagues one at several stages throughout one’s life – To be or not to be?
I try to ignore the stifling screams and the moans of pain in the room and look beyond the closed doors into the long passage. There are about 20 people there, waiting impatiently. I wonder what they are waiting for. I ignore my father and scrutinize all the other faces. There are 2 – 3 middle aged women. Their expressions and eyes do not deceive me. They are hoping for a boy and are willing to sacrifice me. I move beyond them. There is an aged couple sitting down with their back to the wall – my grandparents. My grandmother somehow perceives my gaze and gives a startled look upwards. Her thoughts I can clearly see. She craves for a girl – someone who could be what she, or her daughter within the room could not. That’s one in my favour. I smile and look at my grandfather who is now looking at his wife with a concerned expression. She gives him a faint smile and he smiles back. That’s two in my favour. Should I decide now?
I ignore some others who are clearly hoping for a boy and look at the little girl clinging on to the pillar and casting nervous glances at the people around her. She looks to be about 5 or 6 with her small braided plaits, large beautiful eyes and a demure expression - my “could-be” sister and someone who crossed over to the other side. She clearly wants a playmate, someone who could go with her to school and someone she can take into her confidence. Her eyes dart to the most anxious man in the room and I look in the same direction. There stands the man who sired me. I move around for a better view and almost stare into his eyes. The expression is unfathomable.
The scene before me melts and another one quickly takes its place. There’s a little girl with curly hair wearing her navy uniform and going to school, happy, excited, while an older girl with braids is clutching the door frame looking wistfully on. Is that me? Older and going to school while my sister isn’t? Why is that happening? Did she choose to stay at home? I look back into her sad, doleful eyes and ask my father, "Baba, why isn't didi coming to school?". He just ignores me and marches ahead with a purpose, clasping my hand and egging me to keep up with him. I cannot seem to comprehend it. The scene quickly reforms again and a little boy materializes. He looks about six or seven. The girl with the braids is almost a woman now, washing utensils in the kitchen sink and the girl with the curly hair is older, but strangely it is her standing behind the door frame now looking wistfully as the little boy turns back and waves, pure joy written all over his face as he clings on to my father’s hand, whose face for some reason looks determinedly set again, but definitely happier. The girl in the curly hair turns back and looks around at my mother, who looks older with wisps of white hair on her forehead and is sporting a somewhat apologetic expression. The realization suddenly dawns on me and I, the girl in the curly hair ask, “Mother, why can’t I go to school along with my brother? I want to learn too”. She just stares back at me with a helpless expression, her eyes telling it all, but still not conveying anything.
The scene fades again and quickly reforms into a colourful, noisy celebration. It looks like a wedding. I stare at the palanquin and notice myself, older but still not older than maybe 16 or 17, looking down with a stone cold expression, clad in red and decked in the few jewels my father can afford. Two people are carrying the palanquin on their shoulders and they stop. Somehow reaches for my arm and gently prompts me to get out. I step out, garland in hand and raise my eyes to the tall man in front of me. He smiles and a tempered hope surges in me, but life has taught me not to hope for too much. His smile too bears that irritating enigma that I’m unable to decipher. Did my parents make the right choice? Will this person respect me, love me, support me and trust me for the rest of our lives? The scene transforms once again and this time I see myself lying in the same room with the blue paint peeling off the walls, a huge lump in my stomach and try to look at my husband’s anxiety ridden eyes as they shut the door on him. I shudder.
I am suddenly transported back to today with a lump in my throat. What do I do? Are these incidents that I saw, glimpses of the the life I am about to have if I choose to live? Or will my parents and others around me exercise the choices they so obviously had at each juncture? I look from my father’s incomprehensible expression to my mother’s fluttering eyelids? I prod them, try to shake their thoughts into betraying a response, a sign…
“Will you stick up for me, mother? Will you ensure that I have a better life than you did?”
“Will you love and support me, father? Will you love me like you would love my brother who will be born after me?”
“Will you take a chance on me?”
They look on, unable to hear me, unable to realize that their actions sometime in the future will influence my choice for existence today. I am confused, frantic and time ticks on…
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