Around four in the morning we were awakened by the house mother. The first exercise consisted of dividing up into groups of six. The document that I had to learn was written on several blackboards. A teacher took each of the groups. They explained that one among us had to stand with his or her back to the board and recite the text to the others. The others had to verify that there were no errors, and if there was one they had to interrupt – but without correcting the pupil, who had to find and correct the error themselves. We all knew our text by heart, but to reel it off in front of five pairs of eyes scrutinizing the slightest misstep was a more complicated exercise than I had thought. I had to have two tries at it.
Each of the children then had to introduce themselves say the rest of the group, say where they came from and telling a little about his or her life before enrolling in school. We discovered that we had all come more or less by the same route and had the same problems. We came from poor and rural families. We had all at one time or another worked to help out family members. We had been confronted by parents who wanted us to give up school for economic reasons or for a forced marriage. It was rather comforting to realize that our case wasn’t isolated and that we had much in common.
We form two circles around a ring placed on the ground. The kids in the first circle have big marbles; the ones at the back have normal-sized marbles. The object of the game is to push the marbles that are scattered in a random way outside the ring to inside it. For the first circle of kids it is easier because they have big marbles and are closer to the target. The teacher watches us, takes notes and referees the game. He explains to us what lesson we should take away from this .
‘The kids in the first row have big marbles, which represent their potential to succeed. They have an advantage compared with the ones who are in the back, further away on the one hand, but also at a disadvantage because they have only one little marble. Now we are going to change one thing: the first circle has ordinary marbles and the second has big marbles. Now, take your places again.’
We notice that it is possible to push the marbles into the ring even when you are at a distance. I understand the principle: it doesn’t matter much whether you are in front or behind, what counts is to have a bigger marble.
‘Poor people are the second circle, the better-off people are the first circle. And as I told you before your potential lies only in what you have in your hand. You have noticed that you can succeed even when you are at a distance? Remember that the ordinary marble and the big marble represent your academic attainment. If you have a good level you will have more chances to succeed in life. It matters little where you come from.’
I am staggered by this analogy, which makes sense and which explains that even poor people like us can one day get out of poverty. I later tried hard to explain that to my parents, but they never really understood what I meant.
In a second go – still around the ring – they ask us to form teams of two: one person from the first circle and the other from the second circle. You have to communicate discreetly so as not to be blocked by the other teams. It is rather tricky to define the rules and strategies of dialogue with people you’ve only known for a few hours. If my friends had been there it would have been simpler. The teacher explains to us that he will go back over this game after the lunch break.
I meet several remarkable people during this workshop. Some of them have really suffered, and it seems that what links us is the fact that we’ve been working when other children were going to school and getting instruction. I also notice that some of us are capable of taking the initiative while others aren’t at all. Each one has certain qualities, the aim being to combine them so that a team is effective. I have just understood the other point of the game of marbles.
Other activities are planned until dinner time. At the end of the day we are exhausted, and once in our dormitory we all go straight to sleep.
The next morning they hand out newspapers, scissors and paste. The object of the game this time is to put together a banner on which the words cut out and juxtaposed form a coherent sentence. All the groups are in competition. In the beginning you have to make a sentence with five words as fast as possible. Then it gets more and more difficult with ten or fifteen words. I understand that to win you have to get organized. I get the team together and assign everyone a role. Three are to search for words and are supposed to say them out loud so that we can see how we are going to arrange them; two are busy cutting them out and sticking them in the right order; finally the sixth should supervise the process to avoid an error slipping through. The members of our team demonstrate that this is the right strategy, for we win one game after another. To make the game more interesting, some pupils aren’t allowed to make use of their arms and legs, or they are blindfolded. At each new constraint, we have to redefine the roles. The ones who are blindfolded are given the job of, for example, sticking down the words. Those who can’t use their bodies read the newspaper cuttings. I like this game a lot because you constantly have to adapt yourself to new rules.
On the last day we all have to give a talk to the other pupils. Fifteen minutes before going up on the platform we are given a piece of paper with the subject that we have to talk about. We absolutely must finish in less than ten minutes and not stray from the subject. All the subjects have been treated in the course of the workshop or in the document that we had to memorize, and I get the health risks during a too-early pregnancy – a subject I’m an expert on.
The last half-day is devoted to a summing up. Mr Kundu congratulates us and explains how this game-playing is actually very important. Once we get back to school we will have a special role to play. To be able to play it properly we have had to develop our oral skills and sense of leadership and make sure we are completely up to date on the rights of children. Before speaking in public we must be sure we have a simple and clear message to communicate, go right to the heart of the matter, master our elocution and the pace of our speech and remember to make use of examples – ideally our own experiences – to increase the credibility of our presentation.
Mr Kundu reminds us that the teaching team is always at our disposal if we need advice or supplementary information. He asks us never to forget that we are different from other kids and that our influence can make things change.
9
PLEA
After my speech at the museum a few journalists followed the development of my situation. The interest they took in my story encouraged me in my ideas and my fight. I also received the support of several politicians. In concrete terms that materialized in small donations of money or of goods, chiefly for the practical difficulties of daily life.
A team of reporters came from abroad especially to meet me, and they spent several days in the village. I introduced them to my friends and schoolmates as well as my teachers. They stayed for quite a while talking with my parents.
On the last day we went to the big weekly market at Sampur. Josna, her husband Badhari and Debu came with us. We came back laden with shopping bags: vegetables, a chicken, spices, rice and lentils. There had never been so much food in the house. The reporters insisted that we also buy some cooking utensils, cleaning materials, new mattresses and some blankets for winter. My brother-in-law Badhari was astounded at the sight of a brushed metal razor with interchangeable blades and a soft shaving-brush. The journalists gave it to him, and he promised to keep it for years.
A little before their departure the cameraman handed me some cash. I promised him I would spend it suitably. I asked the advice of my teacher, who suggested that I enrol in a training course in computing – the only subject that we don’t study at all in school because we don’t have the equipment.
The little room was nicely arranged. Computers equipped with a webcam were placed in a semicircle. A ceiling fan stirred the cool air blown out of the air conditioner. Just above the office of the owners a big framed portrait of Sai Baba – a figure revered by both Hindus and Muslims – looked down o
n the room.
Two brothers who had spent most of their time in Calcutta set themselves up in an out-of-the-way spot near their native village to be closer to their parents. They were Muslim and knew all about computers. I signed up for their training course with my friend Budhimuni. The courses took place whenever one wished over a period of three months.
Yusuf showed us how to use computers to listen to music, watch films or even access the internet. We were taught the basics of office computer programs: we learned to create or open a text document, to write and to save. I find the word-processing program very easy to use and very practical, even if I often make mistakes. When there was a power cut the brothers started up the generator, and the computers came to life again. Each time we got to grips with a new concept we moved on to another. These machines contained tons of secrets – and even if we devoted all our time to it we would always have something more to learn. Yusuf was happy to pass on his knowledge: he seemed to have mastered computing to perfection. His explanations were very clear, and he didn’t hesitate to make comparisons with daily life so that we would understand better.
The trip home took an hour on foot. My parents insisted that I never come back at night. I suggested buying a bicycle with the money we had been given by one of the politicians. That would be useful for everybody and make the longest trips easier. Baba approved of this idea, and we went together to Purulia by bus. We met my brother-in-law. He advised us to go to see his boss, who had several hundred bicycles and would have some good advice.
Gopal Babu was in his workshop supervising dozens of people who were repairing things, hammering things or inflating the tyres of the vehicles that were fairly bashed up from their intensive use. The racket was deafening. At the back of the yard two men were welding a passenger seat on to a rickshaw. On the left a dozen workers were handling and daubing some parts covered with grease in plastic basins whose colour you could hardly make out. Their fingers were black and sticky, and the grease had got under their fingernails. While Baba was introducing himself and the owner was listening absent-mindedly I noticed that there were several scars on his arms. He was keeping an eye on his workers. We had the feeling we were a bother and making him waste his time. His right hand didn’t move but the left stroked his white beard; then he looked at his watch.
‘It’s nearly lunchtime. Have you eaten?’
‘That’s very kind of you, but we don’t have much time. We’re going …’
‘If you don’t take the time to eat you must really be rushed for time. But allow me to insist. You are from Badhari’s family and I can’t let you go away with an empty stomach. What’s more the workers are about to stop, and we can talk in peace.’
‘Thank you! We accept with great pleasure and thank you for your welcome and for your hospitality.’
Several little dishes were placed on a straw mat right on the ground. Squatting down we all took some vegetables, chicken, sauce and roti. Between mouthfuls Gopal Babu asked Baba, ‘What exactly are you looking for?’
‘We need a little bicycle. We live in Bararola and my daughter needs a bike to get to school.’
‘You’re looking for a bike for your daughter or for the whole family?’
‘For the whole family, of course. Who can afford the luxury of having several bikes in one family?’
‘There are some. Believe me, there are some. When I was a boy there weren’t many cycles, but as time went on some people got rich, and the bike is still the most affordable way to get around. Your daughter goes to school, you say? That is a very good thing. Me, I fought for my children to be able to have an education worthy of the name and have an easier trade than mine. They are all in the United States and come back to see me every summer. They have their problems, too, but then everybody has problems, right?’
‘Yes, life isn’t easy, but it is our destiny to follow the route ordained by the gods.’
‘Without wishing to sound like a blasphemer, I have learned in the course of my modest life that the gods are also open to negotiation. Their judgement is not as final as people think,’ Gopal Babu replied, before bursting out laughing.
Baba didn’t react. I smiled and, for fear of being observed, I bowed my head over my plate.
‘What do you do for a living, Kalindi? You’re a farmer?’
‘No, I have no land, unfortunately. I roll bidis.’
‘That gets very painful after a while, they tell me …’
‘I’m not complaining! After twenty years it’s true that my back hurts, but the advantage is that I have completely stopped smoking.’
‘That’s a good thing! And is your daughter doing well at school?’
‘Yes, she spends her time studying, nothing else interests her …’
‘That’s good, my girl,’ says Gopal, fixing me with his dark eyes. ‘You have to take advantage of these carefree moments to work and think about your future. My children are very glad that I urged them to go to university rather than to work as cycle-rickshaw drivers. I can’t help feeling I’ve seen you before … Have we already met?’
‘I don’t think so, Sir, or I would have remembered it.’
‘Wait a minute, you aren’t Rekha? The little girl in the newspapers?’
‘Yes, my name is Rekha …’
I felt that my father was uncomfortable at this turn of the conversation.
‘Oh, yes. I remember. You’re the little girl who refuses to get married!’
Babu went pale; he thought that this story was buried for good, but it had followed him here.
‘Listen, Karno, daughters like yours are exceptional. I am delighted to meet you. I don’t know what other people say to you, but I want you to know that I am very proud to meet you. You must get a lot of rude remarks, especially in your village, but you will always have my support. Our country needs people like you. I had three sons, but if I had had a daughter I would have given her the same chances as her brothers.’
‘Thank you for your support, Gopal. We’re very happy to have a daughter with so much character and personality.’
‘Enough of this chit-chat! Amosh, go to the workshop, take the best bike, service it, lubricate it properly and bring it here when it’s ready.’ Gopal ordered one of his workers, who hurried off towards the garage.
‘This is very kind of you, Gopal Babu, but I am determined to pay.’
‘I understand. Even if my gesture is not out of charity, I don’t want to offend you. Give me what you had in mind in budgeting for the bicycle, and if you have the least problem come back to see me. This bike is “guaranteed”, as all the companies say nowadays who sell fans or mixers,’ he said, bursting out again with a deep laugh.
‘Thank you very much! May the gods reward you for your goodness,’ Baba stammered while holding out the carefully folded notes.
The owner put them in his pocket without counting them. Amosh returned a few minutes later accompanied by a magnificent black bicycle with a leather saddle, new tyres, a basket on the handlebars and a luggage carrier equipped with a cushion. I was thrilled, although the machine was almost as high as I was, and it looked like I was going to have trouble riding it by myself.
We set off for the village after thanking Gopal Babu at length for lunch and for giving us such a good price on the bike.
We glided along the road, the breeze whipped against my face, the wind blew through my hair. I was sitting sideways on the comfortable luggage carrier. My father pedalled faster and faster under a glorious sun. When we reached the statue of Hanuman we got off the bike so that we wouldn’t damage the tyres by riding over sharp stones. When we were on the dirt track again Baba suggested that I pedal the bike. I was impatient to take over the machine, and I pedalled fast, the better to feel the cool wind on my cheeks.
In our excitement we forgot to buy a padlock so the bicycle had to spend the night inside the house.
I have been appointed the head of the class. Atul announces it to the pupils at the end of the school day. If a
tricky problem comes up or if we have questions that we prefer to deal with among ourselves the pupils can come to see me. On the way home my friends congratulate me and are curious to know what my training programme was all about. I tell them that we played games while learning a lot of things, that I met people with the same problems that we have even though they live a long way away from our school.
I don’t go into the details because I have to call my sister. She is confined to bed with a fever, and her voice on the telephone is weaker than usual. The doctor prescribed her some tablets to lower her temperature. I ask her if she is carrying a new baby in her belly. She says she’s not – at least she doesn’t think she’s pregnant. Spontaneously I suggest paying for the operation that the doctor has been advising her to have for some months.
The next day I accompany my father to the bank to withdraw the last few thousand rupees that remain in my account. He gets on the bus to the in-law family, and I ride the bike back home. Mr Kundu tells me that he has just organized the first session at which I must speak in public. That’s in one week, but I don’t mention it to my parents.
After school the headmaster and the deputy minister of labour are waiting for me so that we can go together to the meeting place. When we get there several dozen people are waiting. The meeting is taking place in front of the police station in Jalda, several kilometres from our house.
Strength to Say No Page 8
