Finding out who I am - An autobiography

III - Growing up

Daddy Ji and Ami were nice towards me. Daddy Ji would mostly be out of the house at church services, meetings or home visits, so I did not see him much. Ami was a big lady with a loud voice. She had diabetes and arthritis, so did not do much of the housework. She would order the servants to do something here and there or tell her children to get something for her. Her strong, demanding tone would often frighten me as a young child, even if it was not directed at me. All their children were quite skinny with thick dark hair and big brown eyes contrasting with their fair skin. The couple's eldest son (Bhaijan) was eleven years older than me. He was a tall boy and very annoying, as brothers can be. He would constantly call me names and tease me about random things. Their daughter (Baji) was eight years older than me and was also tall. She was their only daughter, so she looked after me the most. She was quite bossy with others and had a short temper when things were not done according to her liking. Their middle son (Bara Bhai) was five years older than me. He was not as scary as the older members of the family. Lastly, their youngest son (Chota Bhai) was three years older than me. Sadly, he had a genetic heart condition, which meant our family would make frequent trips to the hospital. Sometimes he would be admitted for months at a time. For the first few years, most of everyone's attention was on him. When I was nine years old, Daddy Ji and Ami had a baby boy. So, I now had four brothers.

I made sure to respect everyone, never demanding anything. After all, they had welcomed me into their home as their daughter, so I did not see a reason to complain about anything. I was just a little girl who was afraid since there were so many new people around me. I had a nice house, a family with children to play with and a good education. I went to a mission school. It was run by the Protestant Church and, therefore, it was well-funded. It was equivalent to a private school. Classes were taught in English and the curriculum was diverse. We had all types of sporting activities: shot put, javelin throw, tennis, hockey and netball.

I was not a particularly bright student, but I loved school. As a child, I did not have any strong academic ambitions. I wanted to be a lawyer when I grew up but did not have a strong passion to become one. All my friends wanted to be something, so I also picked a career to dream about. I did not really have anyone who supported me academically. In the community I grew up in, it was mostly the elders who chose a child's path for them. Teachers and parents decided if a child was smart enough to go forward to the next stage of education. Despite this, I always tried my best.

I remember that I stuck up my times table worksheet near the sink in the kitchen. I would memorise all my times tables while washing the dishes. I immersed myself in work to keep busy. Together, my siblings and I would do the housework, cooking and washing up. As they got older, their attention shifted as it does during adolescence. They would gossip, which I did not want to get involved in. I kept to myself and got on with what I had to do. I knew that I was different to them, but I did not want that fact to take over my way of thinking. I always thanked God for the family that I was given, the family that accepted me and showed me love when I needed it.

Many of our extended family members would come and stay with us for long periods of time. I remember one of my uncles (Ami's brother) cared for me a lot. I had hay fever, so during the summer my eyes would become infected. My uncle would take the time to clean my sticky eyes with warm water. He genuinely cared for me at a time when not many people did. It was small kind acts like this that made me feel special and loved.

I thought that school life would be an escape from my family and the drama that my arrival brought to the house. No. I went to a Christian mission school, so everyone knew Daddy Ji who was the local priest. Everyone knew about my past; that I was not his biological daughter. I made sure to keep to myself because I did not want to be teased. I was in school to learn, so that is what I did. I had my friends, but even still I was afraid of what they might think of me. I was always thinking about what other people would think of me. I was not too worried about being liked; I just did not want people to look down on me. I did not want to seem like a burden to anyone.

My Chota Bhai and I went to the same school, which had classes in the afternoon. We would wake up early in the morning and start the day in prayer. We made a prayer area behind one of the sofas in the living room. There we put a rug, a small table with a Bible and a cross. We would spend thirty minutes to an hour worshipping. Then we would play many games, like marbles, before going to school. We were very close.

My Chota Bhai was set to have a heart operation when he turned twelve years old. Nearing his twelfth birthday he grew quite sick and had to be rushed to hospital. Sadly, he passed away. I was nine years old when I witnessed the first death in our immediate family. I remember how people came to our house and mourned. I cried a lot, yet deep down I knew that this day had been coming. Our family revolved around his illness, but my Chota Bhai never let it bring him down. (He ate like everyone, talked like everyone, played like everyone.) Now he was gone. I do not remember what happened to our little prayer area, but I continued to pray as we had done together because I knew he was still with me. I could still feel his presence with me, despite the fact that he had left me and my family from this world.