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Being Sheela: The Life Journey of an Immigration Lawyer | EXTRACT

With insightful detours into her eventful growing-up years, Being Sheela follows the life of lawyer, entrepreneur and philanthropist, Sheela Murthy, who has helped thousands of people overcome injustice, dispossession and legal tangles, so they may live a life of dignity in an increasingly challenging world. The book takes a close look at a few out of the countless cases that Sheela and her dynamic legal team have handled over twenty-five years in the face of rapidly changing American attitudes towards immigrants.

Read this extract from Adithi Rao’s new book to learn more about Murthy’s journey as an immigration lawyer.

 

Somebody once described Sheela Murthy as a connoisseur of immigration law. e usual term, you’d think, would have been ‘expert’. However, Sheela not only knew immigration law like the back of her hand, but also relished it. It was the thing that made her heart beat and the blood pump in her veins. Very few other things in this world could captivate her in a similar way.

Gazing out of the window, from her comfortable first-floor office at the Murthy Law Firm, she waited for her 11 a.m. appointment to arrive. It was 11.03 already, and Sheela was concerned that she would not get sufficient time to speak with this client before her next appointment arrived. When clients walked in, they were often troubled, tired, sad, or desperate, and at times all those things at once. And Sheela was determined to do whatever it took to help them. Only, a late arrival would make it so much more difficult.

The door opened and her husband, Vasant, poked his head around it.

‘Tea, Sheelu?’ he asked in his quiet, affectionate way, and the sight of him made her heart lift as always. She nodded enthusiastically. Any time was a good time for a cup of piping hot tea, in her opinion! And if a samosa came along with it then even better!

When he went o to fetch them each a cup, Sheela fell to thinking.

‘Here we are, working in this beautiful building, with its chairs and desks, computers and office equipment. en there are the pens, the staplers, and other stationery that we use all day long. And if one were to take an inventory of the office, they would put down most of those things in its list of assets. One may even add the large signage at the top of the building that reads Murthy Law Firm. But then there is Vasant, and the happiness of a cup of tea with him in the middle of a busy morning. ere’s Aron, Adam, Pam, Anna, Khorzad, Joel, and all the others who work here; the trust and friendship that we all share. And there’s the sun shining in through my window on this beautiful chilly, Baltimore morning. Nobody would ever think of putting those on the list, would they? Someone should take a separate inventory for happiness. Just so there’d be something to look at when things get us down.’

As she sat deep in thoughts, piping hot tea arrived and was sipped slowly over a conversation about the parents in faraway India. Just as Sheela placed her empty cup back on the table, the client arrived.

***

The lady sitting across the desk from Sheela Murthy was thirty-four years old. She looked fifty. As Sheela listened to her speak, she thought to herself, ‘It’s because of the sadness in her eyes.’

‘My name is Vijaya Prasad, madam,’ said the lady. e Indian accent had lingered on her tongue despite her eight years in America. Sheela wanted to tell her to call her by first name, but knew from experience that the Indian sense of propriety would not permit Vijaya to do so easily.

‘Vijaya,’ said the lady, ‘from Vijayawada, originally.’ en she added with a smile, ‘Yes, you too must be thinking that it is funny, no? Vijaya from Vijayawada. My parents named me that on purpose.

“So that you’ll never forget your roots, Viji,” they used to say to me when I was a little girl. As if I could ever forget, madam.’

There followed a moment of silence, as Sheela waited for the woman to tell her story, from the beginning, as some clients preferred to do.

‘Soon after I finished my Masters in Computer Programing, my parents introduced me to a man from Hyderabad. He was a good man and soon we got married. We were happy together.’

Was. Were. Sheela noted the use of the past tense and thought she now understood the air of sadness that this woman seemed to wear like a mantle on her shoulders—a mantle that didn’t seem as if it was taken o for even a minute.

‘We had four children,’ went on Vijaya. ‘Three girls and one boy. He was a good father, he loved them very much. When he was dying, he cried because he was so sorry to leave me alone to raise the children all by myself.’

Vijaya paused again, this time to fight back the tears.

‘Would you like some tea or a cup of coffee, perhaps?’ asked Sheela.

‘No madam, thank you. Already I have come in so late. I was delayed with a client at work. I don’t want to waste any more of your time.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Sheela, ‘Please go on.’ Over the woman’s half-hearted protests, she requested Amanda, her executive assistant, to bring a cup of tea for Vijaya. So many similar clients crossed Sheela’s threshold each week, and nearly always, she had a solution for them. But there were times when she did not. Yet they were never sent away without the comfort of a hot beverage cradled between chilled palms, the warmth of her smile, and good, solid advice on how to make the best of a difficult situation. And that way, it would not be a complete loss, even if it could not be a win.

Today, it was Vijaya’s turn to sit across from her and Sheela prayed that she would be able to give her a solution that would lessen the sadness in her eyes.

‘My children and I moved back to Vijayawada to live with my parents because my husband’s family did not want to have anything to do with us after his death. You see, my husband had incurred heavy debts in his business, and his parents did not want the responsibility of paying them off. So, after the funeral, they left and never contacted me or their grandchildren again.’

Sheela felt anger stir inside her, but firmly pushed it aside. She had learnt, in her decades of work as an immigration lawyer, that bad things happened to good people every day. It was an unfair world. Losing her calm would only cloud her judgment when the time came to help her client in the best possible way. In Vijaya’s case, it was clear that she had not even got to the actual problem yet.

‘My parents were heartbroken. But they tried to appear cheerful because they wanted to be strong for me. I got myself a job. After I returned home from the office in the evenings, I took up private tutorials coaching school children in math and science. I spent most of my earnings on my children’s education and in running our home. But I kept aside a little every month to hand over to my husband’s creditors. They soon saw that I honestly meant to pay them back, and that I had no intention of defaulting. I told them that it would take me time, but I would not stop until every last rupee my husband owed them had been returned. They were good people and felt sorry for me, so they did not trouble me to pay more than I could afford to each month.

‘The children were growing up well; my parents took good care of them while I was at work. I tell you, madam, I don’t know what I would have done without their support.’

Sheela knew what the affection of a grandparent could mean to a lonely child. Four of them in this case. Her heart went out to them.

To read more, order your copy of Being Sheela today!

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