Unicef/ IETS
Translated into Kannada and Hindi for first generation rural learners
16 pages
Paperback
2006
My original story in English:
A dream of green hair clips
By Aditi De
“Sagar anna! Wake up!” said Surekha, shaking him gently as the soft colours of dawn painted the night sky. “When Appa comes back, do you think he’ll buy me those leaf green flower-like hair clips from the bazaar?”
“Go to sleep, putti!” replied lanky Sagar, turning away from her on the straw mat in their thatched hut at the Samudrapura fishing colony on the Arabian Sea. “It’s still midnight. Maybe Appa’ll return when the fishing boats come in around 10 am.”
Surekha glared at Sagar’s back. Both of them shared a secret they did not want to talk about. Especially not when they saw the foam-topped waves kiss the sandy beach. Or when tiny, transparent crabs scuttled between their toes as they looked out at the horizon. Or even when their friends went to school, while they now stayed back at home.
Their lives had changed for ever since that long, dark night. The night their Appa had vanished during a sudden storm at sea almost two months ago.
Mamatha, their mother, was now a different being. She either stormed at her karma. Or slept for hours all day long. At other times, she wept so much that she choked over grains of rice.
As the sun scaled the sky, their amma sat motionless by the stove, her hair uncombed. She rested her head in her hands.
Just then, their neighbour, Kalyani, dropped by. “Mamatha, here are some steaming rawa idlis with coconut chutney. Narayani, from three houses away, said she’ll send you sambar for lunch. Should she send you rice as well?” she asked.
Surekha, who was nine, looked on. Her amma replied, “Kalyani, we have to wait until Sagar’s appa comes home with a big catch. Is it worth eating till he returns…?”
Sagar, who had stretched himself awake, scowled at his amma. Then, with a neem twig in hand, he ran out of their fishing hamlet. At thirteen, he missed his schoolmates and their daily pranks. But most of all, he missed learning about the wonders of computers at the Samudrapura school.
Now rebellious, Sagar refused to run errands for his mother. Or put his sleeping mat away in the mornings. Instead, he spent all day with a group of school dropouts, tossing stones into the waves. Or whistling at passing schoolgirls. Or pelting stray dogs with shells.
After he left, Surekha sat by her mother. “Amma,” she pleaded, “please can anna and I go back to school? Remember, Appa wants me to learn nursing? And Sagar anna dreams of inventing the best computer in the world…”
Her mother didn’t respond. Instead, she began to sort through some rice, as she set water to boil on the fire, a flame lit but once every few days since the storm had turned their lives upside-down.
“Surekha!” she heard Pratima’s voice from outdoors. “Are you there?”
She ran out. Pratima stood there with Amreen Taj, both in the yellow and grey Samudrapura school uniform.
“When are you returning to class?” asked Amreen Taj, taking Surekha’s hand in hers.
“We miss you,” added Pratima. “Even our teacher, Zubeda Akka, was asking about you. She thinks you and Sagar are too intelligent not to study any more…”
“I don’t know what to do,” whispered Surekha. “Amma just hasn’t been herself since the storm…”
As Amreen Taj and Pratima left for school, they wondered how they could help their friend.
“Should we ask Zubeda Akka to talk to Surekha and Sagar?” said Pratima.
“Perhaps we should ask the Makkala Sangha for their suggestions,” said Amreen Taj.
Three days later, with a sea breeze teasing her flowing burqa, Zubeda Akka stopped by at Surekha’s home. Startled, Mamatha rose to make her a cup of tea.
Zubeda Akka was taken back by the change in her. Mamatha, who had wanted Surekha and Sagar to study at college, now seemed drained of energy. Her eyes were dull, her home uncared for.
“Would you mind if I invited Surekha and Sagar to share our evening meal?” Zubeda Akka asked Mamatha. “My children, Rasheeda and Zamir, are just their age…”
Mamatha paused for a moment, then agreed.
As Surekha strolled to Zubeda Akka’s house by the side of lanky Sagar that evening, she asked again, “When do you think Appa will come back, anna? No one laughs in our home any longer. And he had promised me those green hair clips, you know ~ to match the green skirt Appa bought me last year…”
“Oh, do be quiet, you chatterbox!” retorted Sagar, pushing her away. “You know Appa isn’t going to come back to us. Not now. Not ever. Don’t be such a big baby…”
“How can you say that?” yelled Surekha, pummeling his stomach. “I hate you…”
At that, Sagar began to run towards Zubeda Akka’s house. Surekha followed him slowly, almost reluctantly.
Once they got there, the mood changed dramatically.
“Last week, a pigeon fell out of a tree,” Rasheeda confided in Surekha. “It was crying outside our classroom. Amma picked it up. She brought it in. We bound its leg to a twig to set it right. Why can’t you come back to school? You know best how to care for amma-less squirrels and birds in pain…”
Shyly, Surekha explained, “Amma says we don’t have enough money for food. Or for our school fees. She wants us to wait till Appa returns…”
In another corner, Sagar and Zamir were in an animated discussion about whether Rahul Dravid was a better batsman than Sachin Tendulkar.
“Why don’t you watch the next one-day match on TV with me?” said Zamir, just as Zubeda Akka called them in to a dinner of dal, roti, and seer fish in coconut curry as a special treat.
As Sagar helped himself to more fish, Surekha thought: “Will Amma never cook prawn curry for Sagar anna’s birthday again?”
Just then, Zubeda Akka’s husband said, “I remember the day that your appa and I bought our fishing boats four years ago, Sagar. Your father knew all about boats. He persuaded the seller to give us the right price. He was a wonderful man…”
Sagar wondered silently: “Doesn’t he believe my appa will return?”
Zubeda Akka added, “Did you know my uncle? He was a fisherman the village looked up to. He fought to get us safer boats with motors, instead of the wooden ones our great-grandfathers used. But even that didn’t help him. Despite a storm warning over the radio, he went to sea one day. He never came back…”
As she dipped the last of her roti into the dal, Surekha thought: “Was there a storm warning the day Appa went out to sea? I don’t think so…”
Sagar and Surekha were strangely silent as they walked home. Suddenly, Sagar ruffled her hair. He said in a choked voice, “Putti, I love having a sister who dreams of green hair clips all day long. I’ll make sure you become a nurse ~ even if Appa never comes home.”
Surekha looked up at him, surprised. Her anna was crying, though he quickly wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve.
The next morning, Pratima came skipping by. “Surekha, can you come to the Makkala Sangha meeting this evening, please?”
“Remember how we all took Amaraiah’s family a handful of rice daily when they lost their boat? That was your idea, Surekha,” Amreen Taj added.
When Surekha met the Makkala Sangha group in the Std. 9 classroom at the Samudrapura school, she had a surprise. Sagar was already there. His old classmates, Nandan and Sandesh, had persuaded him to attend.
Nandan quickly began, “The recent storm at sea was a tragedy. Sagar’s appa hasn’t yet come back. Nor has Rehman’s abba…”
Sandesh asked, “Isn’t it the government’s job to let Samudrapura and other fishing villages know when there’s a storm coming?”
Sagar pitched in, “They have satellites and other data on their computers that allow them to know long before the waves in the Arabian Sea rise sky-high.”
Pratima said angrily, “If Surekha’s appa doesn’t come back, the government has to pay for their family. Don’t they know only the wrecked boat was washed ashore? Not the two fishermen in it…”
Amreen Taj agreed, “If the government pays enough, Surekha and Sagar can return to school…”
The sangha decided that Zubeda Akka was the best adult to discuss the subject with. She spent long hours with Surekha and Sagar over the next few weeks. She allowed them talk about their family, to cry over their missing appa, to ask questions about storms and schools, about man and god. She convinced the children it was important to return to school.
A day at a time, Zubeda Akka and her husband spoke to the village headman, Devaiyya. He agreed to support the makkala sangha’s battle. They struggled with basic questions. Why hadn’t the coast guard set out to find Sagar’s appa? Why should the family suffer when their boat, which was insured, was now ruined?
Zubeda Akka also spent time with Mamatha after school. Weeks later, she convinced her that that her husband was unlikely to survive a storm in the Arabian Sea. She helped her to fill out long forms. She also joined her on trips to visit the district collector, the state governor, even the fisheries minister.
“Mamatha,” she often cajoled, “Sagar and Surekha need you. Their appa shared your dreams for them. Remember?”
At that, Mamatha wept into the pallu of her sari. Then, she began to collect the children’s school books. She stacked them into a neat pile.
One day, after a dinner of kanji at home, Sagar said, “Amma, we’re fighting to get money because the government didn’t issue a storm warning the day Appa went to sea…”
Mamatha put down the shirt she was darning. She asked, “Who’s going to help poor fisher folks like us?”
Surekha replied, “Amma, the panchayat is helping us. So is the Makkala Sangha….”
After a moment’s silence, Mamatha said, “All of you, mere children….?”
“We’re sure we can do it, amma,” said Sagar. “But we need your help… We need to know how much Appa’s boat cost. And what else we lost when he … when the waves gave him a home…”
Their amma smiled then, for the first time since that dreadful day. Gradually, Mamatha grew to be more like the mother they loved. She borrowed money from her brother ~ to feed and clothe her children. And she sent them back to school.
Though tears often flooded her eyes suddenly, while she was washing their uniforms or cooking Surekha’s favourite brinjal palya, Mamatha knew one thing for sure. She had to keep her husband’s dream alive. She had to allow Sagar to either become the world’s greatest fisherman or a computer scientist. And surely Surekha would grow up to be a nurse.
With Zubeda’s help, Mamatha kept sending letters to the government. The makkala sangha kept copies of all the correspondence in a file covered with a bright picture of a fishing boat that Surekha had drawn.
Months went by. Then, one day, the village postman brought a surprise to Mamatha’s door. It was a cheque for two lakhs of rupees from the state government.
Meanwhile, at school, Zubeda Akka wiped away a tear when she overheard a conversation in the playground.
“I like talking to Zamir’s father,” said Sagar to his sister. “He knows all about cricket. He was so proud when I won a cup for topping our class. He reads my mind so easily that it’s almost like having Appa around ~ except that uncle looks different!”
As for Surekha, she would never ever forget her tenth birthday. When she woke up, she felt a hard object in her clenched fist. She opened it. There lay the green flower clips she had longed for!
She ran to show the glittering surprise to Sagar. He hugged their amma with joy. For it felt as if their appa, wherever he was now, had made the family’s first wish come true.
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