Girl in a million

by Anitha Padanattil

  The trick was in the clothes. Wearing two layers of thermal innerwear beneath my woolen ensemble enabled me to continue ambling with a purposeful gait. No fool unless mad, would drape himself in a threadbare shawl and wait in weather that was designed to freeze your bones. Unless this was a dare or, a person unaccustomed to the weather or, a man in love, the last choice I seriously doubted, it had to be the second reason. Narrowing down the choices, I further reasoned that this had to be someone who had never been exposed to subzero temperatures. This accounted for the figure vibrating in utter helplessness (similar to a prong was my dispassionate observation) and well, he seemed to be turning blue in the face too. Imagine my shock when a close scrutiny revealed the identity of the person as being none other than Mr. Malaria! Our man seemed ready to pass out and so, I found myself towing him into the kitchen area of the canteen with the gatekeeper’s help since the place was considerably warmer.

  It took the best part of an hour for him to be revived what with my classes for the day having to be skipped and a good part of my daily allowance that I kept a strict watch on, being spent to boost the body temperature of someone I barely knew. I curbed my annoyance by reminding myself that helping someone who was in need was the moral duty of a non-practicing Hindu as well. After being bundled in warmer ‘uppers and lowers’ donated by kind members of the canteen management, Mr. Malaria was finally ready to talk.

  It appeared that he had spent two fruitful years in Hyderabad successfully negotiating the ‘ladder of fame and fortune’ when he had received the telegram from his parents. His grandmother was on her deathbed and wished to see her grandson and last surviving heir before she departed to the nether world. Rushing to Trichy, Raj was able to wish his grandmother one last goodbye and accede to her dying wish which was to chuck the city life and manage the inheritance that his parents had so painstakingly built for him. Raj was now the Managing Director of M/s Pathy’s chain of stores that stocked everything from nails to condoms within its old-fashioned precincts. Let me tell you that I had not laughed as much that day as I did in years. And what of the grandmother-on-the-deathbed? Raj’s ears had turned a bright red. She had recovered and was inching albeit hobblingly towards the ripe old age of ninety-two.

  So…why was he here? Dare I ask him? It was not anything to do with the college, of that I was sure. My mind reasoned out the explanation. My first choice was obviously wrong. But there was no sane explanation other than the one my mind had latched onto. The tops of his ears turned an even brighter red. And, this is how the rest of our short conversation went:

  Raj: “Well, as you know, I have always been thinking about you. And Cookie (the typing center owner, our mutual friend) had kept me informed of your whereabouts. He advised me to tread with caution. At present though, I’m done with caution. My life is at stake.”

  Me: “Are you off your head? The cold has addled your brain I think. What the hell are you trying to say? I seriously do not have the time for this.”

  Raj: “Look, don’t get me wrong. Everything’s moving too fast for you, I know….”

  Me: “Mr. Malaria - that has to be the understatement of the day! Apart from your weird behavior, that is.”

  Raj: “Lakshmi, I like you a lot but could never pipe up the courage to strike up a decent conversation with you even then. I’ve had your phone number with me by the way. But what set my tail on fire is that my lovely grandmother and even lovelier parents plus the sisters and troupe are conspiring to get me married. Well, what do you know, I have informed them that I’ve been engaged to you since about a year and that we are planning to get hitched as soon as your course gets over next year!”

  You can imagine my embarrassment what with several eager sets of ears ready to run off and relay the latest romantic misadventure happening within its fair walls. I was flummoxed and wished that a sinkhole would swallow me right that instant. Mr. Malaria had the cheek to talk his way through an audacious scheme with good old me as partner. How did I end up in the grand scheme of things was way beyond my powers of perception. The whole idea in its absurdity required courage that only someone like Raj could dream of.

  Leaving his family in chaos, Raj had fled without a change of clothes to accost me and keep me in the loop. The family members were in the throes of the wildest speculation about the girl, her background, her financial position, etc. Watching the hopeful expression on the man’s face bought a smile to my face. This had to be the biggest real-life comical situation I have ever faced. The fictional girlfriend, who also happened to be physically challenged, was supposed to save her desperate boyfriend from the web of bondage.

  We found ourselves laughing in sheer mirth. I, who had never dreamt of a relationship, my physical disability being the perfect impediment, was now being pursued in the most ridiculous manner and was actually considering the trappings that went with it. My sisters would be over the moon of course but the thought of interacting with his family gave me the chills.

  And so after a year, I came to be known as Raj’s wife. He had to undertake several trips to convince me of his sincerity. To save his skin, I had agreed to pose as his ‘loving girlfriend’ but after a while, it set my teeth on edge. I was threatened in various ways; through phone calls, men posing as well-wishers hinting at physical harm, oblique remarks that demeaned me as an individual, my physical frailty as a hindrance towards child bearing and so on. Never did any of these taunts or jibes upset me. On the contrary, it made me admire the man who dared take up the challenge and throw caution to the winds. It made me appreciate his generous nature and loving heart. Despite having all that one could wish for, he chose me to spend the rest of his life with. And that was beyond the spirit of generosity. This was love that the man had for me. The emotion that made him take a stand against the bigots within his family.

  Raj relinquished his legacy and started a small grocery store in Chennai with his meager savings. Our daughter was born in the year 2000. I joined the Biotech campus at Tambaram as a junior professor. After passing the UGC qualifiers, I moved up to being an assistant professor at the Pollachi Government College earning a decent pay and living a simple and fulfilled life. I have since learned to cook chicken biryani like a pro and can manage the household quite well. If you consider the earlier version of Ratna, whose inability to differentiate between a ladle and spoon was a running joke amongst all, my accomplishments thus far, have been a major achievement.

  My disability of the physical kind will serve as a reminder that despite everything life throws at us, the essence of true happiness lies within us. The gift of the olive branch that is extended has to be recognized, grabbed and, utilized to its fullest before it fades from view. The olive branch I came across that cold day in the form of Raj was life giving me the very best that it could offer. And, that, my friends, is the story of Lakshmi’s life in a nutshell.’

  *

  MARGE XAVIER

  Graduating out of high school with decent marks was quite an achievement for Marge who had relied on Sagu to get by since the time they had met. She barely managed to get through the first year of college, weighed in as she was by thoughts of her dearest friend, Sagu. Tragedy struck the second time over with the passing away of her ailing mother. Marge and her father slowly grew to rely upon each other unlike the father-daughter duo normally seen in traditional Indian communities. With the absence of a motherly figure, there was an easy camaraderie shared between the two and household chores coupled with official duties were tackled fairly well. Their neighbors often remarked upon the ease with which the daughter rode her father’s Royal Enfield motorbike all around town with the father ensconced; pillion mode behind her. Weekends would be spent with the daughter efficiently working and cleaning the heavy two-wheeler, changing its spark plug, repairing punctures, changing tires, etc. with hands that were stained dark with grease. The father was always seen reprimanding and directing the girl. Marge soon struck a friendship with a local vehicle repair center and visited the site quit
e often to obtain tips and favors. The girl whizzed around town with two or three of her classmates perched excitedly behind her and teamed up with local boys who were part of the regular motorcycle pack. Long biking trips took a toll on studies and the father-daughter duo decided to shift from active college education to a correspondence (postal) course to allow increased leeway towards her passion. Online courses were a rarity in those days and this route offered the girl a chance to focus on something that she was passionate about. You might remember the stock market option that we had read about earlier that Marge had wanted to pursue. However, what came about after detailed discussions with her father was that, Marge would pursue a year or two, of working in Peter’s vehicle repair center, provided he agreed to the unusual arrangement and then, think of taking the next step forward.

  A perceptive Sagu had interrupted her with the question, “What initiated the shift in interest towards vehicles, Margie?” A slight knowing smile followed the remark. “It couldn’t have been a random reason. There had been some kind of a trigger. What set you off?”

  Marge had acknowledged her bestie’s perceptive query with an answering laugh. She had replied, “You are absolutely right, Sagu. It was a supremely masochistic reaction by a few members of the opposite sex that got to me and proved to be the turning point. Let me tell you all what actually happened.”

  ‘There were three of us riding our motorbikes along the outskirts of the town on a hot afternoon. I had Mahesh behind me and there was Sam riding his Suzuki with girlfriend Sheila. Then there was macho Raghu or, ‘Raks’ as he liked to be called with his stooges- the Double D’s; Dilip and Daniel squashed behind him on his Honda.’ I was jeered at by most boys for daring to ride a vehicle solely designed for men but the admiring glances of the girls gave me the courage to continue and of course, my father’s encouragement kept me going. Mahesh was a sweet boy and he often piped up in my defense although members of his tribe often sadly outnumbered him. Which was why he agreed to be my riding partner that day and our vehicles growled and zoomed through the hard, unbaked dusty roads towards a village that Raks said he was familiar with. I was riding my father’s Bullet that looked pretty impressive which was why I was allowed into the haloed portals of Raks bike squad. I secretly thanked my wonderful father for allowing me to handle his bike and teaching me to ride it. Bullet owners are notoriously possessive and to override that feeling and teach a slip of a girl who also happens to be the darling daughter, rev up and take charge of the petrol-guzzling monster, was a feat by itself. I was pretty sure that had Deenanna been with us, I would be attending classes during the day and returning home after that to cook and manage our home. I was blessed to have my father’s guidance throughout. It didn’t matter to us that the aunties of my neighborhood and the so-called ‘respected members of the society’ disapproved of our actions. I was the poster child for the ‘anti-girl behavior’ brigade those days and in the following days to come I would reinforce that phrase with a vengeance.

  The motorcycle hummed smoothly with rhythmic precision as I followed the two bikes ahead of me. I felt the hot breeze on my arms and face and smiled happily. This seemed to be the best day of my life. I pictured my classmates scribbling notes as the lecturer droned on. It was a relief to be away from the claustrophobic confines of the classroom. If only my friends knew the kind of freedom we were experiencing at this moment, how they would envy us yet not have the nerve to follow what was being practiced. I detested forced pedagogy. There was no fun in it. Sagu had been the one who had helped me endure the boredom. With her by my side, I turned passive and joyful. Together, we painted our world in the brightest of colors and watched it bloom.

  My reverie was interrupted by a loud ‘twang’ soon after which, we jerked to a stop. I flicked the stand down with my foot and bent down on my haunches to inspect the vehicle. There was a thin trail of oil that was dripping down from someplace but I had no clue as to what had happened to the bike. After several ineffectual kicks to get the bike going, I finally stopped, heaving with exertion. Mahesh was noticeably upset. Being stranded with the ‘girl-who-was-a-rebel,’ away from town under the sweltering sun was an unattractive prospect. I scanned the horizon for my teammates. They were long gone and only a fine cloud of dust trailed behind them and that too, seemed to be gradually dissipating. Annoyed at my ignorance and bad luck, I suggested that we walk and try to find a garage that could set things right. Mahesh agreed grudgingly and we trudged slowly, following the trail that our friends had left behind them. Mahesh did not offer to help and neither did it cross my mind to ask as I pushed and walked alongside the bike.

  After what seemed to be a long time, we could see the two bikes of our companions coming towards us. We were greeted with hoots and cheers. Raks jeered and exclaimed with his customary sneer, “So… the golden girl is in trouble and, does not know what is wrong with her beauty bike.” Guffaws followed. I knew that the bike I rode was the subject of envy and it had pleased me until a while earlier. Sam and Sheila were grinning broadly. The ‘Double D’s’ continued in the same vein, voices dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t think that this trip will include golden girl anymore, Raks. It’s time for you (indicating me) to turn back and put an end to the grand dream.”

  The feeling of devastation, of being left out in the lurch had been heartbreaking. For a moment it had felt good to be a part of something that was never there. It had all been a delusion. Misconstrued reality that was tangible yet, unreal.

  Weary and dizzy from the effort of trudging several kilometers with an extra heavy bike didn’t help boost an already depleting self-esteem level. Watching Mahesh suppress his grin and Sheila simper along with the boys made her realize the futility of trying to ‘fit in’. Marge realized the importance of doing away with certain misconceptions in that one instant. Misconceptions created by society, the unwritten code that conveys the fact that girls are essentially weaker than men. She would fight the imbalance with every breath that she had and she, for one, would not kowtow to bullies such as these. Come what may, she would work on retribution. But, that would be something that everyone would appreciate and grudgingly respect.

  So she straightened her back and looked at Mahesh and asked him to hop on Sam’s bike. As he hesitated, Raks gestured to him and the threesome clung on the two bikes. Her nod indicated that they continued their journey and she would go back and do what she needed to do.

  *

  Marge created a buzz in the neighborhood those days. It was sad; friends and relatives remarked with aspersion that the father was seen acceding to his daughter’s unusual wish. Had the mother been alive, she would have probably gotten married and sent off to live with her in-laws. This was abnormal. A girl working in full view of everyone that too, with vehicles of all shapes and sizes and, interacting with men was unacceptable according to esteemed members of the society. Nothing unfazed Mr. Xavier though. He turned a deaf ear towards the naysayers and assumed that his daughter would be treated with kindness at the workshop. Her age and fondness for the machines would be given due consideration was his conjecture. The erroneous assumption led him to request Peter to take her on as an apprentice. He knew that she would be at her happiest tinkering with machines and learning what she could from them. The request was an unusual one but Peter agreed to the suggestion without hesitation.

  The vehicle repair center had been set up by Peter’s father who had hoped to see his son do justice to the ambitious venture. However, Peter proved to be simplistic in outlook and lacked the drive towards conversion of opportunities that came his way. This was further acerbated by the lackadaisical attitude of his employees who were associated with the center since its inception.

  Starting with two-wheelers Marge was made a junior apprentice to the dismay of her co-workers and that meant taking up the tireless, often, thankless job of repairing lowly bicycles, scooters and motorcycles. The girl’s passion was evident. Neither the sun, winds or cloudy skies deterred her from reaching her workplace
on time. She reached early, pestered the men for help and suggestions, worked diligently and left late in the evening only after the father came around enquiring for her.

  Initially, Marge’s friends poked fun at her and the local boys shunned the services of the garage. Business was dull and this in turn, added to the resentment of her colleagues. They were paid a nominal monthly amount, which they feared would disappear if the customers avoided visiting their center. Marge herself had cuts, nicks, smelly clothes and bad hair days though her cheerful demeanor cut through all of her troubles and exhaustion. To avoid reacting to frosty behavior was part of her training as well. It was evident that except for Peter and her father who saw through her sincerity and allowed her to persevere, all the others waited to see the day when the girl would stumble and fail. It would be good to see her walk away. They were just about done with the circus.

  At home, a washed up and clean Marge would update her manual; jotting down all that she had seen and learnt during the day. Titled ‘Marge’s Mini Manual,’ the initial entry began with her favorite vehicle, the Royal Enfield Bullet. A rough sketch of the motorcycle in the first page followed by pointers on various Brands and their kinds, market price, components: main body, assembly: melding of the parts, types of damage and the possible causes, repair, location of spare parts and, overall service were recorded. The book thus provided a comprehensive overview into the world of mechanical moving machines and later proved to be a commercial must-have among interns who jostled at the bit, eager to use the guide as a tool to help further their aim. The entries were crisp and to the point. Some pages had ink stains and grease marks on them. A few pointers were crossed out while others were rewritten. There were several short entries noted on the left hand side of the page, alongside the margin. The short scribbles were easy to understand and written using simple layman terms. As Marge’s understanding and experience grew, so did her notes, ready references and quick tips that helped garner instant results. What Marge had begun as a self-help tool, proved to be an instant guide that was recommended for use at homes along with the Yellow Pages and much later, as an ancillary textbook for students as part of the engineering syllabi. The Mini manual had created a mini revolution of sorts.