Waiting: and now the story has a true beginning. Ranchi. The sound,the presence of children waiting in the rows of cots painted blue.
I have seen Ankita. I can say that. But a photograph has no scent. It doesn't let your eye glide across the face like a bird hugging the shape of the landscape. I have always wondered about the saying, " As the crow flies." because in reality - no bird flies straight. They have the glorious advantage of split second, spherical choice. Diving to the earth, arcing immediately up and over trees, along valley sides, tipping left across a field.
I just long to see Ankita. Sitting here in a hotel in Delhi waiting to catch the Amjer Shatabdi Express to Jaipur - Hotel Clark International is a prison. She is so close - just across the city. really only about fifteen of twenty minutes away at this time of night - late - shops closed, India mostly sleeping. Probably more than the population of America still awake in reality! But we have to wait. We have to let the judicial process play it's part before we can walk down the familiar lane,hearts feeling larger than our heads in our chests, beating like giant drums in the rhythm of a strange kind of birth. A simple ' this is Ankita' or something like - and there it is. A new daughter - a little sister - three becomes four.
Letting Ankita In
Ranchi - take a hotel car - A/C 800 rupees, plus tax. No - we take our own taxi - non A/C and save AU$4:60. Principles people...you must maintain your principles. 900 rupees! No, no, no we can have a taxi car for 700! and we will!! As we travel to the Shishu Bhavan my emotions are a vacant car park in a huge city short on space. I can sense everything trying to get in but I cant help but feel numb. Going to try and find out more about a daughter I am yet to meet. Her mother, her father,her care, her health....
We go down a lane toot the horn and wait at the blue steel gates. We toot again - longer. Then the taxi driver begins a Tijuana Brass band feel riff on the very loud horn and I tap his arm to bring him out of his trace, get out of the taxi and go through a smaller unlocked steel door that is cut into the larger gate. The steel gates leading into the of Missionaries of Charity are similar which ever city or town you are in. They are painted blue and have white writing on them. They say something along the lines of,
" MISSIONARIES OF CHARITY" (insert city)
Shishu Bhavan
visiting - 9 -11 and 3-5
Mass -( times etc)
Adoption appointments between.....
As I go through the gate I see a small, old women halfway across a large courtyard. She is smiling and walking toward me. She motions for another younger man to open the gates to let the car in. We are here. The beginning of the four.
Shayne sits at a at a table across from Sister Carmencita. She asks the questions only a mother with an adopted daughter would ask. Questions that would allow her to talk intimately with her daughter about her birth mother in the months and years ahead. What was she wearing when she came? How was she; her mood? What was Ankita wearing? Did she say why? My god, tears come easily to my eyes as I write.
Understand that I am happy. Really. But you must be sad too. I have to be. It is the law of gratitude in my case. An submission to God. To all the gods of creation and chance and chaos - Kali, Shiva, more. All. A mother cares for her daughter, rocks her to sleep, feeds her, protects and loves her for two and half years - stopped writing because I am crying in the Executive 1st class A/C carriage on the Shatabdi Express to Jaipur - not a good look for the waiters to see as they put my breakfast tray down! Now I know why I have been avoiding writing this part. BANG. That empty car park is filling up fast.
