Fit In, Stand Out, Walk: Shailini Sheth Amin Encourages Purposeful Living

Coming from her own journey as an orphaned child in Mumbai to an award-winning sustainability warrior Fit In, Stand Out, Walk: Stories from a Pushed Away Hill by Shailini Sheth Amin is a collection of heartfelt stories told through Neelima’s eyes taking through her life's ups and downs and striving to find her footing in a world that's always changing. From nothing to inherit and no one to inherit from, these stories share the grit and conviction of women to build their own legacy and pass on more than the material wealth.

 

In this anthology, her tale inspires all, even those facing their toughest moments, leaving a lasting impact on the power of relationships, love, and grief. With a unique and fresh perspective and a personal voice, Fit In, Stand Out, Walk is perhaps a meaningful contribution to women’s storytelling literature which delves into topics such as identity, isolation, and survival, crafting a rich narrative that spans across generations and geographical boundaries.

Here's an excerpt from Shailini Sheth Amin's Fit In, Stand Out, Walk

The Hanging Gardens, a beautiful garden high up, built on steps acing the Arabian Sea, is located in the posh area of Malabar Hills,Mumbai. It is a much-loved location for the Mumbaikars and tourists, as well as the residents of this area for decades. Approachable from south Mumbai, young families, couples, elders, and children come there morning, evening, and all day. They come to sit in peace and tranquility, to read, to meet, to walk, to play, to do exercises, or to have picnics with friends and family. They enjoy the fresh air, the beauty of old and luxuriant trees and plants, and green lawns. One can see the majestic Arabian Sea stretched to the horizon on the other side. One can see Girgaon, Chaupati, Marine Drive, Nariman Point, and many other attractive, scenic locations from this height.

One evening, such as any other, a man came to that garden with a baby girl clinging on to his hands. The child could just about walk. For quite some time, they played merry-go-round, hide-and-seek, and Roly Poly like any other family. When it started getting hazy, the man melted away; no one knew where. He just vanished in the dense greenery or in the deep sea! The baby girl continued to play for some time and then started looking everywhere. Not finding him, she began to cry. A gardener saw her, and he had seen her playing with the man before. He, too, started looking for the man. He gave her some water and waited for somebody to come for her. No one did.

By late evening, when the policeman came on his rounds, the gardener handed over this crying girl. The policeman took her to a children’s remand home in Mumbai. The caretaker lady took in the child and made her entry in the register. The next day, the little girl’s name was entered in the ‘Lost Children’ list. In Mumbai, many lost children would be brought to this Remand Home every day. In a short time, the parents would come, bewildered, baffled, and crying. They may have lost their child in a train, in a temple queue, in the market, or while just walking on a busy street. Sometimes the child may have been kidnapped and had somehow escaped. The crying parents would identify their child, shower him/her with hugs, kisses, and tears, and would take their child back home. No one came to look for his baby girl nor pick her up. She was not lost; she was abandoned.

Days passed. A lady used to visit the home now and again. She would meet the superintendent, caretakers, administrators, and the children. Sometimes she would interview them. She used to see this little girl. Her playfulness and smile were infectious. She could not stop playing with her. Every time she would ask the superintendent if the girl’s parents or anyone else had come looking for her, but there was no such news nor any information about her parents.

The lady was Surabhi Jhaveri. While studying for her Master’s degree in sociology at Bombay University, she used to visit several such homes. Her research focus was on juvenile children and why they commit crimes. Her love for this girl overwhelmed her; with full awareness and deep understanding as a researcher, Surabhi decided to adopt this little girl.

Surabhi told her family. “I would like to adopt this baby girl I see at Remand Home.” By now, the little girl had been given the name. She was named Nila. Surabhi shared what she knew so far about Nila, which was very little. Surabhi was twenty-eight years old at the time. Gajiben had tears in her eyes. “So far, you have refused to get married, but I had hopes!” Now this says that you have no interest in getting married! “And if that is what you really want, do it, Surabhi, dear!” Behenji said, “You know what you want, Surabhi, and know your responsibility well. If you really want to bring the girl home, it is fine.”

According to Indian laws at the time, an unmarried person was not allowed to adopt a child. But in Surabhi’s case, because of her work in the field, her experience, and by her agreement to some extra conditions, adoption of a child was granted. The additional conditions included regular home visits by appointed officers and official reporting till the child reached a certain age.

Sometime later, Surabhi brought this girl to their flat on Marine Drive As the door opened, the family came to see them. Behenji, with a smile on her face, stroked the baby girl’s head and cheeks. Gajiben saw her, picked her up, and gave a big hug. Pashi Ba said, “A very good soul has come to our house.” Mangu pulled both her pink, chubby cheeks. They were all delighted to see the sweet child.

It was shocking to find burn marks on both her wrists and on her left cheek. It looked like someone had put a hot steel bar on her cheek. To see this child, probably less than a year-and-a-half old, hurt in such a way was unbearable. What could have happened? Who could this girl be, and who would be her parents? How could anyone hurt this little girl? Who could be the man who left her in the garden, and what terrible circumstances would have led him to abandon her? Where could her mother be? These and many other questions remained unanswered. At the Remand Home, they used to call her Nila. Behenji and Surabhi decided to name her Neelima. They began to call her Neela.

It is slowly becoming acceptable for an unmarried woman to become a single mother, by giving birth or by adoption. In the 1950s, for an unmarried Gujarati woman to adopt a child was something that could almost be not done. Surabhi chose not to get married, even though there was a line of interested suitors. The reason for it I never found out. And she chose to become a single mother. That conviction, that self-determination Surabhi had because she was unmarried, she gave her father’s name to Neelima as her surname, which would make her my elder sister. That made things less complicated, at least on paper. I, Neelima, was accepted as her younger sister, and I called her Motiben-Big Sister.

The die was cast.

Extracted with permission from Shailini Sheth Amin's Fit In, Stand Out, Walk