'Never fall in love; if it comes to you, though, never let it go.'
I heard Manish tell me this at first, and I couldn't believe how powerful it felt.
I would have been a lot more empowered had I heard this before I came to Mumbai... However, I'm pretty sure it helped Deepika more than it would have helped me.
Deepika and I shared a common background: dysfunction within the family background because of our choices.
To us two, home was never where the heart is.
We saw the home as the building where it all took place.
We saw it as the building where walls refused to speak to us in fear of what they'd reveal; what they witnessed and heard.
To Deepika and I, the home was the roof over our heads we never cherished or felt safe under.
We both knew we never belonged under those roofs, and we had to wait for the moment where we'd be free from walls which saw the horrors inflicted upon us while we fought to keep manipulations away.
We were silent warriors who, deep down, understood that we were now, and forever, our own nurturing parents.
Deepika was responsible for the uprising of the Bachara tribe, who stood up to support her in the most shocking legal case India had experienced.
Everyone from the lower Dalit caste, especially the Bachara tribe, openly supported Deepika, the survivor of an atrocious honour killing she believed was orchestrated by her father and step-brother, who also were being sued by Deepika for the sudden disappearance of her mother.
By the time it was clear what Deepika had begun... I had learned that there was no separate law for honour killings. Anyone who was from a lower Dalit caste was never safe to decide who they were to settle down with.
Deepika made her hopes clear that if both her father and step-brother were convicted, that case would be used to create a new law against honour killings, ensuring people like Deepika were protected.
However… the political waves had begun getting serious.
She wasn't the only one whose voice made a whole nation wake up.
Many women from the Bachara tribe spoke up in support of Deepika, with fresh bravery for the acceptance of inter-caste marriages in India, while as the investigations continued, a whole nation was asking two important questions.
Where did Deepika's mother, who turned out to be from a lower Dalit caste all along, disappear to?
And, how is it that a whole country cannot protect the rights of one citizen, but can be responsible for its people's division because of skin colour, caste and cultural diversities?
***
Deepika's statement gave the judge some real shock waves the moment she said it.
"So many women in this society stay silent. I believe real justice for him and everyone who is Bachara is to fight the caste system, Your Honour. After what happened to both of us, we both closed our eyes. I opened mine, but AJ didn't."
Before the judge asked any question, she looked at Deepika in silence for a brief moment before writing something down.
"The last time I saw her was three weeks ago, Your Honour. I was still recovering from AJ's death." said Deepika, looking on as the judge wrote something down. "My father, before we were attacked, even said to me in anger, "Your death would make me even happier."
The moment the judge heard the last statement, even I saw that horrified look on her face.
The lawyer, too, looked at Deepika with serious concern.
"Are there any family relatives from your mother's side who are willing to support you in your case, Miss Deepika?" asked the judge.
"No, Your Honour," replied Deepika.
"And since it has been confirmed that it was indeed your own family members responsible for the street assault which resulted in the death of AJ, were there any secret meetings in the household before your mother's sudden disappearance?"
"Not that I know of, Your Honour," replied Deepika.
The judge continued to scribble something down as Deepika's lawyer handed her the file containing the police report of both the street assault, and Deepika's mother's disappearance.
Indian women across the country had begun demonstrating against gender based violence and honour killings the moment Deepika's mother's disappearance went public. Their demonstrations were centred on how Deepika's mother, a Bachara woman, went missing a few days after her own daughter got attacked in the street while in the company of her late boyfriend.
According to how she described it, Deepika, after waiting for a long time, realized her mother, who had texted her about wanting to see her in Mumbai urgently, wasn't going to show.
She tried to call her on the phone, and that's when she became worried, for there was no single day her mother's phone was off.
On the last night she went home, Deepika found her father lying on the veranda, as usual, blind drunk to even notice how the mosquitoes buzzed around his body. As Deepika told me about her father's alcoholic addiction, I couldn't help but remember how I was always woken up by my own uncles as they entered the house at three a.m. after a night at the pub, only for my late grandmother to be so upset she'd just shut the door and go back to bed, knowing she had three more hours of sleep before she had to rise up with the rays of the sun, knowing she had thermos flasks of porridge and hotpots of chapattis to sell to construction workers.
It was strange how drunks in Mumbai weren't so different from African drunks who preyed on the shillings earned from women like my late grandmother for a satisfactory night at the pub, snubbing the bitter reprisals they knew they'd get to hear upon opening the gate at three a.m.
In Deepika's case, however, something about her mother didn't add up.
She wasn't in the house that day she went missing, and she wasn't answering her phone.
Her mother disappeared with a secret which would have destroyed the foundations of her already dysfunctional family.
After a moment of silence, the judge said, "Considering that yes, Deepika Chauhan's mother was a Bachara woman, it is very unfortunate how the colour of someone's skin still remains an avenue to gauge the identity and productivity of an Indian. Which is why I will continue to preside over this case, and now that the arrest warrants have been made official, I will ensure that Deepika has found justice not just for her dead boyfriend, but also for her mother, should the worst be confirmed."
The lawyer came to Deepika and whispered something in her left ear.
It has always been a mystery to me, whatever the lawyer said to her, but one thing was for sure.
I have never forgotten how much Deepika's face lit up.
***
"...We begin this news bulletin with a shocking story of how a young Indian woman by the name of Deepika Chauhan has sued her father Rahul Balakerjee, and step-brother Zahir Bahadur for the sudden disappearance of her mother Kareena Balakerjee Chauhan, and the ferocious demise of her boyfriend Ajay Vivek. Three weeks before the Navratri Festival began, Deepika and Ajay were viciously attacked on the road while doing their shopping. Both of them sustained grievous injuries, and on the way to the hospital, Ajay Vivek, a dark-skinned Indian from the lower Dalit caste, succumbed to his injuries, which included deep cuts on the left side of his neck…"
"As the Navratri Festivals continue, there has been a massive turnout of Indians from the lower Dalit caste outside the Supreme Court, where the arrest warrant was officially issued against Rahul Balakerjee, and Zahir Bahadur, whose whereabouts are now unknown. If convicted, both Rahul and Zahir will face the death penalty. The government understands the fact that since Zahir is missing, the security of Miss Deepika has been taken seriously by the Judiciary…"
As I saw the news story, I didn't have to be told how much of a security risk Deepika's step-brother was.
Kenya didn't have death penalties, to my knowledge, however you didn't need to be in jail to face sudden death from an orchestrated hit.
The moment the news story was aired, Deepika Chauhan knew there was no going back.
Whatever ties she ever had with the Balakerjee or Bahadur family, she understood they were now completely severed, and any other family member was going to be horrified by the turn of events.
For the first time in Indian history, there was a massive turnout of dark-skinned Indians from the lower Dalit caste, outside the Supreme Court of Mumbai, where Deepika, in the company of a well-groomed lawyer, established the case and made sure an arrest warrant was issued for both her father Rahul, and her step-brother Zahir, whose whereabouts were unknown since Deepika's mother went missing, and her boyfriend AJ succumbed to injuries from the brutal honour killing.
It was still disturbing how something as powerful as love made people view it as a threat; especially since an increase in inter-caste marriages led to no more caste boundaries.
I thought about how in Kenya, ethnic divides made people look at each other from very divisive perspectives, especially when it was election time.
It scared me how loving someone who, in India, was declared 'an untouchable' just because they were as black as I was, made family ties get severed, and poisonous beliefs resulted in decisions which even cost innocent people their lives.
Deepika wasn't an untouchable, but was sick and tired of divisive beliefs which continued to put more people in danger, simply because they were in love with each other. I truly admired her courage and willpower in making these decisions, for no family member stood by her, and when her mother tried to, she went missing, feared dead by just about everyone who supported Deepika.
Her father Rahul was arrested in a temple shortly after the news story broke out; it seemed he hadn't seen the news, but Zahir did.
As Rahul was held in custody, a small, white scooter went down the road, overtaking an overcrowded bus.
The person riding the scooter had only one destination in mind as his scooter hummed in the journey.
***
PALANI, TAMIL NADU.
"My father's been jailed without proof, and it makes me sick thinking about it," mumbled Zahir as he looked outside the window.
"Relatives are just asking us why we let her live when she has run away like that," asked the old woman.
"All she's doing is giving unnecessary speeches, we can't even go to the temple anymore. They're weaving stories around this and just giving her ideas."
"That's true, Zahir," she replied. "They all know about us. Besides, I always warned your father not to settle down with that woman," said the old woman, going through a photo album from a couch she was lying on. "From what I've heard from your uncle, your father seems very worried about you."
"I'm not surprised," replied Zahir, turning around to see her with a family album. "It's better if we commit suicide. The shame is unacceptable."
"I told your father to stop her education after she reached her tenth grade; that's enough for our caste," said the old woman. "She lost her logic the moment she went to college in Mumbai."
After a moment of silence, she looked on at a picture from years long past, and asked Zahir, "Who do you see here?"
Without so much as a blink in his eye, Zahir covered Deepika's part of the picture, saying, "I only see him."
The old woman, who turned out to be Deepika and Zahir's grandma, covered two people with both hands, saying, "For the community to accept us, we had to cut all ties with both of them."
"At her next rally, we'll burn ourselves to death in solidarity of our family," she said in a tone which cemented her certainty. "She shouldn't be giving speeches again. She can only get respect if she stops her speeches."