Fatamata, called Fatty otherwise, was so named because she was born on a Monday, Fatamata in Swaahili. She became my friend, also because no one else really became friends with her I think, and I made her mine. Also I liked her and she was a gentle soul with an endearing accent.
The racism inbuilt in the children was obvious. One day a boy - I still
remember his name after a generation's timeframe ! - Rakesh jeered at
her, 'Arre Kaali' ('Hey, you black thing'). I was furious, and despite
the inhibitions of adolescence, I yelled at him loud and long. Not one
other voice from the class was raised in her support. That day i hated
the crowd I was in, and also realised that my path could be a seperate
one. And that I would choose that friendlessness to being part of a
mindless crowd.
The blog post is a trivial incident dating back to middle school. And yet it matters.
When I think of our own daughter, among her many experiances, one very small event dating back to when she was four or five years stays important to me.
She had gone to the mango garden with her other friends. This was Naren and Umas garden. Naren and Uma are close friends, practically family, and we moved to this village because of them. There in the field there was a wood apple tree and the children collected many falled wood apples. Then Narens cousin, a Naidu farmer, accosted them. He barked at her friends and asked them for the fruits. This was caste belligerance of a Naidu against the SCs, and his feeling that it was his cousins farm. My daughter told him off, saying they had come together and it was her Naren Thathas farm. That he cannot shout at her friends. Maybe the children all understood the caste dynamics, and the other children stayed silent. He raised his hand in annoyance, but she refused to return the wood apples, and the children then came running back to the village with the spoils.
But over years, along the path, the finest and deepest friendships based on similar values and beliefs have happened. Maybe few in number, but wonderous ones.
I wish I could teach all children that to go with one's heart, even at the cost of risking being alone, is worthwhile in many many ways.Teenage is the time when fundamental choices of life are made in many implicit ways.
' xlink:href='%23b'/%3e%3cuse fill='black' filter='url(%23c)' xlink:href='%23b'/%3e%3cpath fill='white' d='M12.162 7.338c.176.123.338.245.338.674 0 .43-.229.604-.474.725a.73.73 0 01.089.546c-.077.344-.392.611-.672.69.121.194.159.385.015.62-.185.295-.346.407-1.058.407H7.5c-.988 0-1.5-.546-1.5-1V7.665c0-1.23 1.467-2.275 1.467-3.13L7.361 3.47c-.005-.065.008-.224.058-.27.08-.079.301-.2.635-.2.218 0 .363.041.534.123.581.277.732.978.732 1.542 0 .271-.414 1.083-.47 1.364 0 0 .867-.192 1.879-.199 1.061-.006 1.749.19 1.749.842 0 .261-.219.523-.316.666zM3.6 7h.8a.6.6 0 01.6.6v3.8a.6.6 0 01-.6.6h-.8a.6.6 0 01-.6-.6V7.6a.6.6 0 01.6-.6z'/%3e%3c/g%3e%3c/svg%3e){kind=small}
When I think of our own daughter, among her many experiances, one very small event dating back to when she was four or five years stays important to me.
She had gone to the mango garden with her other friends. This was Naren and Umas garden. Naren and Uma are close friends, practically family, and we moved to this village because of them. There in the field there was a wood apple tree and the children collected many falled wood apples. Then Narens cousin, a Naidu farmer, accosted them. He barked at her friends and asked them for the fruits. This was caste belligerance of a Naidu against the SCs, and his feeling that it was his cousins farm. My daughter told him off, saying they had come together and it was her Naren Thathas farm. That he cannot shout at her friends. Maybe the children all understood the caste dynamics, and the other children stayed silent. He raised his hand in annoyance, but she refused to return the wood apples, and the children then came running back to the village with the spoils.
The mothers of the children were very pleased with the story, and
patted our daughter on her back. She in turn was also pleased.
A very small story of very long ago, which she herself might have forgotten now. But it is of such small steps where we stand on our convictions that our strength builds.
These are what matter, small day to day events that test us, challenge us, and build us or weaken us. This is what we need to engage with with all children.
Awards, ranks, medals, marks. the college the child gets into ... these are far smaller matters than character.
A very small story of very long ago, which she herself might have forgotten now. But it is of such small steps where we stand on our convictions that our strength builds.
These are what matter, small day to day events that test us, challenge us, and build us or weaken us. This is what we need to engage with with all children.
Awards, ranks, medals, marks. the college the child gets into ... these are far smaller matters than character.
But over years, along the path, the finest and deepest friendships based on similar values and beliefs have happened. Maybe few in number, but wonderous ones.
I wish I could teach all children that to go with one's heart, even at the cost of risking being alone, is worthwhile in many many ways.Teenage is the time when fundamental choices of life are made in many implicit ways.
There was this very well taken video on FB showing how badly Africans are treated in India. I was telling Dr. Girija and Mukundan about it. Their observation was that this may not be so in villages. And then I realised they were right.
Yes, a village would treat any and every guest with respect and cordiality. And that is India - the India I have learnt to love and respect. Where 'athithi devo bhava' is valid still. Where civility and consideration is a way of life.
No comments:
Post a Comment