A Ray of Sunshine

By SEEMA BHATI

‘A Ray of Sunshine’ is about young Mehr’s tumultuous journey through childhood and adolescence. Born in an affluent family she is the apple of her father, Mr. Govind Bhasin’s eye. Despite this she is the target of abuse. She is unable to convey her plight to anyone. The novel revolves around Mehr’s life, her insecurities, her dilemmas and her desperate attempt to do what is right.
After passing out from school she goes to a girls’ residential college where her friends prove to be her support system. In times of confusion she funds an anchor and ally in sister Margarita.
The story unravels quaint incidents from the girls’ lives. Is Mehr able to find a firm footing under the eagle eye of the nuns?
Is she able to maintain her mental sanity? Does she emerge victorious or does her dark past overshadow her present?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Notion Press
• Release date: Nov 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9789383416837

Book preview

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Chapter - 1

Having been born in an affluent family after four boys, she was the apple of everyone’s eye. There had been a gap of four years between each boy and that made Mehr much younger to the eldest one. It also made her the spoilt brat of the family.

Mehr had often overheard her mother and the maidservant who had come with mother in marriage; as part of her dowry and was by now almost a member of the family narrate to everyone interested that Mehr was tiny and as white as snow at birth. Her hands and feet were perfectly formed. She had chiseled features and golden brown wisps of hair. Everyone had instantly fallen in love with the tiny bundle of joy.

Rukmani Bhasin could, for the first time identify with the child. This warm glow of affection had been missing earlier. She had felt immensely proud to bear four sons but this tiny creature made her feel contented.

Govind Bhasin had been the eldest of four brothers with no sisters. He now marveled at the sight of the gently wailing and kicking baby. As he held the tiny bundle in his strong arms, his adoration was complete. He promised himself he would shower all happiness on his darling girl and that he would protect and shield her from evil. He silently thanked God for giving him the joy of having a daughter.

By the time Mehr was four years old, she had learnt all the wiles. She knew her father would melt if she fluttered her eyelashes or just cuddled up to him. He would do anything for her. He was an engineer and his work kept him away for most of the day. He returned only at six in the evening. The moment he was back he would call out her name from the entrance itself and she would run to him with a cry of sheer rapture. He would pick her up laughing and she would then settle down on his lap and empty out the contents of his shirt pocket one by one.

She would take out his wallet and extract a hundred rupee note and look at it with disgust,

Papa how dirty it is! Why don’t you keep clean money? Now I will have to clean it.

Quickly she would scamper down and go to the tap soaking the note in water and putting it on the table to dry. Her father would look indulgently and chuckle. This had become a routine.

Sometimes, when sweet guile did not work she would use a bit of theatrics. Then she would crouch down on the floor and bang her head gently on the ground, wailing. But that was rare. Her father was always ready to accommodate her whims and fancies.

It was her mother with whom she had to behave carefully because it was she who would quietly pinch her to silence her when she misbehaved. Mehr knew she had to obey her timidly. Consequently, she was at her best behavior when mother was around.

Chapter - 2

By the time she was four years old, she was admitted to a kindergarten. The school was about ten minutes ride on a bicycle from home. The headmistress had tried to convince her anxious father:

Mr. Bhasin, I assure you we will take good care of Mehr.

Her class teacher was young and charming. The students were rowdy but friendly. Next to her sat a boy, who had threatened her with dire consequences when she tried to boss him:

My father is in police. He will put you in jail if you trouble me.

She had replied defiantly, Call him. I am not afraid.

Throughout the tussle her heart was racing in fear. In the end the boy gave up and they became friends.

The school was at some distance. Hence, commuting to and from it presented a challenge. The manservant Bilas Kumar solved the problem by offering his services. He had a bicycle. Mehr would be perched on the handle as he rode the cycle. Sometimes in the morning she was not inclined to go to school. She would scratch and claw at Bilas in desperation till she drew blood. The poor man would return from school like a wounded soldier. The driver and other servants would sympathize and chuckle simultaneously.

Mehr later remembered that year as a whirlwind of activity. Little by little she got over her aversion to school. She learnt to recite poems and write neatly enough to get a star or ‘good’ as a reward from the teacher, for her meticulous work.

Her memory of events was a blank except one that featured Sharma uncle. She remembered the day when Sharma uncle, a young man in his late twenties who worked in father’s office had come to meet him. Father at that time was in the bathroom. Mother was supervising breakfast in the kitchen. The servant respectfully showed Mr. Sharma to the drawing room where he made himself comfortable. It was like a second home to him. He was a bachelor and a frequent visitor to the house.

Seeing her favorite Sharma uncle, Mehr pranced into the room and sat on his lap. She suddenly remembered the story her friend had told her in school. She looked eagerly at Mr. Sharma who nodded indulgently.

Uncle, shall I tell you a story? You don’t need to say anything; only say ‘how’ at the end of each sentence.

Once there was a boy.

Mr. Sharma obediently said how?

He was very naughty.

How? Mr. Sharma said again.

He was always up to mischief,

How?

One day, he stole ten rupees from his mother’s purse.

How?

Mother was very angry.

How?

She gave him a tight slap.

How?

There was a loud sound as Mehr gave a resounding slap on poor unsuspecting Mr. Sharma’s cheek.

Like this.

Mr. Sharma looked shocked. He could not decide whether to slap this little devil or strangle her.

The cook and the servant heard the sound and came running to see what was wrong. A look at Mr. Sharma’s red cheek and the strained expression were enough to tell them the whole story. Clicking their tongue at the enormity of Mehr’s action they stood silently, respectfully. Mr. Sharma muttered lamely,

Tell Sahib, I will come later, as he made a hasty exit.

Mehr looked at him innocently and asked, Uncle, why are you going?

But, by then Mr. Sharma had turned on his heels and left.

The incident had no serious repercussion on Mehr. In all probability he did not report the matter to his boss, Mr. Bhasin. The servants were too respectful to mention the matter to anyone. So, the matter ended there, leaving Mehr in the dark about the gaffe she had committed. Mr. Sharma was still indulgent but whenever Mehr was around, he was hyper alert to any unforeseen calamity.

Chapter 3

Mehr was an affectionate child but father’s adoration and giving in to all her demands had made her stubborn. One Sunday morning, she was playing on the ground while her father lathered for his daily shave. As he looked in the mirror, the sight made him freeze. Along with his own reflection, he saw Mehr in the background, unwrapping; a brand new razor blade. Knowing the blade was sharp. He turned around and said gently,

Darling, give me that blade.

But, in response Mehr gave him an adamant look and screamed,

No… simultaneously, she pulled the blade towards herself. The next thing father knew was that – there was blood all over her face. It seemed to be pouring from her eye. In her anxiety to withdraw, she had accidently slashed something.

Father froze in sheer horror. What had he done? Had the child hurt her eye? Was she going to become blind? He shouted for her mother, the driver and the servant one after the other.

Mohan Singh, get the jeep. We have to rush to the hospital. Mehr is hurt.

He hastily pulled on a shirt, without bothering that the shave was not yet done.

Mother ran alongside, as he picked up a wailing Mehr and hastily pressed a hand towel on the wound.

The jeep hurtled towards the hospital, the biggest in the city. As soon as the jeep stopped, he ran towards the emergency unit, with Mehr in his arms. Seeing an agitated Mr. Bhasin, the compounder sprang to attention and ordered the peon to call the doctor immediately. Meanwhile, he helped father in putting Mehr on the hospital bed.

By now, Mehr was entirely spent, sobbing and hiccupping softly now and then. Mother looked helpless as she muttered,

Who will marry her if anything happens to her eye?!

Father had a thunderous expression on his face.

Soon, a kind doctor hurried towards them, calmly instructing the attendant to get warm water and cotton. He cleaned the wound with utmost care. Once the blood was washed off, he could see the long gash just above the eyelid. The blade had missed the eye just by a fraction of an inch. Although, there was no damage to the eye, the wound had to be stitched.

Mr. Bhasin, the wound is superficial. There is nothing to fear. But, we must move the child to the operation theatre as it has to be sutured.

Father heaved a sigh of relief, God almighty! You are kind.

Mother also smiled, relieved.

Later, the doctor neatly sutured the wound after giving local anesthesia. After the ordeal, Mehr went off to sleep as the medicine took effect. The next day, mother was all praise for her fortitude and courage. The child had just whimpered, instead of creating a ruckus in the operation theatre. Mehr recovered soon enough and started prancing around once again.

Chapter 4

Father’s brother and his family lived upstairs. The household consisted of three children and a maidservant besides uncle and aunty. The two brothers were clearly fond of each other. They usually had a drink together in the evening before dinner. Mother and aunty would talk amiably while the servants cooked dinner. The children would play together or complete their homework. It was a comfortable arrangement which bound the family together.

One morning, Aunty came down to meet mother. As was the usual practice, she latched the kitchen door from the outside. The kitchen was a separate unit attached to a verandah. As mother and aunty were busy exchanging gossip, they heard rumbling and tumbling noises in the kitchen upstairs. It sounded as if someone opened the fridge door and slammed it shut. The steel utensils tumbled from their place, making a crashing sound. It was obvious there was a prankster above. Aunty got suspicious and ran upstairs. Mehr followed close behind.

The kitchen scene that greeted them made them gasp in horror. Two langoors were inside. One was eating bananas. There was a pile of banana skins on the floor near him. The other had a butter dish in his hand and was licking it. Hearing their footsteps, both turned, baring their teeth menacingly. Aunty pulled Mehr by the arm and almost dragging her behind her, fled downstairs.

It was after half an hour that the langoors, having had their fill, calmly left. Only then, Aunty and the maidservant cautiously made their way up, to clean the mess and start cooking dinner. For days afterwards, Mehr recounted this tale to all and sundry.

Soon, winter approached. The stream of guests and visitors started increasing. Due to the large and constant demand for tea, mother took out a giant pot and asked the servants to keep boiling water ready on the kerosene stove, which was kept on the kitchen floor. Whenever a guest came, the boiling water was poured in a smaller pan and tea was prepared.

Mehr found this exercise immensely fascinating. After dinner, she would purposely go to the kitchen to wash her hands. One fateful night, as she was washing her hands, she suddenly slipped, and before anyone realized, she had landed bottoms first in the pot of boiling water, which was kept perilously close to the tap. She yelled in agony. The servants who were standing nearby were horrified at the sight. They quickly ran and retrieved her. By now, her yells had become loud screams. Mother came running to discover the cause of the chaos. Father also left his visitor in the drawing room and ran inside.

Mehr was hopping like mad, screaming. Her clothes were stuck to her bottom. Mother picked up the kicking Mehr and laid her on her stomach on the bed. Father held her as mother tried to remove the steaming underwear. Underneath, Mehr’s fair buttocks looked red and wrinkled like a blanched tomato.

The doctor was urgently summoned. The friendly family doctor took one look at the ghastly sight and clicked his tongue. In a joking tone he said,

My dear, don’t you wash them every day? Why did you need this holy dip?

Mehr squirmed in pain and discomfort. How could doctor uncle be so mean! Here she was writhing like a worm and uncle was laughing!

The doctor gave an ointment and a few tablets which provided some relief and at last she fell into a fitful sleep. Throughout the night, she kept waking up with a jolt, screaming. Mother would say a few endearing words and pat her gently and she would drift back to sleep.

By next morning, turning over her back was impossible. Overnight, huge blisters had formed on her buttocks. Mother had covered the offensive area with a muslin cloth so that flies would not trouble her.

In a few hours, the doctor came and punctured the blisters, cleaning the surrounding area with gauge and applying a soothing ointment. Mehr was now on the road to recovery. But, for years afterwards, she became the butt of jokes. The maidservant would often laugh and say,

Baby, you don’t need to wash your buttocks again in your lifetime. You did such a thorough job when you washed them with boiling water!

Chapter 5

The days passed quickly. Mehr had by now settled down in her school. Whatever homework was given to her, she did it meticulously. In school, she was the picture of discipline. She obeyed the teachers’ command without a whimper. But at home she was a spoilt brat. Whenever her demand was not met she went on a hunger strike, refusing to touch food until father came and coaxed her to eat, often feeding her himself. The arrangement worked fine. The only hitch was when father went out of town or on an official tour.

One day, father had gone on tour. He was to stay overnight and return the next day. The peace and quiet of the house was disturbed by the call of a street vendor. Mehr ran to look out of the window. It was the ice-cream vendor, who sold ice lollies so popular with the children.

Mehr ran out screaming for mother, who at that time was supervising cooking. Mehr clung to her pulling the end of her sari, crying,

Mama give me 25 paisa, I want an ice-cream.

When mother did not pay any attention, she started stamping her feet and tugging harder and harder. When that did not produce the desired effect, her voice became more and more demanding,

I want ice-cream! I want ice-cream!

Mother lost her temper and slapped her hard on the cheek.

Mehr! Learn to behave yourself.

Mehr was thunderstruck. She had become wary of her mother’s quiet pinching but this was outrageous. If only father were here – mother would never dare to slap her. Oh, why was father not here? She started sobbing. Soon, the sobs became noisy. Next, she lay on the floor and started hitting her head on the floor.

Mother was speechless with anger. This girl was becoming quite a hand full! On top of that father had spoiled her silly. Really, she was becoming a hussy.

None of the servants dared to sympathize with Mehr, fearing mother’s wrath. Hearing her wails and screams, aunty came downstairs. Picking her up, she cajoled and pacified her lovingly till Mehr became quiet and fell asleep.

But soon, mother was waking her up to have dinner. It was night.

When did the darkness descend? Mehr wondered. It had been bright and sunny when she fell asleep. Suddenly, she remembered how outrageously mother had behaved. Really, mother did not have a heart and if she did, it was not in the right place, she thought sullenly.

I don’t want food. I want to sleep! She screamed.

Mother was aghast but spoke quietly,

Mehr, if you don’t eat now, I will lock the kitchen. Then, if you are hungry at night, there will be nothing for you to eat.

Mehr just turned her head and sobbed herself to sleep again.

It seemed only a few minutes; when she sat up on her cot. Her stomach was rumbling with hunger. She wanted to eat. In the darkness, she could make out the different silhouettes. Mother was sleeping next to her. Everyone else was also asleep. She tiptoed to the kitchen. The door was closed. She fumbled in the darkness for the latch.

If only she could find it. Her searching fingers felt the hard padlock.

Oh no! Mother had actually locked it.

She was so hungry, she felt like retching. But, she would rather die than wake up mother to ask for food. Quietly, she returned to her bed and lay down. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

Never again, will she throw a tantrum like this!

Damn it! Why hadn’t she eaten when mother offered?

The next morning she was the first one to get up and head for the kitchen. Mother had already bathed and dressed in a crisp floral cotton sari. She looked at Mehr and smiled,

Are you hungry, dear?

Yes mama. I’ll have milk.

All right, sweetheart. I’ll warm it for you. Why don’t you go wash your face and brush your teeth till then?

Mehr eagerly ran to the bathroom, splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth and was back in the kitchen for her glass of milk.

Chapter 6

A few months passed without any incident. One evening the peaceful atmosphere of the house was disturbed by the ringing of the doorbell – Mehr was doing her homework. Mother was ironing her clothes. Father was sitting on the bed reading the newspaper. As soon as the servant opened the door, Mr. Saxena rushed in and ran inside the bedroom. Looking frantically around, he spotted father and burst into tears.

Bhasin saab, your son has ruined my daughter’s life!

His voice was emotional and quivering.

He’s blinded her.

Father was taken aback by his words and tears. He tried to concentrate on what he was saying. Unable to decipher the emotional words, he looked at him steadily and ordered,

Saxena, stop crying. Tell me exactly what has happened?

Mr. Saxena could hardly control himself. Tears were flowing freely on his cheeks.

Bhasin saab, your son was aiming at the birds with his catapult. He missed and wounded my daughter’s eye. It is bleeding! She is blind!

Oh, her life is ruined, destroyed! He lamented.

Mother, who was a silent spectator so far, cried in anguish,

Oh Goodness Gracious! Poor Suman! What are you waiting for? She looked at father pleadingly.

Let’s rush her to the hospital. May be they can still save her eye.

She held father’s hand and ran outside.

Mehr was glued to her place as she heard the commotion outside. Father was yelling. Uncle was hysterical.

There was the noise of the jeep revving up. It left with a roar and all was quiet. There was a murmur of the servants talking in a hushed tone.

Mehr quietly sneaked to the terrace. The terrace was huge. The house where they lived was massive. The architecture was old. It was not a single house but had many portions. Each portion housed a family. The house itself was three storied. The ground floor served as an office for father’s department. On the first floor, Mehr’s father Mr. Bhasin, Mr. Saxena and Mr. Sharma lived. On the second floor, her uncle lived. Rest of the portions served as guest rooms for the