by Shilpa Raj
It came to a head during an argument with Avinash one day when he blurted out, ‘You have been with us for the last fourteen years, but we have never been happy with you.’
Unable to control my tears, I pushed my chair aside and ran from the room to my hideout—the library. Sitting by myself amongst the rows of books, I wondered how the good moments we had had together over all these years could turn to dust so quickly. No doubt, my family problems had turned me into a defiant person in the past, but now I was at least trying to mend my ways. My feelings towards my classmates grew bitter.
That evening we were celebrating Thanksgiving at the Foundation House with volunteers from abroad, complete with a grand dinner and plenty of free-style dancing. In the midst of so many happy people, I felt lonely and miserable. My classmates made no effort to cheer me up and I waited impatiently for the party to end.
To make my suffering worse, after dinner DG surprised us with a request. Standing at the center of the hall, he asked us girls to join him one by one for a dance. No one knew any ballroom dances. All I wanted was to return to my dorm and hide under the bedcovers to avoid making a fool of myself.
‘Come on; don’t be shy,’ DG said gently, nudging us to be brave. As usual, Keerthi, the most confident one amongst us, came forward first.
Soon it was my turn. Panic stricken, I extended my stubby arm, hand barely reaching DG’s shoulder. He took my hand in his and slowly guided my feet in small steps to follow him. Despite his best efforts, I lost my balance and stumbled, stomping on his foot. He continued as though nothing had happened, but everyone saw and burst into laughter. When it was over I ran back to my seat, relieved that the embarrassment was over.
I ached to be part of my classmates’ circle in all things—dancing, playing basketball, or just chatting late into the night. I argued that studying was no reason to isolate myself and began making concerted efforts to get closer to them. At first they were not interested in hearing anything I had to say, but as time went on, the ice gradually began to crack. I joined in their games, trying hard to laugh along with them. My overwhelming desire to be liked and accepted by those around me overtook my interest in schoolwork. I sought their company at every chance, even if it meant getting into trouble for doing things that were not allowed, like garden raids or accessing off-limits Internet sites.
Our carefree ways didn’t do us any good. All of us performed poorly in the mid-term examination, so it came as no surprise when we were informed one evening that DG and Ms. Beena had scheduled a meeting with us. I knew we were in big trouble. That evening, DG walked into the room, his expression taut. He sat down, crossed his legs, and cast his gaze slowly across the room at each of us. I averted my eyes, quickly rubbing them as though they were itching. None of us dared move in our seats.
‘You don’t seem to care about your futures,’ DG began somberly. ‘Don’t you know you are the ones who have to transform your families’ lives?’
He was right about us: we had chosen to forget our main goal in life, though the staff frequently reminded us saying, ‘Your families are depending on you. They are hoping you will save them from their difficulties.’ In truth, sometimes I wished I didn’t have such weighty responsibilities.
Appa often asked me, ‘Shilpa, when you grow up, will you help the family, or will you be angry with us for not having spent a rupee to educate you?’
‘Appa, I will never blame you,’ I replied instantly, irritated at him for always doubting me. He hadn’t seemed satisfied with my promise.
‘You know, when you were little, you used to tell your mother and me that when you grew up you would burn all our old clothes and buy us new ones. You said you would build a big house for us.’
I had assured him then that I would do all those things. But now it was DG who had to remind me of the promises I’d made. I knew I had to earn enough money to help with Kavya’s wedding and the dowry we would have to give her in-laws. I couldn’t ignore the fact that I owed at least that as her elder sister and the most fortunate one in the family. I wasn’t working hard enough to keep my word. Even as I realized I needed to balance my studies and my desire for companionship, I had no regrets over the time spent with friends because those were mostly happy moments. Now I needed to get serious again about my work. There was no other choice, no second chance. Until the exams concluded two months later, I kept to myself again. Some of my classmates surely resented me, but I had promises to keep and I would not need another reminder.
After the final examinations, while we waited for our scores, the staff prepared us to lead independent lives outside the gates of Shanti Bhavan. We listened to lectures on career choices, time management, personal health, and dealing with money. Drilled into us were the importance of good relationships, proper conduct, and how to avoid sexually transmitted diseases. I had led a sheltered life in the safety of Shanti Bhavan and found the idea of being on my own scary. I had never handled money, and was unsure how I would manage it. We were being prepared to go our separate ways.
Not long before we were set to graduate from twelfth grade, DG spoke to us about marriage. He told us that when we became old enough, he would be very happy if we found our life partners amongst our very own Shanti Bhavan classmates. ‘No way! Yuck!’ we exclaimed, followed by giggling and teasing.
‘Aren’t we supposed to be brothers and sisters?’ Avinash asked, sending us all into a fit of laughter. I could sense DG was enjoying the madness he had instigated. Even though my classmates and I had made up in recent weeks, I was convinced none of the boys would choose me.
The following days flashed past. By this point, I had made a major decision: to remain in Shanti Bhavan for another year to write my memoir. It wasn’t an easy decision to delay college, but it was what I wanted.
A few days later, we were notified of our examination results. I stood second in the class with a distinction; everyone had done well. Despite all the recent turmoil in my life, I had managed to focus on my studies at a critical juncture. I was satisfied with my performance, felt good about myself, and gained confidence in my abilities.
DG promptly called for an informal get-together of our entire class in the downstairs library. I was sure he would be happy with our performance in the examination. Sitting before us, he said, ‘I want you to know we will be there with you through college and graduate studies. When the time comes, we will use all our contacts to make sure you land a good first job. All you have to do is work hard in college.’ It was exciting to hear him speak about our future as though it were a real thing, something we could grasp with our two hands.
He waited for a moment. ‘Many people told me children from poor homes could not succeed academically, even if they studied in good schools. They said that nature was more powerful than nurture. You have proved them wrong. I am a very proud man today because of you.’ He struggled to overcome the tears welling in his eyes. ‘It is not about the beautiful setting of Shanti Bhavan—its buildings and gardens; it is not about the people who work here; it is not about me; and it is not even about you. It is about all those combined and what we accomplish together—how lives are transformed, how families are taken care of, and what you will do for others in the ideals of equality, truth, generosity, compassion, and ultimately in reverence for life.’
I looked at my classmates. Everyone was struck by his words. The idea of caring for others has always been a part of our personal mission in life.
Our time in Shanti Bhavan had been one great experience. We had grown up together as a big family, treating each other as equals and respecting each other despite our differences. Boys didn’t look down upon girls. It was beautiful to realize that the same boys who witnessed their fathers kick, burn, and emotionally destroy their mothers would never raise a hand to a girl, or make her feel less worthy.
In Thattaguppe, often there were fights between people of different castes. Once I heard about a young girl who had fallen in love with a boy from a lower caste. The boy she l
oved was brutally beaten by thugs called in by her family, and she later went missing, now presumed dead. I cannot understand why people allow caste differences to drive wedges between them.
Looking back I was glad that the school authorities had limited my time at home during these past fourteen years. It had saved me from accepting much of what my family would have taught me. I know it sounds cruel to think like that, but it’s true. But none of that diminishes my love for my mother or the rest of my family.
By the time graduation was close at hand, my determination to improve my character and to conduct myself well had transformed me. The unsettling confusion that had arisen from my family’s demands about my marriage, my conduct towards men, and the two worlds I had to juggle seemed finally resolved. The upbringing I had in Shanti Bhavan brought me self-confidence and self-worth. I could not even consider walking out through the gates of Shanti Bhavan without saying to myself, I shall follow the lessons I have learnt here all through my life. I will not entertain the thought that I am intrinsically inferior to anyone else.
And yet, it was important for me to understand the indignity my father had endured. Through his experiences, I hoped I would learn more about myself, and that that would prepare me for the way society at large might perceive me.
Appa finally took me to see the Gunna’s house where he had worked for his longest period as a servant. No one but the current servant was home. I could see why Appa thought of the landlord’s house as majestic. It had several rooms arranged next to each other to cater to the family’s every need—a complex architecture in a land where until recently most people had nothing more than one-room mud huts. Even with all its grandeur, the house still harbored the familiar smells of the village: fresh manure collected in the adjoining cattle shed and smoke from the firewood burning in the kitchen adjacent to the living room.
‘We can’t enter the kitchen,’ Appa whispered as I was about to cross the threshold. I knew what he meant, that lower castes were not allowed to set foot inside, but I ignored his warning. While my father waited on the doorstep, I walked through the entire house. I wanted to know everything about the landlord’s lifestyle. My courage stemmed from what I had learnt at school—that everyone is created equal.
Appa’s silent acceptance of the Gunna’s insulting rules and the injustice he encountered troubled me. He couldn’t seek redress for unfair treatment by landlords. ‘Justice’ was what landlords and village heads decided. And in a land where justice is often bought, poor people can only hope for mercy. Unfortunately, mercy, too, comes at a price.
I suppose Appa has always viewed his social status as his karma. He lived through indignity to win the biggest game in life—survival. Often, he had to lose to win. I have come to believe that Appa’s childhood experiences, as difficult as they were, gave him insight into what would be good for me. I am sure he doesn’t want me to face the indignities he has so often faced in his dealings with those above him. He is confident a good education will ensure a prosperous future for me. He told me to study hard and get a good job, even though he never bothered to encourage my siblings. I can’t help but also see a selfish motive in Appa’s aspirations for me—that through my education I will bring in money for the family.
For my part, I am determined to help my family, community, and anyone else who is in need. Having experienced the kindness and generosity of strangers all through my life, I firmly believe my obligations to society reach well beyond my blood family.
Where does my duty to my parents lie? After all, I was cared for by my school for all these years and, when at home, by my grandmother. Yet somehow, I still feel an unexplainable bond with my mother and father. Even if Appa’s reason for sending me away to school was a selfish one, I do not blame him. I will gladly help my family when the time comes.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE GRADUATION
The sun nestled into the orange horizon as parakeets flew across the evening sky. A light breeze carried their chirping as they darted through the air, competing with hovering dragonflies. Moving in flashes of green, they dotted the blue sky before finally settling onto long cherry branches.
A few talkative parakeets fluttered over the high roof of the school building. Two perched on the beams running across the ceiling, peering inside to watch nine young, shy girls stepping onto the stage. A happy evening of jubilant dancing and singing in anticipation of the following day’s graduation ceremony was just about to conclude.
Now was the evening’s grand finale, the Viennese waltz. This was a special event, one I had been waiting for ever since Sheena’s class performed the waltz last year. A hush settled over the audience as the girls slowly joined the boys on the other side of the stage, facing an auditorium packed with guests, staff, and friends watching us with broad smiles. My stomach knotted.
I bowed before my partner, Avinash. I wondered if he was thinking then of the chubby clown he once was, if he remembered those early bird-watching walks around the lake outside the grounds of Shanti Bhavan as a preschooler. We had not been good friends in recent years, and both of us secretly tried in vain to convince others to switch partners. But when we could not find anyone willing, we were forced to practice together. I did not make eye contact and was a little stiff in his arms as we went through the movements. This was the first time in all our school years that boys and girls were officially permitted to hold hands and dance. Grandmother would surely have fainted had she seen me dancing ‘so shamelessly’ with a boy.
Although I was too involved to observe the others, I could imagine what they were like on stage—joyful faces on full display with elegance flowing from every turn. Everyone except the two of us was excited to make the most of this moment.
Who could have ever imagined that the girl in the far corner of the stage once begged on the streets, that the boy in black tie smartly turning his partner was the son of a construction laborer, or that the tall, slender girl dancing off to the side had watched her murdered father’s body burn on a pyre? None of those things mattered on this day. We danced with all the fervor and grace we could muster, as in the old Hollywood movies of our dreams.
I looked down and smiled to myself, realizing that every footstep signified the culmination of fourteen years growing up in a world unrecognizable to the one I had left behind. I was now to be the architect of my future with the knowledge and confidence to free my family from the bondage of poverty. I was free to follow a road my ancestors never even set foot on, redirecting our assumed fate like a large boulder in the middle of a river, diverting its flow.
As the music ended and the dancing stopped, a painful awareness of my own beginnings overwhelmed me. I wondered why some people see me as unworthy—other than that my forefathers had engaged in work traditionally associated with very poor people. It was a thought I had struggled to let go in recent years but, finally, I was determined not to carry it with me any longer. ‘From this day forward,’ I silently vowed, ‘regardless of how anyone else might judge my existence, the word “untouchable” will have no meaning for me.’
My bond with my classmates was what really mattered to me that night. I remembered the first time we all had met at the age of four. We came from very poor homes, but through the years we had come to see one another as no different from any other children—innocent and eager to take on the world. Each one of us displayed something unique and beautiful, like the different images in the Hindu calendar. As years passed, Shanti Bhavan had led us into the creative reservoirs of our own imaginations, teaching us to express our thoughts and beliefs without fear of being silenced. And with all our schoolmates, staff, and volunteers who cared for us, we have a much bigger family now.
I see myself as a product of two disparate worlds, and each has given me a reason to love, to be kind, and to grow strong. My education has given me the ability to choose what I want for myself and the confidence to aspire to greater goodness. I have chosen to favor my new world, and hope to change the one I left behind.
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sp; I woke up early the next morning to prepare for the graduation ceremony. There was so much to do to get ready for the occasion; it felt like time was speeding out of control. The aunties hurriedly helped me finish dressing. Amma had never before seen me in a sari; I had especially chosen one with gold trimming she would surely like.
‘Shilpa, hurry up,’ Ms. Nirmala called from the dorm’s entrance. I rushed out, lifting my sari carefully with one hand to avoid tripping.
I stopped to ask one of the older girls to look over my hair. ‘Shilpa, you look beautiful,’ she said cheerfully, advising me not to worry. The girls in my class were already in the school building, still asking each other how they looked. The boys stood off to one side, dressed smartly in white shirts with ties and dark grey trousers.
As the auditorium filled up, the microphones were tested one last time, and special guests were escorted to their seats. Rows of red chairs on the left remained empty—they were for us, the members of the graduating class. I searched the crowded hall for a sight of my parents; watching me graduate would surely be their proudest moment. But they were not there. I started to panic, and held back tears only by telling myself that if I started to cry tears would wash off my mascara.
‘Please take your seats,’ Ms. Nirmala instructed softly.
It was time for the chief guest to arrive, escorted by DG. I frantically scanned the crowd again. Would my parents really miss this? I couldn’t imagine them not being present for the occasion after waiting all these years.
But just as the ceremony was about to begin, I caught sight of Appa and Amma entering from the side door. My mother looked pretty in a pink sari. Our eyes met, and she waved at me excitedly, nudging my father to look in my direction. Appa was very presentable—clean, well-shaven, dressed in an ironed white shirt. I could see that his combed-back hair had thinned to near baldness. Once, when I asked him why he had lost so much hair, he replied that years of carrying liquor sacs and baskets full of cow dung on his head had taken their toll. My heart sank when I noticed Kavya wasn’t with them.