The Truth About The Women In The Habit
And the unforgivable sins they committed.
Raised as a Roman Catholic, I spent all my life studying in a girls’ convent school in New Delhi, India. I worked in close quarters with the nuns.
My broken Catholic family was blasphemous in their eyes. They punished me by eroding whatever self-worth I had left. But it was not until I lived with them, that they caused permanent damage.
For higher studies, my mother sent me to a pristine hill station, close to the Himalayas. This was equal to a paradise on earth to a writer and musician like me.
The chilly air, misty nights, and beautiful scenery kept my poetic thoughts fleeting, and my eager fingers writing.
I was on a concession at the college. My mother, a single parent could not afford their hefty fees. And that is why I had to be a slave to their wants.
I graced the chapel with my voice every single day for mass at 6 am. Was dragged to the rosary after supper. While everyone else dressed up and went out on the weekend, I was to remain within the four walls of the convent. I had to live in poverty, even without vowing to be a nun.
But, there were women, poorer than me. They were girls dropped in front of a branch of the convent in Delhi, by lower caste poor parents.
They called themselves orphans, but their parents were still alive. They chose to take responsibility for a boy, considered a better investment.
A wall hanging on the convent read
Nothing is more impressive than a woman who is secure in the unique way God made her
These girls were abandoned before having known a God. They were given no affection to have a sense of security. They needed love more than anything else. Instead, they were thrust with expectations without being appreciated.
Sisters adopted them to remedy their maternal instinct. But they fulfilled only half their duty. They were not allowed to keep them in the hostel when the college was off, which was at least for 6 months a year.
At such times, they had to live with families in the capital who hosted them in return for housework. The married men in the house preyed on these helpless girls, who had no voice at all.
I remember three such women. To me, they were the form of precipitation that engulfed those beautiful hills, at different times of the day.
Reetu (name changed) — the mist over the dawn
Before the first rays of the sun hit, this nonchristian shouted my name through the windows. She was my natural alarm clock before mass.
One of the nuns in the convent adopted her. She was eager to dedicate her life to Jesus like her Mother-Sister. But rules of the nunnery forbade a girl born in another caste from entering. She was a Brahmin (the highest caste in Hinduism), with parents still alive.
Nor could she live in the hostel when the college was off. The man of the family she lived with had tried to rape her in the middle of the night. Reetu had no choice but to return to the same parents who abandoned her.
They took her in for financial reasons, but she remained weak. She had no say in the household affairs. Men in her family beat her to get their way.
Despite that, she continued to stay in the matchbox-sized room in a slum, with no toilet. Women had to line up mornings to use the unhygienic public loo or suffer abuse when they ventured out in the night.
The convent sent most of these orphan girls to its Hindi-medium branch for schooling. The English-medium branch would not accept them. Higher studies but were in English.
Reetu forced me to talk to her in English. In three years, she was as fluent as I was. She worked at a call center at night and in the school during the day, still not making enough to have her own place.
Eager to get out of the hell she was living in, she jumped at the first way out . He was an illiterate person belonging to the lowest caste and living in the same rut. She married him against her parent’s wishes. Other classes considered the Dalits or lower class as untouchables.
She could never rest. She single-handedly built a house and bought a car that is not paid for yet.
The first government job paid her nothing for five years. The nuns had submitted wrong paperwork which withheld the salary of eight such girls.
With debts piling up, Reetu left her teaching job and her family to go abroad to work as an au-pair. Now with the lockdown in place, her husband has lost his menial job. Reetu has lost the option to earn a stronger currency.
The two, and her now 10-year old son struggle to make ends meet. But Reetu still remains the mist over the dawn, providing nourishment to all, even in times of drought.
Rinku (name changed) — The star of the night
Every night after the lights were out, I lay on my bunk bed and gazed at the moon and the twinkling stars. They seemed closer from the top-most tier of my bunk. It was then that Rinku crept and nestled her cold self next to me. Her eyes were always wet with tears.
Rinku and Meena, a set of twin girls were so tiny that they could fit in a regular cloth bag. Their traitors hung them at the main entrance of the girl’s convent, where Reetu was left too. They were weak. But they made it.
Rinku and Meena were inseparable. They laughed and cried together. They felt the same feelings and leaned on each other for support.
To successfully survive the process of puberty, a teenager needed more parental affection. This was impossible in their case. The women who took care of them were already barren.
They started discovering one another at an early age. Their addiction to each other’s bodies fulfilled their lifelong need for caress. They dreamt realistic dreams of finding a job in the same school, teaching the kids, and sharing a room.
The nuns notice everything even with eyes reverently shut. They took away from them the only solace they had — each other’s company.
Instead of granting them therapy, they exhibited their secret. Others were to keep an eye out for them. Rinku was shifted to my room, with two other girls who did not want to have anything to do with her.
Reetu who knew these girls from the start told me their story. Rinku did not want to talk about it, as if she did, no one would understand. Whenever I could, I offered her a hug. But she needed more than that. She needed her soulmate — the gift God had sent for her in her mother’s womb.
Meena (name changed) — The heat in the desert
Meena, Rinku’s twin, was as rare as the heat in the hills. The only time I have actually interacted with her was while dining in the mess together.
Separation from Rinku had made her suicidal. The nuns had caught her many times attempting to cut her veins. Even then, they did not let Rinku even glance at her sister.
They removed every sharp object from her room. But she always found something to make her sleep longer and escape reality.
One time, she woke up after one full day. Her mattress wet with blood and pee she had excreted. This was the last restful sleep she got in the hostel.
The next day they sent her away. The heatwave seldom experienced left, leaving behind a Rinku cold and numb.
Her constant mourning left me helpless. I stopped looking her in the eye, attending to personal goals I had forgotten.
In the pitch-black corridors
Unlike men who could only concentrate on sex and be gone, girls touched, talked, and climaxed.
After lights were out at 10, in the cold, coal-black rooms, started the real action.
Hushed voices chanted mantras beckoning ghosts.
Whirring vibrators uplifted souls forlorn.
Under the cozy blankets, quintessential hot water bottles warmed frigid feet. Another set of feet, released plaintive cries of pleasure.
Neither my plugged ears nor the brainwashing in the convent could die down their lust. Yes, not even for those who had decided to dedicate their lives to Jesus.
Parents of poor South-Indian families gave their girls only two options. When one girl child chose to become a nurse, the other had to give her life to God.
Some young nuns gave into temptation. They explored curious bodies underneath those sexy habits. They pulled tight socks down to climb up the ladder to ecstasy.
Those caught were expelled. One such ex-nun is now married and sings backing tracks for South-Indian Bollywood movies.
But there were exceptions
Tall, slender, Miss World in her time. Her dignified poise and lioness’s stride made heads turn.
She convinced me to complete my bachelor’s in English when I was all set to leave for Amsterdam as an au-pair.
“An au pair is a dignified maidservant. You will regret it. You are a singer. If you join the convent, I will send you to Rome. You sing all you want for the Lord”.
I had a clear mind to pay heed to her advice. But another Irish nun, who I adored said,
“When you go out these doors, there is a big bad world. Even if you decide to get married, make sure you never have sex without the need to procreate. It is a sin.”
Her words frightened me. I still use God’s gift and sing in the church, on the street, for the old, for the new, but not for the Lord, for myself.
The pride of the peacock is the glory of God. The lust of the goat is the bounty of God. The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God. The nakedness of woman is the work of God.
William Blake
Shireen is an avid writer, budding Opera singer, apprentice nurse in Germany, wildlife rehabilitator, dog sitter, dog walker, walker…. Jack of all trades and master of one — Mother to two children aged 7 and 9!
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