Story 9: Feminist in the tram - Part 1

It has been raining hard since morning and yet, I see a beeline of young girls assembled in our front porch waiting for my mother to talk to them. It has been like this since the time I could remember as a child. My mother is a charismatic figure, people are always drawn towards her like a magnet, especially the young minds. She has certain mannerism that makes her an instant hit with them. I could never understand that. For me, she is my loving mother, my Ma, someone who always has my back. I love her, respect her, but I could never revere her the way that these young people do.

Just when I was busy in my thoughts, my Ma, Ms. Sushma Das, walks out to greet the girls. They come rushing towards her, as she welcomes them with open arms. She ensures that she hugs each one of them and asks them if they were fine or not. For years, I have seen her doing this with a huge smile on her face. To say that she is beautiful would do injustice to her appeal. She has a nice round face, with big black eyes and a dimpled cheek. She always wears sarees, beautiful hand-woven ones, with a big round red bindi on the middle of the forehead. She is one of the kindest and compassionate women that I know.

She is my Ma, my superhero.

Her story has been that of enormous struggle, something that she doesn’t really share with me much. I only know the outline, the overview. Whenever I push her to tell me more, she says, “I don’t want to burden you with my story Sona. That was my struggle, you don’t need to reel under its shadow.”

Her basic story of being a single mother due to her divorce from my father, whom I have never seen and who had never ever enquired about me, and her grit to make a career for herself helped her become an IAS officer, is widely known. That is also the only story I know, and I wish I could know my mother a bit more.

Reason why, for my first journalistic assignment for my Mass Comm course I have asked my mother to become the subject of my interview. She has agreed reluctantly when I told her obstinately that either it will be her or I am fine with getting a zero in my assignment.

I sit on one of the unmatched chairs on the porch to observe her interactions with the girls. Each evening, for an hour, she talks to these girls, tell them stories, motivational ones and always encouraging them to find a place for themselves in the world, to become self-reliant and confident. Today, she surprised me by sharing one of my teen year’s stories with them.

Ma started the story, “It is so easy to give up, but it is immensely difficult to continue with what you wish to do. The greatest example of that statement is your Sona didi here. This wonderful girl who is now pursuing her Mass Comm from one of the premium institutes in the country and wish to become a successful journalist one day once wanted to quit her dreams because she felt she wasn’t good enough.” She took a pause to look at me lovingly and placed her right hand on my left arm.

I smiled at her as she continued, “She was in her ninth grade and was given the responsibility to handle the morning assembly news reading task for a week, as her class teacher was aware of her desire to become a journalist. Sona was over-the-moon to be given the opportunity and rehearsed reading the old news headlines over the weekend, preparing herself to begin the week on a positive note. On Monday morning, she diligently copied all the headlines in a piece of paper, read and re-read them at least a dozen times before reaching school. She was super excited when the assembly teacher called her name to read the news of the day. As she climbed on the stage, in her excitement she didn’t see the microphone wire, tripped on it and fell flat on her face right in the middle of the stage!” Ma paused again to let the impact of the scene take its effect on her audience and surely it did. Everyone roared with laughter imagining my plight. Even I couldn’t stop grinning. I surely would have looked funny.

Ma continued, “Yes, that’s exactly how everyone in the assembly reacted. She was surely looking funny, but what they failed to understand was that with that tumble, that young girl also lost her confidence. Her teacher helped her to get up and asked her if she was fine. After ensuring that she was alright, she encouraged her to read the news headline, but all Sona could hear were the laughter of the children in the hall. She was too ashamed, her eyes were brimming with tears, and she just wanted to run away from the stage. As she stood frozen in front of the mic, unknownst to her that I was a part of the audience too, I shouted from the back, ‘har ke jeetne wale ko baazigar kehte hain’, a dialogue from her favorite actor. Everyone laughed again, but this time they clapped along with laughing to encourage that young girl on the stage to win despite the initial disappointment.” Ma took a pause again. This time to let the girls applaud.

I was somehow transported to that stage at that moment as I remembered how in a true news reader style I had read that day’s news headline. I was not a student then, I was a professional news reader. The applause that followed my news reading was deafening. I had won despite the odds, and I knew that it was my true calling, and no matter the obstacles, I will become a journalist one day. From that day onwards, I never gave up my dreams. Instead, I worked doubly hard to ensure that I am able to achieve my goal.

My reverie was broken by cheering from the girls as I realized that Ma must have finished the story. Her audience was looking at me with awe, with a similar emotion that I see on their faces when they look at my mother. At that moment, I felt the urge to hug them all, and I exactly did that. It felt strangely nice and heartwarming. That small win, my tiny tale had inspired these girls to pick themselves up every time they face a failure. I realized the power of a good story at that point, and I knew I wanted the world to know the real story of my mother too. I had a sneaking feeling that her story would inspire millions of women.

As the girls bid goodbye, Ma and I kept sitting on the porch enjoying a hot cup of tea and a bowl of jhal muri. Finally, I asked her, “Ma, don’t you think it’s time for the world to know your real story, something that will inspire millions to aspire to be like you? Don’t you think you owe it to them, the ones who are still lying on the middle of the stage, being laughed at and don’t have the courage to get up, because they don’t have someone like you to back them up?”

My words moved Ma to tears. She looked at me with a mix of emotions and for the first time I saw fear in her eyes, fear of judgment. She was afraid that her own child may judge her mother’s journey. I wanted to abate her fears and assured her, “Don’t worry Ma, you will always remain my superhero. Nothing can take away my steadfast faith in you. Please do share your story. I am ready for it, and so is the world.”

And, thus, began my mother the story of her journey of finding herself…

(To be continued...)