Today I would like to tell you about a woman named Jamini. She is neither a politician nor a page 3 socialite. Nor someone important who can make a difference in this world. She is my housekeeper cum sentry who looks after my brother and the house, when my parents are away. A complete nobody...then why should I talk about her? But this tall and lean boring character has a different story to tell.
I don't know how old Jamini is. The flecks of white hair and the pigmentation in her face tells me she must be something around 40. Her unique feature is her pockmarked face. It has no sign of life. I could never figure out whether she is happy or sad. Never heard her complain about the work or ask for leave. Whether its diwali celebration or a funeral, that blank slate always has a morbid expression. When I first read about the Death Kiss of Dementors and its aftermath, the face that first came to my mind was hers. Obviously thats impossible in the real world. Jamini's abnormality was not from birth.
Twenty something years ago Jamini was married in her village (a-name-I-never cared to remember!) She was continuously beaten up by her drunkard of a husband. The torture not just scarred her body but her mind also permanently. After the birth of her daughter, she was thrown out of her house. The husband remarried and Jamini was never allowed to step in her house. The young mother lost her right to feed her own baby. And this deprivation eventually sucked out her last drop of happiness.
Now all she does is work. And the way she gets things done is that of a plain idiot. Recently she threw away my passport along with the trash. No doubt such antics earned her the name "Jomoni" meaning funny. There are times when my mother has urged her to go and meet her daughter. But she never seem interested and always says "Hobo diyok baideo, bapek aase nohoi saboloi". I guess this tortured soul now refuses to be happy. Last time when I was in town, I got her a pair of earrings. That was the only time I saw her smile but her eyes were listless.
A woman like Jamini has seen only pain and she suffers in silence. I am sure she must have cried all alone before turning into a stone. And there must millions of people out there who suffers like her in silence. Ironically, sharing that same space and time are also people like me, who cry out loud how unfair life is, at the slightest of trouble. And as I write this, I am filled with shame and remorse for being such a weak-hearted fool. But then again, tomorrow is a brand new day to learn and start afresh. :)