The Leader of the Future

The blue and red pattern of the brocade carpet looked rugged and torn at places. It was so old, it could no longer attract attention towards itself let alone be as conspicuous it once was. But her tranquil eyes were fixed at it as if still admiring it’s jaded beauty.

Everyone around her looked attentively, not towards her but towards the whiteboard where the speaker was briefing about new possibilities for community mobilization. The spotlight moved from the speaker towards the person sitting on the other end of the conference room, directly facing her. All eyes, but hers, turned towards this new person who was the accounting champion. Some figures were announced, some pages flipped, faint sounds of scribbling could be heard but her eyes were fixed at the carpet. Between the volleys of figures being exchanged, I wondered if she heard the figures. I wondered if at all the figures meant anything to her. More figures announced, more sounds of scribbling heard and the spotlight eventually restored on the speaker; all eyes moved from the person to the speaker and so did hers. In an unflinching yet surreptitious manner she turned her gaze towards the person who had just spoken the figures and then slyly back towards the carpet.

From what I had heard about Ms. Tulsi Tamta what I couldn’t comprehend was how a woman who hadn’t had the chance to continue her education after primary was now the Secretary of a "Self-Reliant Cooperative Society" comprising of hundreds of members. As I sat there in the conference room wondering about its possibility, I looked towards her and had a feeling there was something unmistakably right about her.

* * *

I hadn’t informed her I wanted to write an article on her. Unannounced, the following day, I dashed off to the Input-Output center that was being managed by her in tandem with another. I glanced towards the store and found her keeping herself busy; arranging items, glancing at them and then rearranging them. I parked my motorcycle, entered the store and am greeted with her wide grin. During the interchange of smiles, I felt that a verbal greeting in the form of ‘Namaste’ was subsumed within gestural greetings.

I kept my belongings aside, sat down on a chair and announced my intention for coming there, to write about her. She became elated and threw her familiar grin. I started with asking her to tell about her life before becoming a part of the Cooperative Society. To ask someone to retrospect and talk about the internal changes one had gone through, sounded as a simple question. But to actually convey the question in a manner so as to dig in and fetch out the exact psycho-emotional changes that led to a radical transformation of the person required lot of skill, which I seemed to have lacked.

“Pehle mei ghar se kahi nahi jaati thi. Sirf ghar se jungle aur jungle se ghar. Pehle ghar pe mehmaan bhi aate the to badi mushkil ho jaati thi. Mei kaise saamne jaati hoon, kaise khilaati hoon. Pehle to jab mehmaan aate the to mei chip jaati thi” 
(“Earlier I never used to go out anywhere from my home. Just from the home to the jungles and back to home. I also couldn’t face the guests. It used to bother me a lot and I would hide away from them.)

I had not expected such a candid reply. But it seemed to convey more than just candidness. It was a harbinger for me to stop seeking introspective answers, to stop trying to establish a connection between her inability to go anywhere outside and her gradual ability to do so with all of it culminating with her becoming a senior member in the Cooperative Society. Perhaps it was connected somehow, but it would take time for me to assimilate that.

My subsequent questions to her were about her present life, about the changes she had undergone and the problems she faced due to her being illiterate. In her candid, outspoken tone she continued.

“These days whenever guests come over I sit with them and talk with them. These days apart from a regular dhoti, I wear Sari and Salwar Suit. When need be, I take my children on my own to Almora, Deenapani. These days I am able to stop a public vehicle. Earlier, I could never do any of these. I never was able to stop a vehicle and get into it. I was afraid to do so. I have changed a lot since earlier. I went up till class 5, but never got to see the books and then got married. But my husband, for some reason, believed me and knew that I could read and write. I still don’t know how to perform mathematical operations, but I tell my customers to do so and help me out. During my free time in the shop, I sit and study. My husband also helps me out. Since I can’t write to maintain notes, I try and remember the important things that need to be done. People still wonder why I need to work when my husband earns enough. They think perhaps it’s because of the Rs. 1000 that I am paid at the end of the month. But you know it, it's too less. At times it becomes difficult to explain to them the whole concept of the cooperative and to tell them how the cooperative belongs to them. I had never imagined I would ever leave my 'Home to Jungle and Jungle to Home' routine to be empowered so much one day. But having reached this platform, I think it’s just the beginning.”

I was left without words and didn’t exactly know what to express. At some level I was completely spellbound. More accurately I was actually stuck between a dichotomy; whether the story of Ms. Tulsi was the story of her destiny or whether it was the story of her power to change destiny. 

Whichever it may be, there was one thing that I was completely sure about. Watching her was like watching an 18 year old sit by the shore of a sea and gaze at its open waters thinking that someday she will swim through it and be on the other side.

* * *

Note: Ms. Tulsi Tamta is the present Secretary of Shri Mahadev Swayat Sehkarita Devaldhar, Bageshwar which is registered as a Self-Reliant Cooperative Society. 

The British

White walls, green windows. Pink walls, novel platitudes. Woman in queue, pricking fingers. Serpentine curves, gazing glances. Shoddy roads, heightened anticipation. This, while on way to the 19th century. The more I see of the above, the more I am reaffirmed that this road does indeed lead to the 19th century. Half and hour; that’s how far this place is from the previous one. And I have kept track of every single minute in the past twenty-five minutes. For I don’t want to miss out on my trip to the past. The closer the minute got to half-past, the further my anxiety grew. More walls, white ones, pink ones, green windows, more platitudes, woman and more shoddy roads. Unanticipated wilderness, out of the blue. Anxiety grows into an apprehension. Apprehension discernibly visible as my countenance. Did they exaggerate?

They said it’s British. And the Queen once lived in it. Is still owned by one from Jamnagar. Even Swami Vivekananda lived in it. On the long stretch of curvy road, not a single indication to portend that. Finally, my worst fear. A relatively large edifice, having multiple doors. Very traditional Indian. Phew, the jeep turned away from it. More serpentine curves and the jeep halts in front of what I saw a minute ago. Pink walls, large edifice, I am forced to convince self that a hundred years ago pink was in vogue.

I pull out my luggage from the hatch, load myself and start following others towards the entrance. I don’t bother to look towards the foyer. I focus on my steps and the grass and the trail underneath when I realize that I have moved alongside the entrance and still walking ahead following the trail. I lift my eyes with astonishment and hope. And in the next five minutes, my hope was envisaged. Rusted auburn roof, Rugged stony white walls. Creepers all over the walls and roof. Grape vines hanging over, rhododendrons, hibiscus, tiger lily, flowering currant. Green plants, florescent sprigs. Florescent plants, orange fruits. Time-honored fiddleback chair inseparable from the red-bottom bird’s nest. Blood-Red pomegranate trees, lemon yellow ones just next to it. In those five minutes, for the very first time I saw the nature and the man-made homogenize. Hence forth, since that day, every day I wait for the mackerel sky to restore its original azure so that I may have my date with the eternal Trishul and Nanda Devi, up close and personal. Ofcourse they didn’t exaggerate!