130. His Daughter’s Dream

“Do you know what I had when I came to Delhi?” he asked me with a proud smile.

Now I knew and he knew that the question was meaningless. Not because the question was not important; but only because I had met this young man just about 10 minutes ago.

I always feel that there is some kind of spark in working people, in poor people that connects me with them in an instant. The person I am referring to was a Taxi Driver – a clan; I have lot of interactions with and learning from.

When I came to Delhi, I was advised to take MERU cabs – a well known Taxi service. It is little costly – but safe, clean and always on time. I have interacted with many MERU cab drivers in the last eight months and have always enjoyed the interaction. Today was no exception.

After initial dialogue about Delhi traffic, MERU working, customer behavior, driver behavior etc. we entered into more personal kind of information sharing – rather he entered into it with the above question.

“No, I do not know. What was it?” I asked.

“I came to Delhi with just a Zola (a small cotton bag) - that is all. I had no education; I had never been to a big city….. and see now for the last 15 years I am driving a Taxi in Delhi”, he added with the same pride. I can understand him. Coming from a small village, I know what it is to be in a Megacity. I know what challenges it poses and I know how one feels disconnected sometimes.

This man, Jai Inder; in his late 30s was born and brought up in Banka district (earlier Bhagalpur district which is now divided into two districts) in Bihar. At the age of 17 or 18, he came to Delhi in search of livelihood. He worked here and there and saw a great opportunity in driving profession. Then he purchased a taxi (kali –peeli – black and yellow colored cab used for public transport) and drove it for years. It was only recently he joined services of MERU and he was enjoying his new work. He does not at all know English but can make out generally whatever text messages he gets on his "GPR"System installed in the cab.

I had been to Banka district a number of times; so I could talk to him about the places, the people, the environment, the hopes etc. He was thrilled to meet a woman who had been to ‘his’ area. (This is one of the advantages of my profession that I have visited places where city people hardly go!!) Then he started talking about his family. He has a 10 year son and a 7 year daughter. When asked about them, he told me that they are studying in a good school in his village. He added, “I have decided to provide best education to my children. Madam, like you are sitting and I am driving, I dream that when my children grow up they would be sitting like you and someone else would be driving their car….”

I was touched by his dream. I was touched by his passion. I was touched by his hopes. I was amazed by his simplicity. I could see a poor, illiterate (or just functionally literate) man, staying away from his family, working hard... so that his children have a better tomorrow. I wish his children know this and remember this when they grow.

“But what does your son want to become?” I asked.

“Oh, he wants to be an Engineer. He studies hard and gets good marks.” Again a proud father emerged.

“And what does your daughter want to become?” I asked. I was ready for an answer: teacher or a doctor or a pilot or a computer operator – that is what most of the girls say.

Jai Inder looked at me. Then he asked me very seriously, “Won’t you laugh if I tell you what she says?”

I was astonished by his question. “Oh, certainly not. Life has number of possibilities – so even if your daughter is dreaming something impossible – who knows, it would happen!” I encouraged him.

“Well, she actually wants to become a Railway Minister!” he said sheepishly.

I was taken aback by the innovativeness of his daughter’s dream. I have interacted with thousands of girls and this was the first time I have come across a girl and just a 7 year young wanting to be a Rail Minister.

“Who knows? She might become a Rail Minister one day….. “I said honestly and was glad to be able to feel and say this.

The father was very happy. He even narrated me a childhood story of Dr. Man Mohan Singh (whether true or not true I cannot say). The story goes like this: Man Mohan Sing’s father sold vegetable in the market. One day he had some other matters to attend and he asked his young son to manage the stall for few hours. Young Man Mohan declined. His father became angry and asked, “If you don’t want to sit in this chair, are you going to sit in Prime Minister’s Chair?” On which young Man Mohan replied, “Yes, I am going to be Prime Minister of India.”

It was one of the rare occasions when I did not argue about the story. I mean there are such stories about all people who became successful later in life – it is trend to rediscover and exaggerate their greatness from (and in) their childhood. But today I realized that such stories (whether true or not true) have a bigger role to motivate those who are not in a good condition, who are poor, who have the capacity to dream but no means to achieve those dreams.

I cannot say whether His Daughter’s Dream would become a reality. Maybe, when she grows, she would want to become something else. What I appreciate that a 7 year girl can think so differently and her father loves her so much that he wishes the dream to come true – he strives in that direction – giving her best of the education is first step according to him.

Girls now dream differently. Bihar expresses itself differently. Poor have the tenacity to strive for their dreams - differently. India is shaping differently.

Daughter’s Dream can certainly make the difference.

56. At Last...

It is about 9.00 in the morning when I see her. No, I do not know her, and I do not talk to her. I am aware that taking this photograph is an invasion on her privacy. But I take it to remind myself the burden women carry in their life.

I am traveling from Munger (Bihar) to a small tribal hamlet. On the way we have stopped at a dhaba for breakfast. Anticipating non-availability of hygienic food my team has carried bread, butter and jam. So, in the midst of poverty, I am having a luxury breakfast. I am traveling in a car, which has air-conditioning facility. I have packaged water bottle with me. I have instruments like mobile and digicam. I have enough money in pocket and I have enough food. My life stands in full contradiction with the woman who has to carry this burden almost everyday.

We move away. I see men sitting on the top of the bus and tempo all through my journey in the state.

The transport facility is so scarce, that people have to travel like this. Inside the vehicle there is crowd. It is humid and hot. Those sitting on the top of the bus at least get enough air to breathe. I do not know what is happening to those sitting inside the vehicle – and women have to sit inside. Another burden they carry. I see my life in full contradiction with those traveling on the bus-top.

We reach at the end of the road. A tribal (Santhal community) young man is there to receive us and guide us towards the hamlet. He is speaking fluent Hindi and is not at all shy. As we are walking through paddy fields, I have to pay full attention to the marked walking path. One moment here and there, and I would slip in the mud. I can neither enjoy the conversation nor the scenic beauty around.

We reach a small hamlet. A bucketful of water is brought for us. Within five minutes women gather in the community hall. They are surrounded by children. Men too come to listen. The hall is packed. I sit on the chair. Generally I sit on the ground but today I cannot. On the road were many thorny grasses, my salwar is full of those thorns. If I sit cross legged, thorns are sure to trouble me, so I sit in the chair. The local men and women walk through these thorny fields regularly. There is no shop in the hamlet, no dispensary, nothing. For everything people have to walk for at least five kilometers. They live with the thorny grasses happily. I see my life in full contradiction with the life of these tribal people.

One of my responsibilities is to address such meetings. Actually I do not teach them much but I learn a lot from them. The hamlet name is Vannarkola. There are only 36 households in the hamlet. Electricity polls exist, but there is no electricity. Women and children are malnourished. I apologize for not knowing their ‘tribal’ language. They all enjoy my ignorance in a healthy way – ‘it is alright’ kind of expression on their faces. Most families own land – a small land of course. Women have formed couple of Self Help Groups. Some have participated in agriculture development program. I talk about different things.

I pass on the baton to my colleague and come out of the hall. I like this hamlet. The houses are small, with mud walls. I see green paddy fields around and the sky is clear blue. There is deep peace in the environment. I fully enjoy the moment, knowing well that I would never get it in the city.

My team comes out in search of me. They start talking about different aspects of the development program. I leave that peaceful moment behind and jump into the discussion. Well, a lot of things could be done here. We walk through the hamlet, open the doors (in the absence of its owner) and glance at the inner part of some houses. I meet a 10 year girl, whose name is ‘Gungee’. A man is carrying a small child on his shoulders, whose name is ‘Khushabu’. I see utensils, clothes, goats, cows, and birds. I get a feel that ‘this is a fine place’. And again, I see my life in full contradiction with the hamlet. One enjoys such remote hamlets when one’s life is not blocked into it. As I have a comfortable place to stay, I can appreciate mud house. What if I am compelled to stay in it?

The program ends. The SHG is providing tea and biscuits to all those who are gathered. I notice that the kids are given only biscuits. In the eyes of the kids, I see a wish for tea. I invite them to dip their biscuit in my cup of tea. Without hesitation, a child dips a biscuit. Then comes the second child, then the third and so on. I see their smiling faces, the happiness in their eyes.

And I see my life in full contradiction with these kids. For them, just a little tea to dip a biscuit is a source of such a tremendous joy. And for me?

We leave. A group of women and men walk with us about a couple of kilometers, just to see us off. We talk, we smile, we laugh, we plan, we promise to meet again. The feeling of closeness is mutual. The joy in meeting each other is mutual. The wish to meet again is mutual. The connectedness is mutual. The wish to hold hands is mutual. The smile, the happiness is mutual. The bond is mutual.

At last, there is no contradiction.
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