BENGALURU : I was breathing. But now that I had seen my face I had become even more withdrawn. I wouldn’t even eat unless I was forced to eat by Ammi. I stopped drinking water unless it was poured down my throat by Gulshan. I lay in bed all day and when I sat up, I simply stared at the wall. Words seemed distant and my depression became glaringly obvious to those around me.
Aizaz was worried about my future medical care. I knew he was, because in our one-room home, I could easily eavesdrop. One day I overheard my brothers talking about the multiple surgeries I would need, and they did not know how or where to arrange the money from. Abba had struggled enough and, my brothers, both of whom had jobs, wanted to help him financially.
Riyaz was still a taxi driver, but Aizaz was working in a company. To contribute towards my medical costs, Aizaz took up a job that paid him five thousand rupees more than the last one. Borrowing money was no longer an option, because even our network of supporters came from limited means and Abba already owed friends and family lakhs of rupees.
My brothers asked a close relative for help during this uncertain time. She is a dearly loved relative and I have chosen to not reveal her identity due to the events that unfolded next. When she asked her husband to lend us money for my treatment, he became indignant and told her to cut off all ties with our family, calling us ‘immoral’.
Such an injunction would seem irrational to a sound mind. This man, however, must have been conditioned to believe that insanity was rational. He refused to help us and unleashed his wrath on my relative, his wife. He believed that I must have done something wrong to instigate a ‘good man like Jamaluddin’ to attack me. ‘Girls nowadays are really chalu. I don’t know why Gulshan isn’t supporting her husband. The whole family must have twisted minds. He obviously knew something about her that we don’t.’
He was, in essence, implying that I was at fault. Perhaps I was having an affair with a man who could taint my family’s image and Jamaluddin was simply trying to protect our family’s honour?I overheard the conversation and closed my eyes in disgust. I was so affected by this man’s words that I stopped feeling hurt altogether. I became numb. Even my emotional barometer has its constraints.
I couldn’t for the life of me comprehend why I had been attacked in the first place. I was just seventeen. I went to school, wore the hijab by choice, and had never even had a boyfriend. I had never spoken to Jamaluddin or his family except when conveying my regards at formal gatherings. I suppose I was attacked because I was the youngest daughter of the family and possibly the best target for revenge.
A woman’s worth in my country, and in so many places around the world, is often judged by her looks and her ability and willingness to be a dutiful wife and mother. By charring me alive, I think Jamaluddin believed he had insulted my entire family, especially his wife. By attacking me, I think Jamaluddin believed he had somehow tainted my social standing.
That no matter where I went, people would shun me and my family, labelling me immoral, or why else would I have brought upon myself such an attack? Now I could never find a husband and settle down.Being Reshma: The Extraordinary Story of an Acid-Attack Survivor Who Took the World by Storm by Reshma Qureshi with Tania Singh excerpted with permission from Pan Macmillan India.