Reshma

Wed, 20 Apr 2005 15:35:50 GMT

Kesare is a slum in Mysore. One among the many that dots the city. Though the city has grown all round it and prospered, the conditions in this pocket has not changed. Narrow lanes, thatched roof huts, dogs, chicken, cows and children, clad, half clad. All jostling for a space of their own. At 6 in the evening, Kesere is like a beehive disturbed. The men returning home from work, women planning the evening meal. Mothers screaming for the children to get back home. The cattle too made their way for their resting place. Having grazed all day, they were unmindful of the human anxieties. The smoke from the fires had settled down like a mist of a summer morning and masking the activity from the outside world. Blissfully ignorant of the din outside were the twenty odd residents of the slum who had assembled in Nasreen’s home. A dwelling place no different from the other hutments in Kesere, the assemblage of the 6 to 14 years was a tight fit. But the discomfort had not diminished the sense of purpose. Nasreen’s home was a home turned school every evening. The dim electric lamp that hung above cast shadows on the books in front. But this was more than made up by the bright faces that had come to learn. In comparison to the children who went to the regular school in the mornings, there was a slowness in their body movement. Not because of any illness, but because their energies were drained out toiling through the day. Each child was a bread earner to their respective family and were there after a hard days work. Reshma was one among the twenty. Unmindful of the visitors, she was enjoying a joke with her friends. That’s Reshma sir announced Nasreen. She is the best pupil in the class and she has not absented herself even a single day. Reshma seemed to enjoy the attention. Reshma was the eldest child to her parents. Her mother had died when she was only eight and her father Rehman had not married again. The burden of a household fell on the shoulders of Reshma. Imran her youngest brother was only two years when the joys of her childhood was suddenly snatched away from her. Reshma was not just an elder sister, but became a mother too to the siblings. Reshma’s day began much before a soul stirred in Kesere. Water being a scarse commodity, it had to be collected before the other residents arrived with their pots and pans at the public tap. What an adult could carry in one vessel, Reshma had to make several trips for the same quantity. She had to pack food for her father who worked in a distant factory. Feed her brothers before they left for school and contain Imran from crawling away specially towards the fire place. The blisters from a previous mishap had not healed completely. If Reshma’s attendance at the school was one hundred percent, it was because school was her only entertainment for the day. Perhaps her only hope to change her quality of life. When her turn came to answer what she wanted to be when she grew up, her answer was spontaneous. To be a teacher. Little did Reshma realize that her life and her toils to keep her family well provided even before her time was itself a lesson she had taught.

Whats in a name

Sat, 09 Apr 2005 04:53:04 GMT

It is a terrible feeling. You meet some one you have known but don’t remember his or her name. Instead of admitting right away that you have forgotten the person’s name, majority of us torment ourselves trying to remember or searching for clues. A simple opening remark like ‘who is this’ or an admission of a memory lapse could rid you off of the suffering. But I guess pride comes in the way of such admission. Instead, we walk into the torture chamber with a “Hello, how are you and then get cooked and baked over hot coals for the rest of the encounter. In spite of the previous scars, I continue with this bravado and pay the price !

A few days back I met a gentleman who appeared to me of a similar age but not familiar. The manner of his greeting, the firmness of his hand shake and his inquiry of my well being put a halt to any intention of asking who he was. While we made polite conversation of the weather and politics, my brain was scanning in all directions for even the faintest hint as to who he was, his name and where we had met. I felt it would be most impolite to be discovered that I had no clue whether he belonged to the same planet. While I was fast running out of conversational material, I made bold and asked him how his family was. It was like walking into a wall when he said that he was not married. Suddenly a large area of 'discovery channel' seemed to disappear. To gain time and search for more clues, I volunteered that my son had married and that he was in business etc. I made another bold attempt to shoot in the dark. I asked him of how his business was. Another blank. He had retired many years ago and lived on his pension. I looked around to find anyone who could take this gentleman away from me. He stood his ground relentlessly. This torment had to end. I confessed that I was not too sure who he was and apologized profusely for my poor memory. Me too he volunteered. I thought you looked familiar and greeted you. Good Lord neither of us knew each other. We had never met before. I bet the coals that he was grilled on was equally hot. We introduced ourselves and parted a little red in the face. Gosh what did he say his name was ?

If I have decided to go for walks before the sun rises, I want to take advantage of the darkness. With the sun rise all those souls with no memory space like me are let loose to walk this earth. I propose to continue with this timing till a rule is enforced that all senior citizens will venture out with a name tag and history clearly displayed on their chest !

ashviniranjan

Reshma

Whats in a name