The Ahmedabad Diaries - In the Shoes of a 13-year-old-girl

Asha and me

Meet Asha – a 13-year-old living in Ahmedabad. She comes from an economically lower background than the rest of us. If you will excuse my political incorrectness, she came from a slum. She lived with her parents, a grandmother, two younger brothers and two younger sisters. Being the oldest of the lot, she was also the one responsible for the other children, and when you are given such a responsibility, you tend to grow up faster than you need to.

I met Asha at the Gandhi Ashram in Gujarat, where she is currently under the wing of Manav Sadhana, an NGO that strives to spread the message of peace and unity among the surrounding communities through various projects. Asha happened to be in one of them called Ekatva – a 70-minute musical performance by 16 children aiming to spread unity. The performance left every single audience member astonished and mesmerized, inspired by the sheer talent and hard-work that was reflected.

Being a part of Ekatva, Asha’s typical day included school in the morning, tuitions in the afternoon followed by activities and finally dance practice. Like the other children, she stayed at the Ashram and visited her family only in the holidays. I was lucky enough to join her one night as she went home.

On the bus-ride over, she chatted enthusiastically about her life - her love for dance and acting, her fear of the first performance, her excitement at the latest performance, her dream of becoming a doctor (and not because her family wanted it), her happiness at Manav Sadhana, her sadness at being away from her family, her nervousness about leaving Manav Sadhana the following year to attend a different school, her love for her friends, and her longing for her old house.

Their original house had been demolished by the Government, but luckily they had been given a flat in its stead. The new flat was 15 kilometers away from their original house, which meant that Asha’s father, who worked at a nearby shop, had to travel long hours every day to work. Despite being utterly exhausted, he was extremely welcoming, and took advantage of the great Indian hospitality to feed me seven pakoras –  in addition to my dinner.

Unfortunately, the parents and the grandmother had to travel to their village that night for voting as the elections were on, which left me alone at home with the children. My initial apprehension soon gave way to shame as I watched Asha wake up early in the morning and calmly prepare chai and breakfast for her siblings, and finish up other house chores. I nearly cringed thinking back to my life as a 13-year-old, and in that moment, I felt like a little kid, younger than Asha, embarrassedly asking her how to flush the toilet when clearly there was no flush.

Another memory which stands out from my visit is from the night when Asha and her friends walked me around the community from one friend’s house to another. The streets were lined with boys probably a little older than Asha herself, yet the way they were ogling at us was enough to send major chills through me. 

Having grown up in a very sheltered-Kuwait –life followed by boarding school followed by Canada followed by a completely oblivious me in Bombay, I have had (thankfully) few instances where I was made to feel like a piece of meat.

But right there, holding hands with Asha on one hand who aspired to become a doctor, and her 13-year-old friend Varsha who had gotten married a few months ago on the other, I realized just how different my teenage years were from theirs. How I had been spared the crudeness most girls in India are forced to face.

How I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to live in the shoes of these 13-year-olds.