Status update: I AM HOME

In the year 2000,when Ankush was nine,his father,Ramesh Domale,a steel factory worker,died of ill-health. The monthly widows pension of Rs 450 given to his mother,Hemalata,was the familys only income. In order to make ends meet,she had to rent out two rooms on the first floor of their house. Thus,Hemalata,Ankush,and his younger brother,Santosh,then seven years old,had to cramp themselves up in the lone room downstairs.

But the loss of his father hit Ankush harder than anything else. I was very close to my father. When he died,all I wanted to do was run away. I didnt want to live in a place that reminded me of him, he says. While Ankush was close to his father,Santosh would cling to his mother,and the two brothers would often fight. He was close to mother. And that made me feel very lonely,especially after a quarrel, he says. To fight off such negative thoughts,Ankush started spending more time outside home. He was a very quiet child. Whenever we would go to a relations place,he would not leave me. We had to force him to go and play with other children. He would never wander off anywhere,and was deeply religious. Even though we are non-vegetarian,he would only eat vegetables. But his fathers death changed him completely. He started roaming around with friends and began coming home late. But he would always return, says Hemalata.

Except for one evening in February 2002,when Ankush did not return. He had borrowed his uncles bike and rammed it into another vehicle. The enraged uncle beat him up. Hemalata talks of that fateful night,I was very upset. We were already reeling from financial difficulties,and then my brother came and complained about Ankush damaging his bike. In a fit of rage,I asked my son to get out,and threw at him the Rs 50 note that I was holding. But I never thought he would not return.

Ankush did not have dinner at home,so he bought vada pav at a stall with the money. There,he met a Sikh truck driver,with whom he shared his story. The driver offered to drive him back home,but Ankush refused. So,the driver took him to Nanded,and left him at the Gurdwara Langar Sahib,instructing him to stay there for his safety. I ate and slept at the gurdwara for two days. Then,Baba Balwinder Singh,the in-charge of the shrine,gave me a white kurta and pyjama,and a 2.5-metre cloth for a pagdi. Some months later,I converted to Sikhism and baba changed my name to Gurubaj Singh, he says.

Religion is not the only thing that has changed about Ankush. He speaks Punjabi fluently,and talks in Marathi with a Punjabi accent. With no regrets about his life,he misses the lush fields and butter-dipped rotis of Punjab. And when he recalls his 11 years in exile from his home,he does so with excitement. At the gurdwara,our day would start at 3 am and end late at night. I would work at the langar (common kitchen) and load sand into trucks. All this helped build my body,and even look like a Punjabi. All around me,people always talked about Punjab. I was fascinated by their tales, he says. Such was his fascination that Ankush volunteered to travel to the state with a devotee who was going there for two months. After much pestering,baba allowed me to go. Thats how I landed in Moga,a small town in Punjab, he says.

There,Ankush started working at the local gurdwara under Baba Karnail Singh. Life was easy,and there was a lot to eat. I was given the task of collecting milk from all the houses and bringing it to the gurdwara. Since I was very good at my work,they began to truly accept me as one of them, he says. Ankush,too,began fully accepting his new identity. When the devotee who brought me to Moga was returning to Nanded,he offered to take me back with him,but I refused. Thankfully,Baba Karnail Singh agreed. He wanted me to study,but I was not interested. In Moga,I learnt everything,from driving tractors and trucks to catching snakes. I was also the youngest person there, says Ankush,with a sense of achievement.

Meher Singh,who used to look after the langar at the Moga gurdwara,says Ankush was a child who did a mans work. He was obedient and religious. Nobody ever complained about him, says Singh. But Ankush also worked hard out of fear. I was alone and was afraid that if I didnt work,I would be asked to leave, he says. He later shifted to the nearby Khosakotla village,where he met his best friend,Harjeet. We met at the local gurdwara. After he would finish school,we would roam around together. We both watched movies and TV at his home. He was five years younger than me,and sometimes reminded me of Santosh, says Ankush.

Harjeet introduced Ankush to mobile phones and Facebook. In between all of this,Ankush fell for a girl,whom he couldnt marry because he didnt have a family to ask for her hand. Did that make him feel homesick? Not even once. I was happy to be away from home even in such distressed times, he says. If Ankush never felt homesick,his family in Pune never made any serious attempt to trace him either. They didnt even lodge a missing complaint with the police. We only asked our relatives to find where he was, says his mother. But why did they not file a police complaint? Neither Hemalata nor Santosh give a clear answer.

But fate would unite them. On the night of July 21 this year,Ankush fought with someone. I couldnt sleep after the quarrel. Through the night,it reminded me of Santosh. We used to fight all the time. So I logged in to Facebook just to pass time. Suddenly,it struck me that Santosh may have an account too,though I had been using the social network for three years. So,I typed his name and there he was. I could recognise him in his picture. I sent him a message,in which I gave my number and asked him to call me. I had tears in my eyes when I saw his profile, he says.

Santosh,too,was awake that night. He had read the message at 1 am. At first,he didnt believe it. I thought it was a prank. Here was a Punjabi guy with a beard and pagdi,saying I was his brother. But then,he had also messaged in Marathi. So,I asked my mother if she could recognise him. She spotted the cut marks on his face that he had as a child. I immediately called him on the number he had given,and heard his voice for the first time in 11 years. We spoke for two hours, says Santosh,who missed Ankush a lot all these years.

While Ankush had escaped from the life of struggle that visited the family after their fathers death,Santosh had to endure hardship. I had to start working at a young age,as the responsibility of running the house fell on me. My studies,thus,suffered, says Santosh,who runs a stationery shop,besides pursuing a B.Com degree.

Ankush and Santosh look and speak differently one with a beard and a Punjabi drawl,the other clean-shaven and speaking Marathi and Bambaiyya Hindi,one carefree,the other serious. But they are both shy,soft-spoken and love travelling and watching movies. They now plan to support each other. He will run the shop,and I will study, says Santosh,as Ankush nods in agreement.

Hemalata is disappointed that Ankush didnt study. My husband wanted him to study and get a government job. But whatever happens,happens for a reason. My son has returned as a better human being, she says.

Ankushs change of religion had also jolted his mother,but she now sees it as a blessing in disguise. I was very angry at that driver who took him to the Nanded gurdwara. But then I thought of all the possibilities that could have happened. My son could have been kidnapped and forced to work in factories. Or worse still,he could have been maimed and forced to beg. So,I thank god that he landed up in a gurdwara instead, she says.

For Ankush,Punjab will always be the most beautiful place I have ever seen. But Pune is home. And he doesnt want to return to the state. But he will keep two souvenirs from his 11-year journey: he will remain a Sikh and keep his new name,Gurubaj Singh.