The girl who survived and thrived

It is an experimental writing about a fictional girl who never lost hope.

Her mother was in pain, it was almost unbearable but she still didn't lose consciousness. She was hopeful, and that hope was shared equally by her father. Her first cry sounded like a melody to her mother's ears. She relaxed. Her father was waiting outside the operation room anxiously, desperate to know his fate. The cry was muffled as he heard it from outside, he wanted to rush in and hold his child in his arms. A boy! Please let it be a boy! That is what he prayed for.

 

“Four years had passed since I was born. I was in the kitchen stirring the curry that my dear mother had left under my supervision. Though she often told me not to taste the curry before it was cooked completely, I could not deny myself the simple pleasure. I took a spoon and tasted it, carefully keeping a watch for my family members. Much more than my mother, it was my grandmother who aroused a deep sense of fear in me. She did not like me and I failed to understand her reason. My tiny hands were now adept with the “karchi” and I knew how to make chapattis too, though they were far from perfect like the absolutely round and soft ones that mother could make. She could prepare a wonderful meal out of the little that father managed to bring home after a whole day of hardship. He was a farmer, like most men in our village. But he never wasted away his time like many others. He never showed his face to the card players, or gossip mongers, or those smoking weed. He did not believe in a sedentary lifestyle. He toiled hard in his fields everyday to make a good amount of living. But that year, the rain gods had postponed their yearly duty. So, we suffered.”

 

“When I was five, my mother made a timid suggestion that I be sent to a school run by a kind old lady, who had devoted her life to the children living there as the nearest school did not admit girls. She taught them for free and even gave them treats when they performed well. My grandmother vehemently protested and I was angry with her. I still failed understand why she hated me. I was overjoyed when my father agreed to the idea. He took me in his lap and gently pampered me with his love. My mother had told me, he was deeply disappointed when I was born. But she never told me what brought such a change in his outlook towards me. Maybe he could not ignore the little ways I showed my love to him. Once, when I turned four, he burnt his hand while lighting a fire during the winter season. I was sad and I cried daily when he winced in pain. Tiny as I was, I tried soothing him with my senseless talking thinking he would forget his pain. He had never been kind to me before that incident. He would hardly speak to me before that and would never bring me any gifts like he did on my fifth birthday and every year there after. He bought me a bridal doll on my fifth birthday.”

 

“It had been a year since I joined the old lady's school. It mostly consisted of boys, and they all teased me cruelly. They called me silly and stupid. Initially I used to return home overwhelmed, crying in my mother's lap, while my grandmother laughed and said that it served me right. But then I saw that the three other girls in my class faced the same circumstances but they still bore it well. They were still contented and only concentrated on what was taught by the kind lady. I noticed the woman took keen interest in the four girls of her class. The class took place everyday under the shade of a big peepal tree. I was afraid to come close to the tree because of all the rumors I had heard as a child about it being haunted. But as time passed, it became my favorite spot in the entire village. I devoured the pictures and text in our old and tattered books. When we started learning english letters, I could not believe that there was another language that people spoke. My teacher taught us numbers along with their operations and I was amazed by how simple the world seemed with their use. By the time I had completed addition and subtraction, my mother unhesitatingly sent me to the grocery shop for little daily provision. She was confident that I would get the right amount of money back to her. She was proud of me. One day, my father returned home with a piece of paper with numbers scribbled all over. I could not contain myself and I took it from his hand. They were big numbers. Bigger that what I had been taught. I returned it to him with a heavy heart. He took the paper and smiled at me meaningfully. He warmly spoke to me for some time about all that he knew of numbers. It took me a lot of concentration to understand but I was determined to show him that I could understand everything very well. I repeated all that I had learned in school and I told him one day I will do him proud. One day I will become his support.”

 

“When I was six, my father took my mother to the only hospital we knew of, near the closest town. My mother had a bulging stomach and she was in pain. She told me she would come back to me with a surprise. I felt tortured. I did not want any surprise for which my mother had to suffer so much. I stayed close to my father and he held my hand tightly. I had no clue what was going on and I wished to be back home with my parents. My grandmother was happy when we had left. Maybe she was rejoicing in my mother's pain. She was never good to her. She made her work tirelessly even when she was unwell. She always cursed her no matter how well my mother performed. She cursed me too. I always wondered, what wrong did I do? I always followed her instructions. Still, she was repulsed by me. A women in a white coat walked out. My father pounced on her with questions about my mother. She seemed reluctant and nodded her head saying “ She is fine, but I am sorry, it was a baby boy, a stillborn.”

I saw my father land on his haunches with his head buried in his hands. I saw him crying. I began crying too and I shouted out for my mother. I wanted to see her immediately and I begged the doctor to let me in and see my mother. Oh mother! I was so scared, so petrified by my father's reaction.

The woman, kindly took my hand and led me away from my father. She bent down and stroked my stained cheek. She said “ Mamma is fine. Don't worry. You will meet her soon.” This instilled life back into me.”

 

“When I was eight, my grandmother fell ill. She could not walk, she could not even sit straight for a long time. She needed assistance to relieve herself. But she never stopped cursing me and my mother. She blamed us for her condition. She was even more menacing. I was beginning to understand why she hated us. She was unhappy that I was a girl. She was unhappy with my mother because my mother failed to give her a grandson. I wondered still, what I could not do that a boy could. She was in the final stages of her life and the whole day she complained that she would die without seeing a baby boy who would bring some wealth and happiness into the family. She thought I was useless, a burden. I wondered, if her grandmother too thought the same about her. My mother, the passive and yielding woman, did not utter a word in protest. I wondered, if she was ever disappointed when she knew she had given birth to a baby girl. I knew by that time, that when she lost her baby, she also lost her ability to become a mother again.”

“As I turned ten, my grandmother died a painful death. I managed to top the village school by then. I had worked hard, just like my father and now he was proud of me. My teacher, who was getting more wrinkled as the years passed, repeatedly told my parents that they must try to send me to a city school. She even took extra classes for us girls. She was proud of me and felt that if I had a teacher, a mentor who could nurture my mind and talent for understanding numbers, I could really achieve greater feats. My father still toiled in the fields. He too was getting older. My mother looked beautiful. But I could see age slowly creeping in on her face. She was never expressive with words like me, but when she hugged me, I knew she loved me more than anyone else in the world. I was her priced possession. I vowed to myself, that no matter what, I will give my parents, my gods, a better situation in life. They deserved it.”

 

“When I turned eleven, opportunity knocked on our door. A woman from a foreign land came to interview my teacher. She took time out to speak to the students too. My teacher, on purpose, got this beautiful and exquisite white creature to my place. The foreigner knew a little hindi, so she tried making a small conversation. I smiled and replied back confidently in english. My language skills were far from polished but the woman was very impressed. She asked me what I would like to do when I grew up. I had this in mind for a long time. I replied, “ I want to help baba do better.” She took out a beautifully covered diary from her leather bag, and handed it over to me. She asked me to write and record all about my life in it. It was brand new and when I felt the pages, my mind was racing. I was thinking of all the things I would like to fill it with. She even handed me a pen. It was unlike any I had seen before. The only place pens were available were at a small grocery shop and he sold only two kinds. This one had a heavy black body and a golden cap. I felt for the first time in my life that I was holding something luxurious, something very valuable. But I only thought of its worth in terms of money then. It took time to realize its real value.”

 

“From then on, life changed, completely. This foreign lady, took keen interest in my life. She tried teaching me more. I tried learning more. Then the offer of a lifetime was given to me. I was offered to live in the city and study there. Our village was quite backward. The men and women were generally good. But when they heard that a girl, and not a boy, was chosen as a candidate, they were furious. They were enraged. This seemed unacceptable to them. I wondered, if I did better than the boys, why was it wrong to be the chosen one. I was obviously more deserving. When I walked past the villagers, they passed snide remarks. They insulted me. These were the same people who greeted me everyday on my way to school. I understood that the attitude that my grandmother held for so long was deeply ingrained in the minds of these villagers. My only hope were my parents, my teacher and the beautiful white lady. My parents too realized how important this opportunity was. They contemplated for a long time. They understood my dreams and always stood by me, but what bothered them was the reaction of the people. The people they had lived with were suddenly jealous of them. If they did send me they would loose the confidence and support of the villagers. It would become difficult to survive. Then what had never happened, happened. My servile mother spoke her mind. She did not want any barriers to hold me back.She said clearly to my father that they should be ready to face the brunt. FOR THEIR DAUGHTER'S FUTURE.”

 

“I was in my twelveth year, when I was walking back from a government school, in a city, so far away from my home. My heart ached when I reached my house in the city. It was a decent house, kept by a middle aged woman running a small stationery shop. She had a heavy set face and was perpetually angry. The house was bigger than my village home, but it had a much smaller heart. There were two other girls staying with me in a dingy dark room. We had three beds, two cupboards and one table all fitted inside. The girls were cordial to me. They too were from a village but did not speak my tongue. The little conversation we had was in English. They went to a different school. But it was the same lady who had given them the opportunity to earn respect in life. I wished I had my mother with me and her warm hug to cheer me up everyday that would motivate me to work harder. My father, after careful saving, had bought a mobile phone. So I spoke to my parents on a weekly basis. That time of the week was the only time I smiled. But hope was what kept me going. The classes were different. The subjects were tougher. But I was here for a purpose. I was here to give my best. I was afraid to lose, to fail, to be made fun of. And so I worked hard, as hard as I could in the given circumstances. I had failed in the first session exams. I saw the world around me collapse. I wondered, if the villagers were right, was my grandmother right? Were they right in thinking I was useless, a burden? I was beginning to lose faith in my capabilities. I was beginning to loose faith in myself. I wondered how I would ever be able to tell my parents, I failed. I failed them, and their hopes.”

 

“When I was in my nineteenth year, I received my twelveth class board marks. I had managed to top, again. I did not wait for any celebrations in school. I took the first train I could get to my village. I was nostalgic as I walked past the places I had spent my childhood in. The houses had changed a little. But the people were still the same. They still felt I was undeserving. They still passed snide remarks. They still insulted me. But I was completely unaffected. I had managed to barricade them and their thoughts about me. When I saw my mother outside our house, drying the clothes she had washed, I ran and hugged her. She was delighted to see me. She was in tears. She held my hand and took me inside our home. That beautiful little house that was heaven on earth. I held out a newspaper page and showed her my photo. Amazed, she asked me what was written. She was in tears again when I told her I had topped. She took out a box of sweets she had prepared herself, and filled my mouth with it. We laughed and cried at the same time. When my father returned, he gifted me another beautiful doll. But this time, the doll wore a doctor's dress.”

 

“The diary I had been given is now full of the phases of my life. I am now living a life where I know the worth of education. I know the worth of a loving family. I know the worth of hard work and I know the worth of faith. I have never looked back. I am not afraid to fail anymore. I am not afraid to lose. I am not affected by what anyone thinks or says. Because now I understand failure teaches you more than success can. I understood that being a girl is not a curse if you have those in life who will always love you. When i look back into the pages i have filled, i see life from a new perspective, a better perspective. I treasure life, i find it as valuable as i found that pen as a young girl.”

 

The young girl is now an agricultural research analyst. She helped her father earn a comfortable living and now he has retired. She even encouraged him to learn how to read and write, so that he can spend a better life and understand the world better. Her mother has a cupboard full of beautiful sarees that her dear daughter bought her every month on receiving her paycheck. She even won a scholarship to study abroad but decided to stay with her parents and experiment in her own country.

 

 

This girl is fictional. She could be any one of us. She never let her being a girl dissolve her hopes. She had the talent. She had the support of her parents. Please encourage the womenfolk. They deserve much better than the treatment they receive everyday. They deserve your love and care. They deserve good education. They deserve good parenting. They deserve a chance. Please don't take that away. 

 

 

By Anushree Bhattacharya

Author's Note

Ignore grammar problems and "karchi" means a long spoon used to cook.