My name is Kamla. When I was 7, I often wished it was Sarla or something else- anything that did not start with a K sound. I was born in a village near Badkot in Yamuna valley. Kamla or Kamli is a very common name for girls in my village.

I dont remember having any problem till seven. 'There goes Kamli- There, kamli smiles..etc.' This is how neighbors and older children would talk about me. Whatever I did filled them with such joy. I remember I even pulled my bubu's long moustache once. He just laughed. People in my village are very simple and good.

I was sent to our village school when I was about seven. I remember Vimla behen ji when she took me to the class, first day by hand. Bubu (father) had left me at the tumbled down gate of the school and had returned home. This little class had about 30 children. This is a big number because our village is quite small, just about hundred and fifty families. Even these children belonged to three different classes- Nursery, class one and two. Quiet a few faces were familiar to me. But when Behen ji asked me to tell my name, I dont know what happened. Everything slowed down and came to a halt: everything including thirty little faces were waiting; the room, wind blowing through pine trees outside the room, that little gharat (water-mill) which we had to cross while coming to school daily- everything stopped and waited for my answer. I felt a little burning on my face- as if thirty pair of eyes stuck on your face could actually burn you.. Something rose within, in response to this expectation of children and the teacher. An uncomfortable feeling when you wretch and are about to throw up. I swallowed and made another attempt to say my name- my lips came close, tongue went up to roof of the mouth and air began coming out- but no sound came. I stopped to breath again and made a third try. I was excited, worried, and felt bad about keeping everyone waiting. I struggled, used more force and finally it came out like a little explosion- KKKK-KK-Kamla! Then, I took a deep breath of relief. Some children snickered at the back. Some faces in the front showed surprise- and some, just relief, like mine. And then I turned in time to catch the expression on my teacher's face. I had never seen an expression like that in my little life. I think it was a mixture of surprise, pain, fear, anguish – as if she feared that she will be held responsible for the fit I was having in her class!

But it went away as suddenly as it came. Next moment everything – including time- went back to normal. I could hear the birds outside. The gharat. The wind. The children. They moved to make space for me in that little room.

Few days later, another new child joined the class and he asked my name during recess: I started normally to say my name and suddenly a fear arose, God knows from where, and I froze- Will I be able to say Kamla? Before I could decide, I had blurted out : Sarla! Of course Sarla was another girl in our own village but what did it matter? The problem was solved. At least for the time being.

There was another boy in the class, with big eyes, who used to look at my face steadily whenever I spoke. I thought he liked me that is why he stole glances at my face, whenever I was talking to other girls. Later, I realise that whenever he spoke, his lips, and sometime jaws too trembled a little bit. Sometime he would simply stop in the middle of a sentence- take a breath and start all over again. Sometime his face will go in spasm, as he would struggle with words. In the recess, once I tried to make friend with him, but he ran away. Later I realised, that stutterers often keep away from other stutterers. Wonder why?

I was of course teased in school; dealing with boys was easy; Once I just mentioned to the teacher that so-and-so boy was teasing me; fortunately she never asked me to elaborate- because talking about my stuttering and related teasing would have been very difficult. But behen ji called the boy, and asked him to carry all the fuel wood for the school kitchen from the forest to the school as punishment!

But teasing from the girls was a different matter. It was subtle, cruel and often in presence of other girls. Even teachers did not seem to care about it. It was a 'girlish' matter. I dropped out after class eight because the whole system of teaching and learning was so “speech” dependent. How could anyone like me ever cope with it? Teachers would either scold me thinking that I was stammering through carelessness or they would simply ask me to keep quite. When a special class started for children with disabilities under Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan, I wanted to attend it. It was such a fun. But my class teacher forbade me saying – oh, that is for blind and deaf children; what are you going to do there?

Girls in the village teased as to who would ever want to marry me! But eventually, I was married. I had learned to keep quiet- as much as I could. Was difficult at times! My family used to say - oh, she is very shy. Some thought that I stammer because I am so shy. They had no clue. I had become so shy because I stammered. Anyway, I was happy that my husband was from the next village and we had studied in the same school as children. He runs a watch repair shop in Badkot market now.

In the beginning, he thought like everyone else that I was just shy. When he saw me first time in a bad block, he first smiled and then became very serious. Then, I explained everything. Strangely enough, he understood my problem with certain words, sounds, situations and people. He had a friend who stammered as a child and continued to stammer even as adult.

Now he is so understanding that if ever anyone makes fun of my speech, he jumps up protests. Once he refused to see a friend for months, just because he had laughed at my stammering. We went to a speech therapist at Jolly Grant hospital too. But not much came of it. I tried speaking in an unusual way for some weeks and then gave up.

When our first child was born, I was quite concerned if he too would inherit the same problem. When he began talking, around two years age, I used to listen very carefully. Yes, he spoke just like a child. Now, when my child is about five, I know he does not stammer. I hope he remains the same way. Now I want to study myself further. I feel, living in a remote mountain village, education is the only outlet, which can help one transcend these insurmountable barriers. There is a distance learning facility at Dehradun run by IGNOU. I wonder how would they treat me. Is education really available to stutterers, like me?

I have accepted the fact that I stutter. I am able to talk about it when I see my listener show surprise. Acceptance brings lot of peace but still it hurts, when people treat you differently, when you lose control over your tongue. Not being understood, not being accepted is what hurts more than stammering itself. But when you can laugh about it – with others, some of the sting goes out. The other day, I said to my husband that Vimal, our son, had to be taken to the village school. I said half the sentence but just could not say 'Vimal'. Vimal and his father looked at my face, waiting – and then, Vimal understood and pointed to himself and looked at his father: it is me (not you) mother is talking about! Suddenly all three of us burst out laughing and laughed for a long time..

NB: I have counseled some girls and women who stammer. Obviously, being women, it is doubly difficult for them to come out of the closet and share their experinces. This case study is a construction based on my observations. (Dr Satyendra Srivastava)