Without beating around the bush, let me begin with a story. A story so simple and touching, that it will resonate in our minds as a tale that echoes a million times over with innumerable girls in India and the world over. This is the story of a mother-daughter duo I had the privilege of knowing.
During my brief stint in Pune, I had rented an apartment that was close to my office. The area was suburban with an equal mix of both IT professionals and villagers. The day I shifted with my roommate, I chanced upon this family who lived two doors away from us on the same floor. Now, this was a family of four, with extremely humble means, where only the father earned and made ends meet. Immediately upon my arrival, the lady, Rekha came over to say hello. She made friendly chatter and we got to meet her naughty but well-behaved kids, Kiran and Kunal. She retreated after ten minutes citing household chores as an excuse and left us to unpack and arrange.
An hour later, as we were heading out for dinner (since all that unpacking and arranging stuff had left us too tired to cook), she caught us near the staircase and dragged us to her house for tea. He husband was away on work and I see could see that between five of us, the family had barely three glass teacups. It really humbled me to see that while we drank our tea from the cups, the lady drank hers from a small bowl made of steel. She turns to us with a radiant smile, "You both can call me Bhabi. I shall always be there if you need any help you know." Yeah, a lot of people say that. But they turn out to be hollow promises that actually mean nothing in reality. So we just smiled politely.
We were quite taken aback when she said, "By the way, don't eat food from outside. You'll fall ill. I've made dinner for you both. In spite of having a lot of work to do, I had this nagging feeling that I must really welcome you both for dinner. So I made chicken, dal, and rice for you. And please eat it without hesitation, the chicken I've prepared is halal." We were quite overwhelmed at this overt display of hospitality from a woman who barely knew us. We resisted and tried to escape politely, but she'd have none of it. We eventually left her place late that night after a heavy dinner. That was my first encounter with Rekha bhabi, and believe me, that woman rendered me speechless.
Rekha bhabi once even went to the trouble of making an entire feast of every type of food she could afford when she came to know about my roommate fasting one day. She landed at our door that evening with every bowl and plate she owned, saying she'd made iftar and said she wanted a few prayers from us. That wasn't the only time. I remember her weirdly having this radar, where when she suspected us sleeping hungry (because we used to be tired to cook or go out to eat), she'd bang our doors awake and ensure we slept with our bellies full.
Rekha Bhabi had this extremely compassionate and hospitable nature, and I once asked her why she insisted on feeding us, and pat comes the reply, "At night, my deepest fear isn't about how poor we are, or how we will make it work this month. It is this guilt that somewhere around me, a person is going to bed hungry. That thought is disturbing. Honestly, I can eat one roti less, or go to bed hungry, if I have the satisfaction of having known that my neighbors are well fed." When she said this, that is when my heart melted for the first time for a complete stranger and all of a sudden, Rekha wasn't a stranger to me anymore.
The better part of the story is Rekha's nine-year-old daughter, Kiran. Kiran was this extremely witty, smart and talented little girl who loved to dance. During Navratri, all the kids and adults in the colony danced away into the night and Kiran was no less. In between all the people performing dance, Kiran danced like there was no tomorrow. She pranced around exuding such energy and enthusiasm like a soul possessed. She danced all the way tirelessly into the night, her aura overpowering even the best of the adult dancers and making her the cynosure of all eyes.
One such night, when Rekha bhabi overheard a group of 13-year-old guys jeering at Kiran and hooting obscenely at her, she panicked. Being the innocent and worrying mind that all mothers are, Rekha bhabi decided to put a leash on her daughter. The next day I overheard her rebuking Kiran and asking her not to dance and stay out late at night. She told us about the threatening advances by those unruly boys and even cried to stress that she was just worried for her daughter's safety.
And then, barely nine-year-old Kiran caught us unawares by saying, "Aai, these are dandiya nights and at the end of these nine days, the organizers are giving out the prize for the best dancer. It shall be a big trophy. When I dance, I don't see you, I don't see the people dancing around me, nor those boys. I see only me and that trophy. And I swear, that is going to be mine." It is unbelievable how kids can speak with such innate wisdom and her sheer innocence hit us all. She further persisted fiercely, "You should teach me to be strong. Do not teach me to be afraid of some random guys. I have dreams and I want to fly and conquer them. Just because we have the constant fear of falling doesn't mean that should stop us from going ahead and living our dreams. There is so much I want to do in life without living in fear."
That ended the argument and we all had no words to say. Little Kiran, in her pretty blue frock, had spoken wisely and way beyond her years. The harsh reality stung, but the words of optimism, the grit and resilient determination from this little girl gave me hope that all is not lost in this world.
On this year's International Women's Day, it isn't feminist claims, awareness marathons, special magazine editions that should rally for our attention. Feminism is not just about those success-driven, multi-tasking, high-flying empowered modern women. It is also defined by the likes of Rekha, Kiran and a million other women around the world who endure away from all the spotlight and are the embodiment of complete spirit and integrity.
Cheers to the women we all know! You must know that each of you is beautiful and worth every snip of a dream you see. To all you women out there, thank you for existing. And to all the Rekhas' and Kirans', thank you! Because you are the epitome of hope and humanity.
We were quite taken aback when she said, "By the way, don't eat food from outside. You'll fall ill. I've made dinner for you both. In spite of having a lot of work to do, I had this nagging feeling that I must really welcome you both for dinner. So I made chicken, dal, and rice for you. And please eat it without hesitation, the chicken I've prepared is halal." We were quite overwhelmed at this overt display of hospitality from a woman who barely knew us. We resisted and tried to escape politely, but she'd have none of it. We eventually left her place late that night after a heavy dinner. That was my first encounter with Rekha bhabi, and believe me, that woman rendered me speechless.
Rekha Bhabi had this extremely compassionate and hospitable nature, and I once asked her why she insisted on feeding us, and pat comes the reply, "At night, my deepest fear isn't about how poor we are, or how we will make it work this month. It is this guilt that somewhere around me, a person is going to bed hungry. That thought is disturbing. Honestly, I can eat one roti less, or go to bed hungry, if I have the satisfaction of having known that my neighbors are well fed." When she said this, that is when my heart melted for the first time for a complete stranger and all of a sudden, Rekha wasn't a stranger to me anymore.
The better part of the story is Rekha's nine-year-old daughter, Kiran. Kiran was this extremely witty, smart and talented little girl who loved to dance. During Navratri, all the kids and adults in the colony danced away into the night and Kiran was no less. In between all the people performing dance, Kiran danced like there was no tomorrow. She pranced around exuding such energy and enthusiasm like a soul possessed. She danced all the way tirelessly into the night, her aura overpowering even the best of the adult dancers and making her the cynosure of all eyes.
And then, barely nine-year-old Kiran caught us unawares by saying, "Aai, these are dandiya nights and at the end of these nine days, the organizers are giving out the prize for the best dancer. It shall be a big trophy. When I dance, I don't see you, I don't see the people dancing around me, nor those boys. I see only me and that trophy. And I swear, that is going to be mine." It is unbelievable how kids can speak with such innate wisdom and her sheer innocence hit us all. She further persisted fiercely, "You should teach me to be strong. Do not teach me to be afraid of some random guys. I have dreams and I want to fly and conquer them. Just because we have the constant fear of falling doesn't mean that should stop us from going ahead and living our dreams. There is so much I want to do in life without living in fear."
That ended the argument and we all had no words to say. Little Kiran, in her pretty blue frock, had spoken wisely and way beyond her years. The harsh reality stung, but the words of optimism, the grit and resilient determination from this little girl gave me hope that all is not lost in this world.
On this year's International Women's Day, it isn't feminist claims, awareness marathons, special magazine editions that should rally for our attention. Feminism is not just about those success-driven, multi-tasking, high-flying empowered modern women. It is also defined by the likes of Rekha, Kiran and a million other women around the world who endure away from all the spotlight and are the embodiment of complete spirit and integrity.
Cheers to the women we all know! You must know that each of you is beautiful and worth every snip of a dream you see. To all you women out there, thank you for existing. And to all the Rekhas' and Kirans', thank you! Because you are the epitome of hope and humanity.
