Following interview of Bahen Mariyam Cementwala, USA, by Mudar Patherya

 I have retinitis pigmentosa, which means that for all practical purposes I am visually handicapped. I just can’t see.

One struggles. One adjusts. One fights.  One succeeds.

This could well be the sory of my life. While most individuals in my position would have concluded that it would be better to remain sedentary, I studied, migrated, worked, stayed single. If you don’t think blindness is a big deal, then it doesn’t matter. Believe me.

For instance, I stayed in a dorm in Berkeley, took a train from  Bakersfield to Middleberry (Vermont), studied Arabic for nine weeks, moved from Vermont to Alabama to Louisana, returned to Berkeley, rented an apartment, went to Ireland on scholarship (was kicked out of an apartment because of my disability!), went to Israel and Palestine on human rights research, returned home to Bakersfield for the first time in five years, went to Oslo to speak at the Rehab International general assembly, passed the California Bar, worked for a judge in Hawaii and then for two law firms. Alone.

I mean no parent, no chaperone, no guide, no maid, no ‘someone to hold my hand to the station’, no ‘someone to read me an email’ etcetera. People think this is dangerous; I think it is liberating.

 In this exciting existence, Huzurala has come into the story of my life on a number of occasions. However, I will – for reasons of brevity – point out three at the top of my recall.

1. Huzurala came into my story on 12 January 2000 – my mother’s saalgirah, dad’s birthday and my parents’ wedding anniversary – when I arranged a small party of friends and relatives in Mumbai to commemorate the coincidence. We generally had a great time. Since my grandfather is buried in Charni Road, I went there for ziyarat the following day. While there, I was hit in the eye by a nail protruding from a pole. The pain was shooting, the eye had become a ball and we all concluded that urgent medical attention would be necessary. We left for our place in Bandra immediately after. It was a usual taxi journey…. Stray thoughts, silence and sleep. And then a thought flashed: “Would Huzurala have left Saifee Mahal for the masjid?” I felt it would be prudent to get home first and then submit an araz for shifaa but the next thing I ‘saw’ was Huzurala on my left. I mean, I was still in the taxi so this was an out-of-body experience. And I submitted “Aarefo hu wa yaarefoni (I know him and he knows me).”  Then Huzurala said “Padho!” and on this other plane I recited the madehs ‘Anjum teri jabhat pe fida par bhi qamar bhi’ followed by a marsiya and then a madeh for Huzurala’s tool-ul-umr. Then Huzurala said “Rou” and I – inspired by the vision of what I was ‘seeing’ - wept. Literally. Tears and more tears washed down my face. Then Huzurala said, “Tamey khush thayaa?” Gradually the left eye (hurt) opened and Maula’s image faded.

 “Dad!” I turned hysterical. He woke from his motion-induced slumber. “What?!” I exclaimed, “My eye! My eye! Look at my eye! The pain is milder. The swelling…the swelling, it’s gone!” Dad directed: “Gaari ghumaao. Chalo Bhendi Bazar!”

There was a Bunaiyyat finction in progress. We told Shehzada Malek-ul-ashtar bhaisaheb the sequence. He asked us to wait at a specific point inside Raudat Tahera. Huzurala came. He saw me standing. He came close. I ‘saw’ his presence. I felt his breath across my face. Then he said, “Kaaley tamaaari maut likhi hati pun tamey tamaara maa-baap ne ghana khush keedha aney beeja logo ni bhi dua leedhi. Tamaari maut tali gayi.”

And then he was gone.

2. In 2003, I was invited to Palestine and Israel for human rights research on the condition of women Palestinian prisoners. I was strongly advised against; political observers said the place had become too dangerous; my parents said that it would be risky enough for a single woman American, forget the handicap; the concerned Aamil saheb said it would be futile even putting in an arzi; the reports were of frequent bombings. We went ahead regardless, asked Huzurala and promptly came the reply ‘Raza chhey!” The research went off like a dream.

 3. I worked hard – 20 hours a day, seven days a week, seven weeks followed by 16 hour days for 30 days - to pass and join the California Bar. I got two job offers. One from a law firm located in California (home state) and another from a law firm based in Washington DC (rated number three law firm in the capital). The job profile was a little relaxed in the former and considerably more demanding in the latter. The general opinion was that I should stay back in California for reasons of family, proximity and familiarity. So we asked Huzurala. And he replied, “Washington DC.”

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