The Journey –
I packed my bags. “Oops, that’s heavy” I said to myself as I
lifted them up. But you know how it is, we females, in general, love to carry
everything in our bags, even if we don’t use half of the things! Just going through
the check list, I made sure I had packed all my stuff. “Done”, tick, “done”,
tick…… “Ok, all’s set now, ready to go”. And I left for my trip. I was going to
visit my friend in Delhi. We all had planned an ‘all women’ trip to Leh-Laddakh.
I got down from the taxi. I had a sling across my shoulder,
trolley bag in my hand. “Oh! Gosh, I am running late to catch my train”, I pondered.
Running swiftly, ticket in one hand, I reached the station gate. Rushing towards
my platform, catching my breath, entered my compartment. And the train started
moving. “Hush!”, a sigh of relief. I had just made it. After stacking my
luggage, I settled down on my seat number.
All the seats in the compartment weren’t occupied. The compartment
was quiet. “Good, now I have some tranquillity, to pen down my thoughts, for my
blog”, I thought. I took out my diary and pen and started to scribble. Just then
an old lady came and settled down in my adjacent seat. I glanced at her, she
smiled. So, I smiled back and it broke the ice between us. She started the conversation.
“Are you studying?”, she asked. “No, I am a blogger, I write blogs”, I said. She seemed to be confused. So, I explained to her what
exactly blogging is - We can express our views through blogs, articles, write-ups, everybody can read them online.
They can comment, give feedbacks, reviews. “Oh, that is so nice”, she said with sparkle
in her eyes. “In our era”, she said with a sigh, “we weren’t allowed to get out
of the house, without permission. We were not supposed to speak, when not
asked. Some of us were not allowed to go to school too!”. And she reconciled with her past……
I was small girl, with oil in my hair and two ponies tied. I
used to be at home with my mother, to help her in daily chores. I was hardly 6
or 7 years old, but knew how to cook, clean, sweep, wash clothes and utensils. I
also used to look after my younger brother, who was 4 years old.
Once, on my way,
coming back with my father, from the local market, I chanced upon a place. It had
a big board at the entrance. I didn't know what it said. But the place was
fascinating. There were kids, mostly
boys, playing on the ground. Some of them were sitting under a tree. A man was
writing something on a black coloured board. The kids were repeating what the
man was saying, aloud. As we walked past that area, I could hear sounds like ‘a’,
‘aa’, ‘e’, etc. Scared to speak, somehow, I dared and asked my father what the
place was. He said it’s a school. “A school! what’s that father?”, I asked. He told
me everything about the school – we learn to read and write here, we learn to
play new games, etc..etc….. “Wow! That’s a good place to be”, I thought. When we
reached home, I asked my mother, “can I go to school?”. My mother was surprised
to hear this. She looked at my father, anxiously. My father was furious. He didn’t
like what I just said. He shouted at me and said that school is for boys. Girls
have to be at home and learn cooking, household work and looking after the
children. That’s what a girl’s life is all about! So that meant my younger
brother would be going to school the next year. I would be here, at home, doing
what I was, since age 4. I ran into the kitchen and started crying. I thought I
had made a blunder by asking such a terrible question. When my father was out, I
told my mother that I would never ever repeat the mistake. My mother was
considerate. She was a loving lady. Even though she favoured my views, she had
no voice in taking decisions for the family. I had seen her in the house, mostly
in the kitchen, all her life.
I grew older, I got married. And as my luck would
have it, my husband was a gem of a person. He respected women. His sisters were educated.
He made me learn, read and write. He took me to places I had never been and couldn’t
have dreamt of. I wanted to have a girl child, whom I would educate, make her independent,
make her enough qualified to earn for herself and live life being a strong and proud
woman. But God had different plans. I do not have kids.
She stopped, looked at me and said, “when I see a woman
like you, who is independent, I feel very happy!”. Again, the same sparkle in
her eyes.
I was touched by her story. I rest my hand on hers with an
assurance that I will take her thoughts forward, I stopped writing the blog. Instead
started to write a story…. a story of how women have to come out of their
shell, fight, struggle to do what they want. And how not remain in the shell,
accepting all that is imposed on them.
So here’s my first short story. Hope you all like
it. I need your support and feedback to keep writing more!
JUI.
