Urmi draws me a map. It is full of squiggles and no real reference points. I am so going to get lost. I tell her my fears and she dismisses them, telling me it is easy and if I become confused to phone one of the many mobile numbers she writes down for me. I take her squiggles and apprehensively fold it into quarters and put it in my kuta pocket. I am going to try and find Soma Girls Memorial Home. The Soma home was founded a few years ago and it is for the girls of New Light who are older or more at risk. What I mean by 'at risk' is fairly subjective but basically means they are at an age where they are more 'at risk' from attracting the attention of their mothers' clients if they stayed at the main center in Kalighat. Or it could also mean that their families are on the poverty line and they are therefore more at risk from being sold or abused. The other girls who live at the Soma Home are those who have already been abused and have now been rescued. As the girls are aged between six and eighteen there is clearly no minimum age of abuse, and the threshold between 'child' (abuse) and 'adult' (consent) remains appropriately vague.
The Soma Home was named such in memory of one of the girls who died an untimely death due to the absence of proper medical care. The Soma Home is situated in the South of Kolkata, near an area called Tollygunge which is known as the more 'upmarket' part of town. One metro ride later, followed by one autorickshaw and a ten minute walk through a uniquely suburban area and I have arrived at a wide paved avenue. The avenue is lined with trees and the foot rickshaws have been upgraded with cycles. Urmi's squiggles have miraculously done the job and I am left facing a large peach coloured building and a varnished black gate. I ring the bell and a women emmerges. Her English matches my Bengali which means that it is only through a combination of hand signals and smiles that we are able to communicate. I am let into the Home and follow the noise of girls voices up the staircase. Immediately I am impressed by the decor. Seriously nice! Pastel colours mixed by inset Hindu shrines. The House Mother greets me. An older Bengali women, who politely smiles but who lets the girls do the entertaining. There are another three women there. Two young teachers, who are fashinably dressed, speak fantastic English and clearly part of Urmi's plan to provide suitable role models for the girls. They later tell me that they love working at the Soma Home and often come during their time off just to socialise with the girls. There is also another lady with the girls – one who has a remarkable presence. I later find out that she is a social worker. It soon becomes clear that New Light is doing everything in its power to prevent the girl's past from inhibiting their future.
The Soma Home has a powerful effect on me. For those of you who don't know – between the ages of eight and seventeen I lived in an insitution. It was a socially acceptable institution. Not an orphanage in the traditional sense, as it included children with parents, just those who for a variety of reason, decided that it was preferable for their children to grow up away from home. My school was the first and the last all girls boadring school in Scotland, and at the time extremely strict. I remember the early years as being particulaly 'cold.' The dorms were big, filled with beds, limited space for personal belongings and with no carpets underfoot or unncessary decorations. Food was controlled, freedom outside of the school grounds forbidden, every hour accounted for, living space shared with girls from a range of ages, and holidays during term time limited to one weekend once a month. I remember my first day, walking down the central staircase holding on to my mothers hand and looking at the approaching door, knowing that very soon I would be forced to let go and watch her disappear back into the outside world. The feeling of dread building up in me until I could no longer control it and tears spilling out of my young eyes. And then very soon, I became hardened to the routine. At the age of ten I would chastice the 'new' girls who still cried. By seventeen I was so 'independent' my father was confused about how to exercise the parental control he has unwittenly released nine years before. In contrast the girls at Soma Home seemed genuninely happy. The environment was relaxed and very comfortable and 'warm'. We laughed so much. The relations between the young and old girls seemed genuinely caring with many being sisters and the rest being freinds. What struck me the most was the confidence of the girls. They were polite and yet inquistive, and there was absolutely no sign of their background, but only a bursting of dreams to be realised. Girls told me of their boxing classes, Kathak dancing classes, English conversation classes and college applications. I asked if I could see some Kathak dancing and within minutes a space was cleared and five of the 'older' girls began with the opening prayer. The prayer was physical as well as verbal and the aim of which was to give thanks to their teacher, Guruji Pandit Chitresh Das who is a famous classical Indian dancer. Gurji teaches the girls whenever he is visiting from his Califonian home, but the girls continue to practice every day. The dancing is impressive, and with front row seats I sit there grinning as the girls coordinate their moves, stepping in time and speaking the impressive kathak chant which quickly pulls me into another world. The younger girls sit crossed legged next to me, necks bent backwards, eyes pointed up and whispering the sounds, clearly waiting to follow in their expert foot steps.
I am given a tour of the building by a group of girls who surround me like my own aura. Holding tightly onto my hands, and when one lets go another hand quickly moves to take its place. The dorm rooms each contain two bunk beds and a large wardrobe. I am shown the 'babies' bathroom with its tiny shower, knee high toilet and sink. I am shown the computer room, where the lights are turned off to reveal a ceiling full of glowing 'stars'. I am shown the beautifully decorated guest room, invited to jump on the bed, and then invited to stay. "Not tonight" I reply, but in reality I feel scared to stay. I am not sure what emotions and memories this place can evoke.
I leave happy, with shouts of "Good bye Aunty" chasing after me, and little hands refusing to let go and begging promises to return soon. "Turn left Aunty!" they shout through the veranda which they have all piled out onto. I retrace my steps, and smile at my lack of direction. I wave another goodbye and a Thank you. I will return. And next time I will bring some Magic to share with the Magic already shared...
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