Rosemary's Baby

Here's Rosemary's story, in her own words :

" I learned how to make a paper boat when I was seven. A triumphant owner of a paper boat I was, I strutted down the alley, my chin high up! As I set my Black Pearl to sail down the length of the sewage alongside the alley, the scent of my grand mother's Gulab Jamoon caught my nostrils twitching. It was my birthday. She was making it to please me! Delighted by dizzying thoughts clouding my little mind, I abandoned my ship and dashed into the kitchen.

Uncle came with an ink-pot in his hands. My birthday present!

"Happy birthday honey", he said, pecking on my cheek.

" Thank you so much uncle!! please tell me how to make it, please?" I couldn't contain myself.

"Kiss uncle", he said, craning his neck towards me.

" Okay" I returned a peck.

Uncle's an expert in Origami. He offered to teach me how to make a boat, a frog, an inkpot, a rose, a gladiolus and many more!

" A peck, a toy!" he said.

"Game! " I agreed.

I was a diligent disciple. Three months of vacation and sooo much fun! More than I asked for!

I was smitten by uncle. Grandma was happy too.

" We're going to a special place tomorrow," uncle enticed me into his arms.

" What is it, uncle, what is it?"

" Patience, darling, patience"

Tomorrow came, we went.

A garden filled with roses! 

Pink, White, Red, Yellow, Orange!

And soft pebbles too! 

A cute little cottage in a corner.

So much for a seven year old!

" Roses! Roses! Roses!" I was giddy with excitement.

My little legs ran around the field until they collapsed with fatigue.

"How did you like it?" uncle asked.

" I love it! I love it! Whose place is this?"

" Yours! Mine! Ours!"

Uncle took me into the cottage.

" Let's wash your wounds. Take off your dress"

" I have no wounds. I don't want to wash. I like this smell. Pet-ri-chor! You know Petrichor?"

Uncle pulled off my frock.

.....................................................................................

.....................................................................................

I was molested! I was abused as a child!

I feel unclean. How should I wash the filth that's smeared on my heart for eternity?

Who should I blame for the misdeed? For the trauma I underwent?

Scream and yell at my poor old grand mother, for trusting me with a malefactor?

Castigate my grand father for suspecting no malice?

What should I do?What should I do?

I HAVE BEEN VIOLATED!!!

Biting my pillow with impotent fury, I hear my own muffled sobs.

What can I do? What can I do?

I can be an over-protective mother.

Yes, that, I can be.

I won't let anybody touch my son.

I won't let him touch others.

I won't let him play in my absence.

I won't allow him outside my vigilance.

I think I'll ruin his childhood.

But I can't help it! 

I'm sorry, my son. I can't let the same happen to you"

-----------------------------------------------------

"How fragile childhood is! How trusting children are! How easily can adults wreck it all!"
An interview with journalist, activist, author Pinki Virani in Readers' Digest :

http://www.rd-india.com/newsite/other/facetoface_may10.asp

There are so many 'Rosemary's in our society.
There are so many 'uncle's out there, feasting unconscionably on blithely ignorant children.

In India, everybody's an uncle or an aunt. It is difficult to find out the wolf in sheep's skin.

Right to innocent, free childhood is more important than right to free education!

Recognize the gravity of the situation, address it. 

Spread awareness, save your child.

Save Rosemary's Baby, or the horror continues....