Telugu, p.17
Telugu, page 17
‘I have to speak at the seminar tomorrow, Nanna. That’s why I’m preparing,’ she said, trying to ease my mind.
‘Oh! Prepare well,’ I said. I knew the girl next to Mahita. She had come home a couple of times.
‘Uncle! Do you know what happened the other day?’ she asked, and then started telling me how Mahita had given a boy in their class called Kartik a shock.
I looked at Mahita anxiously. Smiling sweetly, she looked back at me. It felt as if she was instilling courage in me this time. My heart felt light, and I left the room happily.
My wife worked as a schoolteacher. As soon as she came home, I told her what Mahita’s friend had said and praised Mahita’s courage.
‘Aa! Why get into all these problems!’ my wife replied. I understood my wife’s point of view. From her birth until she was twenty, she had grown up with the ideology of subjugation. She had changed a lot after our marriage. But in that process, there had been many discussions between us. Today was the same. I explained the matter to her in greater detail, and this time she did not argue. She listened and kept quiet.
The lecture that was going on stopped with the arrival of the attendant. He said something to our English lecturer and went away.
‘All SCs and STs in the class, please stand up,’ the lecturer said.
I stood up at once.
Some were unable to make up their mind. ‘Should we get up? Or not?’ I did not understand what exactly was happening.
‘Is there no one else?’ When he said this, as if there was no other option, three boys and two girls got up, groaning and moaning.
The lecturer was asking for the details. Two boys were ST, the remaining boy and the two girls were SC.
The lecturer asked the girl in the front bench, ‘What are you?’ She put her head down in fear and said, ‘SC.’
Something devilish about the lecturer. He was vengeful enough to think that this girl was responsible for his poverty and his inability to get a good job. Unable to keep this to himself or to say it aloud, he was in a state of turmoil and asked something he knew he ought not to ask, ‘You are lucky, all facilities are for you only! What are you among SCs?’
The girl was now feeling belittled and shy. And she was clearly ashamed. ‘Ma … Maa…’ As her voice was constricted by sorrow, she stopped.
I was astonished – not because the lecturer asked about her caste, but because the girl was unable to say. I could not understand why she felt such diffidence.
‘Why are you asking all this, sir?’ I asked.
The lecturer stared at me. Not knowing how to react, he said, ‘I believe they are giving scholarship application forms in the office – go get them.’ The students left and I sat down.
‘You said you are SC, right?’ He looked at me questioningly. I stood up again, said in an even tone, ‘Yes, sir. I am SC, but my father is a government servant. I am not eligible for the scholarship.’ I sat down.
Many in the class looked at me and whispered among themselves, especially Kartik, who turned around and looked at me from the corner of his eye. There was a sarcastic smile on his fair face and the edges of his pink lips. He turned his face away. His right hand turned towards me. As I was looking in that direction, Kartik folded his fingers and made an obscene gesture pointing his thumb below. No one else noticed it.
For the first time in my life, a sharp arrow hit my delicate heart.
Day after day, I could see a change in my child. Her face was no longer bright. I was not able to reconcile myself saying these were age-related changes. Even though I asked her casually what the matter was, she said, ‘Nothing, Nanna. The exams are drawing near, right? That’s why I look like this.’ She did not speak as enthusiastically about her friends as before. But that did not mean she had become completely dull. Being coddled by her mother, teasing me – those things were normal! But there was certainly some difference in her … But it was possibly something she herself had not noticed. I could not do anything except tell her now and again, ‘Don’t hesitate to discuss any problems you have in college or outside.’
Now, the number of my friends was decreasing. Sometimes, girls and boys from other classes would say, ‘We are one. Our people are going on a picnic tomorrow. Mahita, you must come.’ According to what my mother and father had told me, no one was just themselves because of their caste. So, I never went to the picnic they called ‘our people’s picnic’.
Since I took part in sports and cultural activities, I was always busy. I ensured that I was not disturbed by comments people made.
As time passed, the Anniversary Day at college drew near. They made me the organizer for the first-year degree students. Not just that, five people from our class had given our names for a dance item.
After each group decided on their dance routines, all the students who had given our names had a meeting. The college students’ union president, secretary and others attended.
Everyone was talking about their programmes year-wise, and the president and secretary were interrupting to make changes and additions. I did not like them very much because they were suggesting film songs, especially those that were vulgar and made people clap. Whether or not they liked the idea of such songs, the others agreed.
Then it was our turn. We showed them the dance drama that I had choreographed using HIV AIDS as its theme. The secretary, who did not even look at the script, burst out laughing just hearing the concept. As for the president, he looked at me in irritation, and said, trying to get a glimpse of my backside, ‘What, Mahita! I’ve heard you are a great dancer. Why have you selected something like this? Leave this. Here, perform the title song of this film. It’ll suit you well. You can perform the heroine’s steps very well.’
I looked at the cassette he offered in total confusion, and I listened to the song he wanted me to dance to two or three times.
‘This song?’ Looking at Bharath’s shocked face, I realized how much of my disgust was evident on my face.
‘Why not?’ Bharath asked sharply.
‘Do you understand the meaning of this song? That we would be ready for anyone to approach us as a boyfriend – that’s the meaning the song conveys. This is a song that will hurt all the girls. We won’t perform this song,’ I said firmly.
‘What’s wrong? Isn’t that true? If the cost of the bike and the weight of the wallet are acceptable, you girls will accept any boy, isn’t it?’ the secretary said, as if he was cracking a joke.
My eyes reddened with anger, and my lips started to quiver. Bharath laughed again and said, ‘Baap re, Mahita! You’re getting upset about something that was said in jest.’ He tried to hold my hands to calm me down, but I shook him off.
‘Look! Girls are not what you think of them. Don’t generalize based on what rarely happens. When we dance to this song, our parents will watch, your parents will watch – many parents will watch. It is revolting even to think of singing and strutting about in front of them, let alone dance to a song about being obsessed with one’s boyfriend. If I dance to this song, my parents will hang their heads in shame.’ My voice trembled with rage.
Bharath’s ego seemed to have been hurt because I was not agreeing to his ideas and arguing against them. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong about this. The song conveys how girls behave in this day and age. But you are cribbing too much, saying parents, parents! The forward caste kids are scared that their parents will be angry, but what’s the objection among you SCs? What will your parents say? Why will there be restrictions in such matters?’ he said very casually.
I was stunned by the hurt I felt. On no other occasion had someone insulted me so much. In all these years, I had never cried at the words of others. But now, a thin film of tears clouded my eyes, and stayed there for a little while.
I stood up. ‘Will you stand by what you said?’ I asked sharply.
‘Umm! What’s wrong with it?’ Bharath said, turning his head seeking support. The secretary nodded. Some final-year students came and stood next to him.
‘I will report this to the principal,’ I said, moving forward.
‘Actually, I didn’t say anything!’ Bharath said, making a tremendous effort to act shocked.
‘You said it, Bharath!’ said three final-year SC students, looking at Bharath accusingly.
I went directly to the principal’s office. I wrote the complaint, signed it, and gave it to him. I waited till he’d read everything and said, ‘He must take back the words he uttered and apologize.’
The principal held his glasses in his hands, wiped them with his handkerchief and said, giving his verdict, ‘Aa! Why all this for such a small matter? Not just that, you are a girl, you’ll be ridiculed. I’ll call him and chastise him.’
‘Sir! You too are behaving in the same way! This is not a problem related to me alone. His first mistake was to say that all women are like the ones in that song, and his second mistake was to say that SCs have no values. For these, he must apologize in public!’ I said firmly.
‘Okay, you can go now. Come back in half an hour,’ he said. I walked out, and he called Bharath and a few others in.
After half an hour, I remembered that the principal had asked me to come back, so I walked towards his room and was about to knock, but I stopped. Even through the door, I could hear the principal clearly.
‘Even so, who wants to have anything to do with these people these days? A case if you say, “umm” … a case, if you say, “aa” … it’s wrong if you say, “Maloda”, it’s wrong if you say, “Orey, Madigoda”. These days are not like the past! Why did you ask her to be the organizer? It’s become a thorn in the flesh. Now go. You’ll have to apologize to her personally. If not, if you object, then you’ll need to do it publicly … no choice.’
As soon as the principal stopped speaking, Bharath started to say something. But I could not hear any of his words. My head was reeling. For the first time, I realized that this poisonous culture had spread from the very roots. It was very difficult to tolerate it. Without responding to anyone, I went home and lay down in my room. Father came home for lunch in the afternoon. Noticing that I was lying down, he caressed my cheeks and forehead, and was about to leave the room but stopped. I could make out the dampness of his hands.
‘Mahita!’ Father called agitatedly. On seeing Father’s face, I felt even more sorrowful. ‘What happened?’ Father asked, trying to appear calm.
I told him what had happened. ‘Nanna, I was born with a knife at my neck … you had advised me well about how to protect myself from it all these days. But this is a double-edged knife, Nanna! I’m unable to face it – I’m scared, Nanna!’ As I was speaking, there were tears in Father’s eyes. He caressed my hair and left the room. I was lost in thought.
After a little while, I recovered and went into the hall. There was only silence. I looked towards Father’s bedroom, and he was sitting on a chair inside, thinking. ‘Nanna! Can I come in?’ I asked.
‘Come, Mahita!’ he called. I went in, sat on the chair next to him and took his right hand in mine. ‘Mahita, since you were a child, I’ve given you everything I possibly could have. But I didn’t show you how to be careful about caste matters,’ he said, looking at me keenly.
I shook my head. I asked, ‘Nanna, are you telling me all this to test me or for some other reason? All these matters of castes and religions – are these in our hands? They are not useful to make human relationships better or achieve other higher ideals. Government plans various schemes to uplift those who belong to the lower strata … there could be attempts to bring about economic equality through caste categorization. In this context, we belong to a caste. Its value is just that. Why should we be ashamed thinking if it’s good or bad? Why should we be the targets of discrimination? Shouldn’t we oppose that discrimination? I did just that! Is that wrong?’
‘No!’ Father said, looking at me with his eyes shining.
‘Having a father who has been a victim of caste discrimination, but who still had good education, who is working in a good job and has self-confidence, why should I cry?’ When I heard Mahita say this, my heart melted. When discrimination based on gender, caste and class was continuing in the world, how long could I continue to keep my daughter sheltered in a safety zone? How long could I raise her in that manner?
Throughout her life, she would have to fight wherever she is confronted with discrimination. All that she needs is the moral support from her family. That’s it!
I didn’t realize when my wife came into the room and how much of our conversation she heard, but she said, ‘Mahita, your father and I are by your side whenever you need our help. You must follow what you believe in.’
Mahita smiled as usual.
AUTHOR’S NOTE : After speaking to Yendluri Sudhakar
IPPA BUDS
* * *
Mallipuram Jagadeesh
IPPA BUDS…
Like blobs of butter … like bright flowers – as if the star-studded sky had spread itself under that tree. The ippa tree that had shed its leaves like the body of an old Adivasi. Behind it, the mountain that had turned black on being burnt and burnt again by the podu flames.
Bhoodevi was picking up the fallen buds. Though she seemed to be picking up the buds, she was impatient. As she was born on Budhavaram, they named her Boodee. At school, that name had changed to Bhoodevi. In the gudem though, they still called her Boodee.
‘Where’s the heart …
Where’s the heart …
It’s circling round you …’
From the signal tree, the ringtone of a film tune was heard. She stopped picking up the buds, caught hold of the mobile that hung from a string looped around a branch and looked at it. It was the hotel manager. Wondering whether she should answer or not, she pressed the green answer button at the last minute.
‘Hello! Bhoodevi, Bhoodevi!’
‘ … ’
‘Are you coming? Look, if you don’t come … someone else instead of you …’ Perhaps there was no signal, the call was disconnected.
It was becoming hot. At a distance, someone was bringing the toddy pot tied to the jeelugu tree down. The breeze that had become hot was enveloping the entire forest with the aroma of the buds … sweet … intoxicating.
Boodee was picking up each bud as if it were a memory.
‘Whatever we say must be clear. The other person must understand us easily. Must look modern. Dress code is a must. While shaking hands, stand like you’re bending forward a bit. Your smile should never fade. Appearing dignified is the secret of our success …’ That was the lecture in the personality development class.
The Integrated Tribal Developmental Agency (ITDA) along with some corporate institutions was providing vocational training to Girijan students. It organized courses like hotel management, computer education and fashion design.
At the course inauguration event, the project officer of ITDA had spoken.
‘Along with the times, Girijans must change too. They must mingle and move with the larger society. They must compete and must progress,’ he said. Then, they honoured the representatives and officials of those organizations and gave them bouquets.
Looking at that scene, one wondered, ‘Whose progress is he talking about? How easy it is to achieve it!’
Like everyone else, Boodee too signed up for training. She heard the words of the PO echoing in her ears. There would be about two hundred girls and boys studying together, and looking at them, it appeared as if the trees from the hill had been transplanted to the city and had been sprayed with water. A city in a mad rush. Its speed was its own.
As soon as it was evening, like lost lambs, like baby rabbits who were totally bewildered by the torchlight of a hunter in the darkness of midnight, the forest children became restless. The doubts that the age raised in them … the new habits the city taught … the new needs that education taught them … The need for money, that had not arisen when they were in the hostel, became an absolute necessity now. Even though they had pocket money from the jackfruits in the backyard, or the toor dal seeds from the mountaintop or the brooms, or the tamarind they could sell at the fair, the need for money was increasing all the time.
The last day of the training.
‘Today, you are all professionals. You’ll get job offers not just from the government but from private companies too. You’ll soon get appointment letters. In the meanwhile, please register your diploma with our employment cell,’ they said as they called each one to the dais and handed over their certificate.
Boodee thought that if she were to get a job with this training, she wanted to buy a sari and a pair of slippers for her mother from her first salary. As the names of the participating corporate organizations were shining in the sparkling bright electric light on stage, the function ended in a grand manner.
The next day, Boodee went to the ITDA office. It was located in a large building, but the employment cell was in a small room. Boodee climbed the stairs, and her hotel management diploma wrapped in a polythene cover was shining brightly in her hand.
She was frightened of that office. More than that, her unknown anger against someone weighed her down. Whenever she went there, bitter memories haunted her. Those memories were of her elder sister, Jyothi.
Boodee’s entire childhood was spent on her sister’s shoulders. Jyothi would carry her around everywhere – the fields, hills, brambles, dust tracks. She would catch fish from the stream and put it in Boodee’s hand. If Boodee refused to eat, Jyothi would scare her by saying ‘Kangarodu will come’ and feed her tiny morsels. By the time Boodee joined the hostel, two years had passed since Jyothi had completed high school. Suddenly, one day when Jyothi was packing her bag, Boodee started to cry as usual.
