I had written about his mother a couple of weeks ago. But this is the story of her son —sadder still.
Sanjay was born a Sadarangani but lived most of his childhood years as a Wallia, born amidst turbulence to parents who both desired his custody. His parents lived in London, his mother working as a travel consultant, while his father was always in “search of employment” — basically a no-gooder in life. One day, as Rita dropped little
Sanjay off at the day school, his father took him out, packed his things and left without a word — to Malawi.
When Rita, as customary, went by the school to pick up her boy, he was already gone. Rita decided to call the local authorities, who contacted the British Embassy in Lisbon and Malawi and flew out the same day. Luckily, she reached the airport just in time and the British authorities managed to stop Mohan, returning Sanjay to his mother’s arms.
Later that year, Rita’s parents flew to London and it was decided that the best thing for Sanjay was to move with his grandparents to Mumbai.
“I left for Mumbai at the age of two, but still missed my mother dreadfully. I lived on Marine Drive, growing up with these strange but loving people, went to school and played tennis at the CCI club. My grandfather was a wonderful but strict man. I grew closer to my grandmother and started to call her mummy instead, while calling my real mother by her name, Rita. I still do,” he said.
He narrates, “One day, when I was five years old, my grandparents were out for a dinner party and I was left home with the cook and the servant. When we were in the living room, the servant grabbed and molested me. He then held a knife to my throat and warned me that if I ever told anyone, he would kill my grandparents.” Sanjay never mentioned this to anyone.
“When I look back, I feel that a person must fight the feeling of shame and disgust and most of all, the fear associated with such an occurrence, by bringing it to the attention of their loved ones. One must welcome the help that comes — both psychologically and physically. Otherwise, this will affect your overall life,” says Sanjay.
Rita later came back into her son’s life. “I was looking forward to her moving back, but secretly, as I didn’t want to offend my grandmother who had drummed into my head that she was my mother and that Rita was a self-occupied individual, who although she loved me was incapable of bringing me up,” he says.
They lived together in Mumbai, till Rita sold her property and both left for the US. They stayed with distant relatives for about a month, until one day they were asked to leave. “We had nowhere to go and finally Rita offered her jewellery as a security deposit to a Goan family, whose manager had a vacant one bedroom apartment. We slept the night on the carpet with rolled up clothes for pillows,” Sanjay says.
“Since I came from a wealthy background, this life was tough and unforgiving. No one cared where you came from or who you were, you made yourself and survival became the key. From the age of 11, I worked in a variety of jobs. I was illegal in the US, and people took advantage of this,” he adds.
“I studied along the way, but most importantly I never lost sight of who I was. I am gay, and that — coming from a wealthy Indian family — was, and is, difficult. On my sixteenth birthday, I remember I wanted to call my father. When I finally located him, I introduced myself but he simply asked me never to call him again and hung up on me. I learnt not to expect love. Remember, your choice is yours alone. Believe in yourself. Let no one take that away from you. Make your decisions. Can you make your life? Is it your life or someone else’s?”