I Freed Somebody Once!

Ever so often I read posts that touch me profoundly. One such post was that by The Jungle Girl's Shenanigans, called ‘Race’, a beautifully written article where she touched upon the so-called ‘racism’ issue that India is blaming Australia for. When I read about the incidents that have been taking place, the first thought that occurs to me every single time is that : Why are the Indian people making it out to be a racism issue? There are so many such incidents all over the world. Why is the press blowing it out of proportion? Don’t they ever feel responsible for spreading hatred and ill-will?

In the same post, were some rather stark facts about other parts of the world which actually do oppress people and get away with it. The article focused on the blatant oppression, mainly of the people who work in the lower rungs of the working scenario, taking place in the United Arab Emirates. Here the passports are kept by the organization you work for. It immediately gives your employer the right to persecute as he pleases. You have to no choice but to comply with any injustices that is meted out to you.

I grew up in Dubai and also worked there for a while. Though I did not see too much injustice. I did feel threatened by the whole system. You feel trapped. If you do not like your job or have differences with your employer, you are most likely going to swallow your pride and stick around anyway. There are far too many complications involved and if they stamp your passport with any remarks, you are likely to be deported. But this is not what I wanted to write about.

It reminded me of an incident that I buried in the far corners of my mind. It reminded of an oppressor not as mighty as a sheikh of Dubai or anything, but an oppressor anyway. It reminded me of the fact that when you have been bullied, there are two roads that you can take: One which makes you an oppressor yourself and another which you will make sure that no one around you suffers such treatment.

I chose the second road. I am proud to say that I liberated somebody once. I put my neck on the line, knowing fully well that I would be dealt with severely if it came out in the open. Though I was very young at that time, I felt that it was better to punished than allow injustice to happen. I was about sixteen years old. My parents or rather my mom decided that we should have a maid at home. If you know the rules in Dubai, you must know that we have to obtain a visa to get somebody from another country. You have to stand guarantee for that person and it involves quite a bit of money too. They asked around there was this family friend who had a poor relative who was looking for a lucky break. That is how Suja came into our household. Suja’s relative lied to her and her mother that this would be a kind of stepping stone to better prospects. That since she was not so qualified to get a job in Dubai on her own steam, this entry to Dubai would allow her a break.

When you are subjected to harassment of any form, you tend to more mentally matured for your age, kind of like a survival instinct. I would often find Suja upset. She saw my condition at home and did not take her long enough to figure out that I was sinking in the same boat. She often told me that she was better off. She said that at least she did not feel as bad as I did because the person repressing me was my own mother. Anyway, I used to hear her out. She came from a poor background and came to Dubai looking for a job so she could help her family. As all ‘sheikhs’ do, her passport was seized. Her calls were monitored and so were her personal mail. She would keep her letters in her suitcase in a certain way only to find out later that it was tampered with. You don’t need to do more to make a person feel like a prisoner. Her letters to her home mainly talked about the weather and other mundane stuff. Her mom asked her for details and she was unable to spit the truth. Things began to get worse for Suja, she was not able to handle my mother’s caustic remarks and harsh behavior anymore. She would often go to sleep crying and praying for a miracle.

I then thought of a way to get Suja to write to her family about her plight. I gave my friend’s mailing address. Suja’s letters to her family were mailed out in a similar fashion. The agreement was clear. Suja was not to hoard these letters. They were to be destructed immediately. Ok, so that going normal communication going. But now, what?? How was Suja going to get out of the place? I had a brilliant idea. She wrote to her family to write in through proper channels that the mother was seriously ill. That she was needed home immediately. That set the ball rolling. Suja would wail loudly every once in a while. Then she made it clear that she would do something drastic if she was not sent home. That got my mom thinking. She tried to placate Suja with more empty promises. Suja assured my mother that she would be back soon. Then the day came when Suja was set free. I lost somebody who I could talk to. I knew that I would be back to feeling oppressed all by myself. But I thought: at least somebody got away. And if word ever got out that I had something to do with any of that, I would be dead meat. But then I was half-dead anyway. So be it.

As Suja packed up, there were many tears of gratitude. She apologized to me several times for not being able to do the same for me. She promised me that she would pray ardently for me. She felt terrible at having to leave me behind. Well Suja, I am physically (can’t say the same for my mental status as yet) free.

In my own small way, I gave somebody freedom. It feels very good even after so many years. As I carried those letters in and out, I have sweated buckets!! :D That is the thing about such situations, you tend to enjoy the thrill of living on the edge!! Every time you get away with it, it prompts you to try your hand at something else. It is no longer the end of the road, but the journey that holds more meaning.