Reconnecting

Each step we take towards a random direction takes us somewhere, a place where parts of us remain hidden. Parts that connect us to where once we had left things incomplete. The quest of completion, joining bizarre dots to form a sensible image, it propels us to move, to go beyond and to stretch out those infinite possibilities. This is a story of one such journey, a journey where ends of course did not meet, neither were those dots completely joined but nevertheless I had reconnected once more to those moments of my life that I had once buried down. It’s a quest that happened without an intention, simply just as a part of life.

As I shove those insects away from my eyes and stare at the vast lawn stretched in front of me, despite the beads of sweat trickling down my body and the very obvious heat in the south, I am left to bewilderment. For I am oblivious to all the feelings as the words begin to flow within me.

A recent brush with an interesting bunch of people have brought in this casket of memory.

It wasn’t long after my classes got over that I continued my share of chit- chat with my friends. Then came a proposal. As a part of the gender sensitization week some special people had come all the way from abroad to share ideas with us. Some of them being authors. They had organized a talk and someone had to represent the university. Hearing the word ‘Author’ I jumped about and a talk with them was something to be looked forward to. Having a newly found energy to myself I went along with my friends. It was a long drive to that place. On the way I gaped at the lush malls flanked right across the streets. As the time passed there was a far better scene to gawk at, the sunset. This was one thing that I never get tired of watching. The rising and setting of the fireball, an everyday phenomenon yet more marveling each time.

As I finished feasting my eyes, I stole a glance of all my friends who were either busy in their phones or were asking the time left of this journey. The fireball did not matter to them I suppose. My eyes caught yet another glance of the people hurling towards the metro, the dhabas filled with pani puris and of course –the stray dogs on their hunt for scraps. Everything connected there to the thoughts within me. I enjoyed what I saw and engaged myself in spinning a yarn of stories. Stories of everything that I saw, the hustling people, the dhabawala and even the stray dogs. Everyone had this; a story to tell, a story unheard and unspoken of. Our vehicle came to a halt and the screeching brakes pulled me away from those stories, to begin my own where I had left it- astray and incomplete.

A man led us inside a room where seats were arranged in a conference style. We made ourselves comfortable and my attention fell upon the power-point screen which said ‘A mighty girl’. The talk began and it was all about the initiatives they were taking up to empower women. They had a great agenda of starting this at the very grass root level of youngsters. After the discussion and the presentation we were presented with a question and answer session. This was a podium for us to say our doubts regarding the initiatives taken, our suggestions if any or any of our experiences that could connect better to the topic.

The session began and people talked about what they feel about the whole lot of it and also continued appreciating their efforts. At that moment I time traveled, back a couple of years. I stood there in that day, in that half built house, near a room- separated from the people there by just the gap of a wall. Where I had a brush against a prejudiced notion, something that I could relate to- with the topic we were discussing here.

The excessively turned up AC with its icy cold air made my hand freeze, and there came a whole lot of goose bumps. I had gone ice cold in that warm memory. I rubbed my palms against each other and tugged on the sleeves of my kurta wishing they were a bit longer. Finally I decided to share this memory that I had kept selfishly hidden in my treasure box. It was no less than a treasure for me, or may be far beyond that.

It dates back to the days of my childhood. I don’t remember the exact date, only that it was an afternoon. My house was under construction, and in that scorching sun I was walking along towards that construction area. My memory has betrayed me a little bit for I don’t remember why I had gone there. The other normal days I wouldn't even think of going anywhere on such a hot day, but that day I did. As I reached there, as usual I began exploring the area. A half constructed house was always a mysteriously interesting place for me. I climbed up those unfinished stairs towards the place where my room was to be built. I went instead to the balcony. From there I could see my room. I glanced through the window and saw my father standing there inside the room. There was also a worker busy doing the walls.

I was done glancing from the balcony when my attention was caught by a conversation going on between them.

“How many kids do you have Sir?” the worker asked my father.

“I have two girls.” My father replied.

“Oh…” the worker said, his face falling into a grimace. After a short pause he continued. “No boys?”

Now this was getting on my nerves, wasn't that evident from the answer my father had given him? His inquisitiveness for unnecessary details was seriously irritating. A part of me wanted to break in and bang his head, while the other wanted to eavesdrop the complete conversation. I followed the latter. I stood there unflinching, just frozen. The talk continued.

“No.” replied my father while he was glancing at the walls, evaluating the quality of work done.

“That is sad, haven’t you ever wished for one boy.” The worker continued.

I swore under my breath, wondering where he was pointing to. I kept my temper under check for I wanted to hear my dad’s reply. It was an anxious moment, a word could change many things, and it would.

“No, I haven’t wished for any. Why do I need boys for my girls are better than any.” My father retorted breaking the deafening silence. He was evidently irritated or so I felt.

“Hmm…” the worker sighed, at the failure to drive home his prejudiced thoughts into dad.

Standing a wall away from them I smiled, not on my face but through my heart. It rejoiced for the answer had changed many things. The love I had for my father was transformed into admiration and respect. My chest puffed with pride for being his daughter.

                                                                     …….

When I finished narrating this incident the whole room broke into applause. My friends and the other people there were applauding at this, and I smiled like I had won a lottery, no one saw but I was sitting on the ninth cloud. The clapping continued for almost a minute and so did my smile.

The lead person of the whole program smiled graciously and exclaimed. ”Your father must be a great man!”

“He is.” I said, still sitting on the fluffy cloud. I didn't want to come down.

The eyes of the people were filled with admiration, and it held an expression I was holding that day behind the wall. It felt something far beyond words to make people feel what you felt way back.

“You must certainly let him know about this.” One of them suggested.

“I would, very soon.” I replied, with a certainty that I would pin these words down, one day.

                                                                      ______

Achaa….*

This is for you. I have written a lot before this particular article but none of them has given me this feeling of pride. What I feel now is indescribable. You may not remember that day, nor that conversation, for it might have been normal. But for me this day is carved within, it would never fade till the date my nerve cells give away. It is within me, a dear part that I hold now and forever. That answer did change a lot, a real lot.

*Father in Malayalam