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She was
different from all the other girls in my class. Bold, daring, extremely
energetic, defiant at times and almost always shabbily dressed. The contrast
was glaring, right on one’s face. While most girls flaunted well-oiled plaits and pigtails
secured by black ribbons, washed and powdered faces sometimes highlighted by a bindi or a smear of kohl and neat uniforms, notebooks and bags, this one just did not
yield to such expectations. At first I found her queer, the odd one out, a girl
with whom one could never associate the colour pink (as is ingrained in us by
the media, garment and toy manufacturers and almost everyone in the whole wide
world). She would chew gum in class, laugh out loudly, pick fights with boys
that sometimes turned into physical brawls, roam around carelessly not the
least bothered by homework and assignments, jump walls and climb trees. One
could never find her gossiping with other girls about make-up, boys and the
like. She was so different.
I soon
developed a strong liking for her. May be because she reflected a part of me
that was left unexpressed because of the way our family and society moulds
girls. There are so many gender stereotypes and roles assigned by the society
we live in, that it is really hard to escape being victim to at least a handful
of them. She loved sports. That was her world.That was what kept her going. She
championed in any sport she took part in. Athletic and agile, determined and
dedicated, she was made for the playgrounds, and the tracks marked with chalk.
The sound of the whistle, the gunshot that marked the beginning of a race,
applause and cheers from the audience and the clinking of medals and trophies
were music to her ears. In her I saw my unfulfilled dreams come to life.
However, the
boys teased her and called her a “man”. They teased her mercilessly about
having doubts about her sex. They invited her to “guys only” parties. The girls
too did their bit. They didn't allow her to be their friend. They made it clear
that she was not worthy of hanging out with. A friend who could never be
introduced to one’s parents. She became an outlaw in my class and I watched
helplessly. Gradually she was labelled a tomboy. Jokes about her floated everywhere,
managing to creep up till the staff room. Teachers and well-wishers advised her
to behave like a girl if she wanted to be loved and respected. Her mother was
summoned for a meeting that saw the tormenting of a poor, hapless woman by some
teachers. As I watched the mother leave the school in tears, I decided to do
something about this. We had a class discussion where everyone spoke openly and
freely. I stressed the importance of tolerance to diversity and the need for
all of us to bust certain gender myths that plagued society. The students
responded well and promised to be her friends. I desperately hoped it would
bring about some change in attitude.
Of course it
did. By the end of the year Sharmila became truly sharmeeli(shy), stopped going for sports and other activities,
confined herself to her girlfriends and their gossips, never answered back or
questioned me, came to school with oiled hair, clean nails, colourful bindis and “behaved herself” as the
other teachers told me. Everyone except me seemed to be happy about her turning
over a new leaf. The boys in class were happy as she had been “tamed” and was
no longer a threat (as she was stronger than some of them); the girls were now
ready to take her into their fold. She was not the same person any more. Instead
of bringing about a change in mind-set of the society, she had erased her own identity and individuality. She seemed to be happy to be loved and accepted by
everyone. But the part of me that had come to life after a long period of dormancy
shrivelled. May be there will be a time when one can express oneself freely,
without the fear of being isolated or rejected. I eagerly wait for that
springtime where there is a little cosy space for everyone in this world.
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