Story 9: Feminist in the tram - Final part

It was only after my wedding I realized the extent to which my uncle and has family had deceived me. The losses in the business, the debts that my father had taken and the constant need for money to uphold my family’s honor were all farce. My uncle knew I was vulnerable and gullible, without much of real world experience. He used it to his advantage and siphoned off money from the business, before selling it off. However, his master stroke was the story he weaved to get rid of me finally.

I knew there was no use to cry over the spilt milk and instead concentrated on my new life. I was married into a conventional household. They believed in keeping their daughter-in-laws under veils. They were to follow the command of their husbands and mother-in-laws, and couldn’t toe a line from what they were told to do. Once when I dared defy my mother-in-law by choosing to eat my favorite leg piece from the chicken curry during lunch, instead of offering it to my husband, I was beaten black and blue by them.

“Never forget your place in this house. You are a burden here and you have a specific function. Focus on fulfilling that only,” told my mother-in-law to me as I cried in the dark corner of my bedroom.

Later that night, I had to fulfill my core duty too, for which I was married-off to his monstrous household, despite my entire body paining at every touch.

In all this though, only one thing saved me. My job. Incidentally, my husband supplied customized jute shopping bags to the firm where I worked. Although, they didn’t want me to work, they didn’t dare annoy lalaiji or his sons, as lalaji’s firm was my husband’s biggest client. Plus, when Sahil sir attended our wedding, while congratulating us on the stage, he told my husband, “You have a married a very fine woman, she is meticulous in her work. Now, you both are associated with our organization, and look forward to working with you both.”

I couldn’t have thanked Sahil sir more. With those few words he had ensured that my husband let me continue with my job or else he would be in for a lot of inquisition. In order to avoid trouble and partly because he wanted to know the office stories and insights, he let me continue with my job.

By the time I had joined back office, I had lost a lot of weight, and along with it my self-esteem and identity.

The day that I was re-joining office, my husband took me to the nearest tram station at Rajabazar. He told me about the tram route that will take me to my office at Park Circus. He didn’t hover around and left post telling me, “Your office closes at 6 pm and I expect you to be back before 7 pm every day without fail or else the consequences won’t be good for you.”

As I shivered at his words while trying hard not to cry, I heard the comforting sound of my tram’s bell, as it swayed on the tracks slowly. I got into the tram and sat on one of the rickety wooden seats. We were always driven around in our cars at home, so I never missed an opportunity to take the tram whenever I could as a child. I simply loved tram rides, and most importantly, loved to collect the tram tickets. They were kind-of collectables those days, of different colors, shapes and sizes, often with advertisements of some latest movies or brands at the back. I smiled despite myself recalling the old memories as the conductor handed me a ticket in exchange of a rupee.

My reverie was however broken as I heard a group of girls laughing loudly in the back. When I turned around to see what the ruckus was all about, that’s when I saw her for the first time, an elegant middle-aged lady wearing an expensive Banarasi saree with a huge red bindi on her forehead and sindoor in the middle of her hair partitions. She had a round face, with big kohl-lined eyes and a beautiful and warm smile. I was awestruck seeing her. She had such a big personality, magnetic, yet kind and compassionate. I wished to be like her. I was instantly drawn towards her energy and was listening intently to what she was saying.

She was telling the girls – mostly school-going teenagers – a story.

“It was just before the Second World War, Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose had called upon Indians to resist the foreign rule and support his cause for independence. I was a child at that time and don’t remember much, but this is the story that I heard from my father about the bravery of the women at that time, especially my mother. An exceptional lady, my mother Smt. Nandini Devi wanted to ensure that even women were an integral part of the cause. She wanted to join the Rani of Jhansi Regiment, the women's regiment founded by Netaji in the Indian National Army. It was a tough choice for her, whether to leave her small child behind or to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of her beloved country. My father understood her dilemma and supported her to follow her calling. She joined the regiment and soon became a crucial member, especially useful in the spy network. However, she got caught by the allied powers during one of her missions. She was tortured to provide information about her peers, but she remained non-committal. She was finally executed. We never received her body. My father kept her memories alive and never failed to tell the stories of her bravery to us. He always maintained that “If a woman wants she could do anything. It is just about her wanting to choose herself, her happiness, her rights. No one will serve them in a platter to her, she has to get it for herself. Your mother did that and so can every other woman.”

As the lady finished her story, the entire tram exploded in applause, the biggest round from every other woman in the tram. I joined them as well. Her mother, her father and the lady herself were inspiration for every woman. They were right, if we just put our mind into a thing we want, we could do what we want to.

I wanted to talk to her and tell her that she had stirred something inside me that I thought was long dead, but before I could she de-boarded the tram at Lenin Sarani.

I was contemplative the entire day, and despite the jibes by Vidya in the office about my marital status, I didn’t pay much heed to her. I was thinking of myself, what I wanted to do, my dreams. I recalled my conversation with my parents shortly before their accident.

“What do you want to study in college Sushi?” asked my father. My pet name at home was Sushi.

“I want to study something that will help me in nation building. The country needs more brains that will help it to grow. I want to open more doors for woman to be a part of this growth too. We cannot undervalue their contribution to the economy,” I had stated with certain confidence in my voice.

“That’s like my daughter,” my mother said, brimming with pride.

“That’s noble dear. You may want to become a civil servant and help bring change, because without power you will forever struggle at the grassroots level. Go to the top and motivate others to follow you,” guided my father.

That was the day when I resolved to become a civil servant.

I sighed as the phone ring on my desk brought me to my reality. I didn’t have an escape route, or did I? Isn’t that what the lady in the tram speaking about, finding your own identity?

As I boarded the tram in the evening to reach home, I searched for her and waited impatiently at the Lenin Sarani station as well, but didn’t find her.

I was back into the grind at home, but there was a fire of hope that was lit inside. I woke up early next day and took some extra care to dress up. I realized that self-care could help me in winning over a lot of my insecurities.

I was overjoyed when I boarded the tram. The lady was surely there. She was again sitting amidst the young girls. She looked at me and smiled, and I smiled back at her. Today, it was another story of courage, the oft-repeated story of Rani Laxmibai. However, what mesmerized all of us was her rendition of Hindi poet and freedom fighter Subhadra Kumari Chauhan’s immortal lines, “Khoob Ladi Mardani, Woh toh Jhansi wali Rani Thi”. We were transported to an era of gallantry, where a woman singlehandedly challenged the British and even fought them with bravery and courage.

From that day onwards, it became a routine. Every day she told a story, and every day I listened to her intently. She was changing the course of all our lives.

With each story that I heard every day, I became a bit more brave, a bit more courageous. I was changing subtly. I started smiling now. My confidence returned, slowly but surely. I started reading whenever I could, even if it is in secret.

We never spoke, only smiled and nodded our heads in greetings every day. But she did notice and acknowledged the changes in me. When she saw me reading for the first time, she gave me a wide approving grin. Then when she saw me wear a bright saree with a red rose pinned in my bun, she gave me a thumbs-up. Her non-verbal gestures gave me the strength that I needed to build myself yet again.

By the end of the month I realized that I was pregnant. I didn’t want to break the news to my husband or mother-in-law yet, instead, I wanted a way out of that household. I was adamant of not bringing my child into their world. Soon enough an opportunity was presented. Sahil sir was opening a new branch in Delhi to expand the brand in the Northern region of the country. He dictated me an advertisement for hiring the support staff in Delhi, which included hiring for a stenographer and typist. I knew I had a window of opportunity to grab, but I wasn’t sure how to broach the topic or how to deal with my household.

As I tossed and turned in my bed that night without finding a solution, I decided to finally talk to the lady in the tram and seek her advice. I knew she would surely be able to help. However, I was disappointed as she I couldn’t find her in the tram that day. I thought of talking to her the next day.

When I reached the office, I saw all my colleagues standing outside and deep in conversation. On enquiring they told me that the lalaji’s wife had suddenly passed away that morning and the employees were deciding to go to lalaji’s house to express their condolences. Vidya asked me if I would go as well. I told her that I need to inform my husband as well. When I called my husband, he said, “This is a good opportunity for us to show our solidarity with the grieving family. You should definitely go. I will also join you later.”

I felt sick hearing him. Even in someone’s grief, he was trying to find his own profit. This was the last straw. I was resolved to leave him for good.

We all took a bus to reach lalaji’s house. It was shrouded in grief. The lady of the house was no more. As I entered the courtyard, I was shocked to see a huge photograph adorned with a white garland. I went numb as that photograph was that of none other than the lady in the tram. Then I saw her mortal remains, waiting to be carried towards her final destination. She still had a big red bindi on her forehead and sindoor in her hair partition, adorned with an expensive red Banarasi saree. She had died suhagan, before her husband, and is considered by the society as extremely lucky. Other married women took a trace of sindoor from her and touched her feet, seeking blessing that they should also have similar fate. As my turn came, I simply touched her feet and prayed for her soul.

Vidya came by my side and said, “She was a very pious lady. Always kept the entire family together. Lalaji’s family had always been conventional. They have a huge joint family, and lalaji being the eldest, all the responsibility to manage the household fell on to ammaji, as she was fondly called by everyone at home. She was an ideal wife, daughter-in-law and mother. She was obedient and dutiful. You know, she used to go the temple every day for an hour, all by herself. She believed in praying for the happiness and prosperity of her family. What will happen to this household now?”

I inertly smiled, and thought that somewhere in the heaven even my lady in the tram would also be smiling. I knew her secret, her rebellious second self, someone who was inspiring an entire generation of girls, including myself, to become courageous. Despite knowing now who she was, for me she would always remain my lady in the tram or better, a feminist in the tram.

I saw Sahil sir and his elder brother too. Their eyes said that they had lost a confidante that day, but they remained standing stoically away from their father. Their body language said it all. They were the defiant generation that she had crafted with her ideals and values. She had finally been able to make a crack in the rigid wall of patriarchy.

That gave me hope and I finally resolved what I wanted to do. I knew she didn’t have a choice, but I still had one, and I was going to choose me. In her final journey also, the lady had taught me to be brave, to be bold, to seek what my heart wanted.

That night when I went back home, I quietly packed all my jewelries in my handbag. Next morning, I went straight to the house of our old housekeeper. She was overjoyed to see me. She was the one to nurture me as a child and was heartbroken when she had to leave me post my parent’s demise. She cried copiously as I told her my story. I asked her to keep the jewelries as a keepsake till I get my perfect opportunity to escape.

For the next few days, I do not stir up any issue at home, instead keep getting a couple of clothes out of my home in my handbag and depositing them at my housekeeper’s house. I wait for Sahil sir to finally join office post all the rituals at home. The day he joins back, I find my opportunity when he asks me about any follow-up for the hiring process. Gathering enough courage, I ask him, “Sir, can you transfer me to Delhi? I will gladly take up the role there.”

“Sure, you are an efficient resource and having someone from the head office in the new branch will help us expand easily, but what about your household and your husband, especially? He doesn’t seem to be a particularly lenient person, cut from the same cloth as my father, if I may say,” said Sahil sir, rather in a manner trying to suppress his hidden rage.

“I am not concerned about my husband or his household anymore. I want to do what is right for me sir, and that courage has come from your mother,” I said, surprising sir.

I continued, “You may not know, but your mother used to take the tram on the route between Howrah to Park Circus every day, instead of going to the temple, and teach young girls about the need to be courageous and bold for their own sake. She was never didactic or preachy, instead she motivated us with her stories. I heard them when I was at my lowest ebb. Her stories gave me the much-needed strength to be myself, to choose myself.”

Sahil sir’s eyes were brimming with tears. It was the mark of the lady to leave such an impact on the next generation.

Sahil sir guided me with the next steps. He gave me the required help to file for a divorce instead of running away from the situation. I lived with my housekeeper in Kolkata till you were born, while continuing to work in the office. It took me a few more years to finally procure my divorce. As I had been facing legal complications, I decided to study law in the evening college. By the time my divorce was granted, I had finished my law degree as well.

I was heading the legal department of the office too, and overseeing the expansion of the operations in different parts of the country. Sahil sir always encouraged me, just as his mother did.

I was happy with what I was doing, but I wanted to bring bigger change, and remembered what my father had told me. I studied hard for my IAS exams and finally became a civil servant. Rest is public story Sona.”

As Ma finished her story, I felt an overwhelming need to touch her feet and hug her tightly. I now knew what those young girls saw in my mother, their ideal, the one who was giving them courage each day to choose themselves.

With teary eyes, I touched her feet and hug her tightly.

“Don’t cry Sona. Be brave and always have the courage to choose you. Try to change the perception of people. You have the power of the pen, use that,” said Ma lovingly, as she got up to go inside the house.

Before that day I never knew that Sahil sir, whom I called Sahil mamu and who had always been an integral part of our lives, had such a big role in my mother’s life. They had never spoken about that wonderful lady in the tram, the feminist in the tram.

Ma came back outside carrying a small wooden box. Giving it to me she said, “I had saved them as a relic of my journey towards self-reliance. Now, I want you to have them. They will give you courage whenever you will face adversities in life.”

I opened the box. It was filled with tram ticket stubs.

 

--- The End ---