“Are you getting my articles? Long time no see. I am sending you two of my new articles and a new poem. Hope you like them. Hope to see one of them published soon.”
Ankita never wrote long mails. She never wasted time nor did she waste space.
“Send them directly to me. I will try my best,” I wrote back.
I did not promise her anything but she never gave up. I could not get her articles published since the weekend pull-out for students had long been withdrawn from of the newspaper I work for. It was sometimes in June.
The first time I met her, Ankita was a bundle of energy; almost erupting in excitement in her chair. Her mother showed me around, showed me Ankita’s paintings, terracotta crafts and all the poems she ever wrote. That was four years back. She was 14 back then. And that was the only time I met her.
Back then, Ankita was the story I was writing for my newspaper; story of a 14 year old’s fight against a discriminatory system which refused her the right to study in a normal environment. She was the story of the indomitable human spirit. But yes, the first time, I met her she was just a story for me.
Born with scoliosis, a condition of the spine which had rendered her incapable of walking because of lower limb paralysis, Ankita always wanted to do what others of her age did and she more than excelled in everything she did.
“I want to meet President APJ Abdul Kalam. I have seen him on TV and read a lot about him. I also wrote to him,” she once wrote.
Ankita made it a point to send me each of her journals, poems and articles. Every New Year Day and each Diwali ever since I came to know her, I always found a mail from her in my inbox. And I always replied.
She once wrote how scared she was inside the operation threatre where she was waiting for her turn when a little girl, an accident victim, was rushed in. The experience has made me stronger, she said. By the time she was 14, she had undergone at least 16 surgeries for her condition.
It was mid-July this year when I received a mail from her. “This is my first dance video. Do send me your comments. Bye.” Like always, she did not waste any time nor any space.
I was then setting off for a week-long travel which promised to be hectic as well as chaotic. I decided to reply upon my return.
It was a Saturday and I was back to work.
When I reached office, my colleague asked me, “Do you remember Ankita?”
“Of course, I do. I have to reply her mail. It has been more than a week,” I said.
“She passed away two days ago. It was a cardiac arrest. I am carrying an obituary,” she said.
*******
A moment is a lifetime…but only for a moment….By the way, I was born on this day.
(Image: www.zastavki.com)
