The free bird leaps
On the back of the wind
And floats downstream
Till the current ends
And dips his wings
In the orange sun rays
And dares to claim the sky
But a bird that stalks
Down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through
His bars of rage
His wings are clipped and
His feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.
Maya Angelou
The sultry night of 19th August, 2017 seemed like any other night at the girls’ hostel. As always, the girls would assemble, the roll call would take place, announcements, if any, would be made, and then they would proceed to their respective rooms, like sheep being herded to their pens. As they crowded around the hostel door, they would hear the metallic clang of the bolt falling into place and the ominous click of the lock being turned. The two sounds that signalled the end of the daily dose of freedom that was measured out and rationed to them.
Except, the sultry night of 19th August, 2017 was not like any other night at the girls’ hostel. As we stood there, yawning, scratching our ears, shuffling and fidgeting, mentally counting down the minutes to when we’d be let free ( freedom, here, being the chance to retreat to the “safety” of our rooms), we were told, in as nonchalant a manner as anyone could possibly deliver such life-changing news in, that we weren’t inmates anymore. Yes, inmates. Being locked up every night tends to make a place seem more like a prison than a home. I suppose, we should be glad that they condescended to call us by our names instead of numbers. That would have stripped us of our identities along with our freedom.
We were told that the gates of the girls hostel would be closed no longer. They would be wide open, no matter the time of day. Or night.
All of us eagerly flocked to the gates, some shedding tears of incredulous happiness, some excitedly broadcasting the news to the world, some still too bewildered to realise what was happening, all of us thanking that one unknown angel who took matters into her/his own hands and made something that once seemed like a distant dream, a reality. Our reality.
It is sad that what is essentially a basic right, seems like a privilege. But, when one has been deprived of something for so long, one doesn’t question a gift like this. For all our happiness and excitement at the prospect of having the freedom to stretch our legs outside the immediate vicinity of our hostel and beyond the dreadful confines of the gate that we have all come to hate, some of us may still not stay out for very long. Some may not step out after the roll call, at all. And that is their choice. The freedom to decide is all we ever asked for,the freedom to decide for ourselves, what we want and what is best for us. Having a choice in the matter will make all the difference. Let us hope that this is a harbinger of happy times.
This write up was submitted by Samyukta Menon (III Year)
