I can never forget that terrible night -- it changed my life forever. That night was a curse I am still living with...the night of December 2, 1984.

It started soon after we had gone to sleep. My husband, who got up to go to the toilet, complained of a burning sensation in his eyes. Then we heard screams. Outside, we saw the entire neighbourhood covered in thick smoke. People were coughing and running. Some were screaming, "run, run there has been a gas leak."

My husband and I woke up the children and joined the hundreds outside -- running, tripping over each other. The streets were strewn with bodies -- some unconscious, some dead. People were throwing up.

After a few minutes of running, I realised my youngest son was not with me. I lost consciousness. In the morning when I went to look for my son, I found him lying unconscious in front of our house.

Twenty years after that dance of death, the nightmare is still not over for us.

My entire family suffers from breathlessness, body pain and weak eyesight. My daughter suffers from fainting fits. My youngest son has tuberculosis. The doctors, both at the government hospital and in private clinics, keep changing prescriptions.

I have had two miscarriages since the gas leak. I reached menopause at 39.

None of the government hospitals, even those meant for gas victims, are free because they ask us to buy medicines from the market.

My family received a compensation of Rs 175,000. But by the time the money came in, we had debts exceeding several times that amount. My husband has deserted me. My son works in a garage earning Rs 1,500 a month. He is the only earning member of the family now.