Swapna
Soundarya - The Beauty of Dreams
New Delhi: My Home - the Agarwal Mansion
I looked down from above, while she worked. The table was fully laid. Swapna, our domestic help, ran around,
placing a plate here, a fork there. She
looked up suddenly and smiled at me.
“Didi,” she said, “come down. Breakfast is
ready. I’ve made a new kind of pickle
for gobhi paratha. You’re going to love it.” She flashed her smile again and disappeared
into the kitchen. My mother was yelling
there.
“Why don’t you just do your work? Jabbering away when there’s so much to be
done! Because of you, I’ll be delayed
again.”
Swapna said, “I’m sorry! No aunty; you won’t be
delayed. Everything’s done.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were all seated around the
table. Super delicious parathas, spicy
chutneys, Swapna’s special tangy pickle, perfectly flavored yogurt, hot
beverages, cold fruit juice; everything was being relished by my family of
10. Swapna fussed around, refilling the
glasses, and serving the parathas.
All of us were in a hurry to rush to schools,
colleges, offices. There was hardly any conversation until my dad spoke. “Swapna, when are your results due?”
“Tomorrow uncle.”
“How have you fared? “
“I will get above 60%, I’m sure of that,” she
declared triumphantly!
My cousins and I looked up in surprise. Here we were, slogging to score 10 GPAs and
maximum percentile, while this girl seemed to be jumping for joy, for her 60
marks! She could not enroll in any
college! How would she manage?
But Swapna wasn’t worried. Her neighbor ran a DTP Centre, where she
had been promised a job. His only
condition was that she scored a 60% aggregate.
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She came over, a fortnight later, laden with a red
cardboard box filled with bright yellow laddoos; because she had scored an
unbelievable 67% in her exams! She smiled broadly and went around coaxing
everyone, to pick up a laddoo. My people balked at the idea of touching the
gooey laddoos, but Swapna hardly realized it.
It was the most expensive treat her parents could afford and had sent
over a huge box of it, just for my family.
Later, while I sat on the rosewood swing in our
patio, she sat at my feet and told me about her dreams...
The neighbor would be paying her 6000 rupees a
month, to work as his assistant in the DTP center. Her eyes shone as she ticked
off the wonderful things she would be doing with all that money. It would
take care of her brother’s school fees, help her dad in running the house and enable her to set aside a nest egg
for some awesome jewelry she’d seen at the goldsmith’s shop near her one-room
apartment...
I was dumbstruck.
Here I was, grumpy that my new party wear wasn’t classy enough (it had
cost a little over one lakh rupees); and there was Swapna, so happy with so
little!
Was it time for a reality check? I didn’t know. And
I didn’t have the time to ponder about it, because, right then, there was a
shout. “Hey! C’mon! We are waiting. You
don’t want to miss the beginning!” My cousin Roshan called from the car.
I hurriedly patted Swapna on her back and dashed out
to join him and a dozen other friends and cousins; we were off to a movie and
later, dinner at the newly opened snazzy restaurant nearby... Swapna was forgotten.
Five
years later...
I had got busy with my studies and was hardly in the
country. I had come home for a holiday, before going back for my Master’s. I needed to buy gifts for my classmates,
Kundan jewelry, Bandhini stoles, Lucknowi Chikan apparel, and other such
ethnic stuff. I had accompanied my
mother to the nearby mall and was busy digging into a shelf of colorful
scarves when someone tapped my shoulder.
For a second I couldn’t recognize her. Then I realized it was my former maid,
Swapna. She was plumper; and she wore
more ornaments, including a nose-stud.
The unmistakable black bead necklace indicated she was married. Her hair was held in a knot encircled with
jasmines. She looked all prim and
matronly in a starched cotton sari.
“Didi!” she said delightedly, when did you come
back? How is America?” I wanted to tell
her that I was studying in Switzerland, but restrained myself. For Swapna, probably, anyone going out of the
country meant ‘going to America’.
“It's fine,” I said and asked, “tell me, how are you?
When did you get married?”
Instead of replying, she walked up to my mother; she
seemed to be asking for something; entreating in fact, and pointing in my direction. My mother smiled and nodded. Swapna hurried back to me and said, “Aunty
said yes! Please come. Come home! I stay very close by. Come and have a cup of
coffee.”
I hesitated.
She said in a soft voice, “My daughter’s name is Latika!” I stared at her, astonished. She had named
her daughter after me! Why would she ever do that?!?
She held my hand and hurried along the aisles. She walked up to the cash counter and spoke
rapidly, to the girl on duty there. The
girl smiled, nodded, looked at me, and smiled again. She said “Hi!” shyly to
me. I said “Hi!” too. Whoever was she?
Some relative of Swapna? Did I know her?
As we stepped out into the bright sunshine, she
said, “I’ve got to get back in 45 minutes.
Vani, my friend back there, will stay on a little extra time if I’m
late.”
“How does she know me?” I asked curiously.
“All my friends know about you, Didi! I have told
them.”
I hadn’t given a thought to this girl, since I had last seen her five years ago; and she not only remembered me - her friends knew me too!
Her Home
We walked into a narrow by-lane that led to a
narrower by-lane. Little children scampered in and out of houses. Stray dogs rushed around, barking
intermittently, women squatted on stone slabs, outside their homes and washed
clothes piled in tubs, while others washed pots and pans.
Soapy water flowed onto the road and I gingerly
walked ahead, careful to avoid getting my feet dirty. Suddenly, an apartment complex loomed up and
we were soon climbing up the steps.
Dust and grime adorned walls that badly needed a
coat of paint; plaster seemed to be peeling off everywhere... The aroma of spicy, pungent food, shouts of
children, raised voices of adults, and the cacophony of TV channels, emanating
from the tiny flats, made me nauseous.
“Third floor,” announced Swapna, “we don’t have
elevators here.” Her voice was embarrassed.
“That’s okay,” I said smiling at her.
She rang the bell of her flat. A tall, slim man opened the door saying,
“Hey, you are early!” and smiled. Swapna
giggled and said, “No, I have to go back. Madam’s daughter has come. She is
Latika!”
The man seemed awestruck. He folded his hands and said, “Madame, so
glad to meet you. Swapna admires you so much.
We named our daughter Latika, hoping she would grow up to be like you.”
I was speechless! What did Swapna see in me? I looked around...
A tiny, squeaky clean apartment - the drawing-room
was hardly a 9-foot square. Cane
furniture crowded the area. Prettily embroidered covers and table cloths could
be seen all around, making the room appear bright and cheerful. Yellow curtains with huge blue flowers
covered the pelmet-less windows. On a
tiny table in the corner, were several framed pictures; but holding the pride
of place was a group photo of my family, taken five years ago. Swapna was in the picture too, standing
slightly apart from all of us, hands behind her back and smiling, as always.
Swapna looked expectantly at me. Evidently, she was
proud of her lovely home.
“Nice!” I said and meant it.
“This is my husband, Raghu,” she introduced the man
who hurried away to the kitchen. “The factory, in which he was working, closed
down. He’s looking for another job. He’s quite optimistic that he will get one
soon; within a month, in fact! Thank God for that! Anyway, we are able to
manage because I earn reasonably well.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially,
“I get 15000 rupees! And until he starts working again, he has taken over the
housework.”
She winked at
me and said, “What a relief for me!”
Swapna raised her voice, “Latika come here!”
A chubby three-year-old walked out of the
microscopic bedroom. “Say hello to Latika aunty. You must be like her. Study well. Go to
America and be a good girl.”
The kid looked up at me. She kept staring, two
fingers in her mouth. Then she walked
into the kitchen, completely ignoring me.
Raghu, by the time, had prepared a cup of steaming, hot coffee, just the
way I liked it, and brought it along with a plate of glucose biscuits.
For the next 20 minutes, both of them treated me as
their guest of honor. Though it was uncomfortably warm in the ill-ventilated
room, I hardly noticed it - with the attention and adulation that was being
showered on me! When it was time to leave, Swapna led me to her kitchen.
On the left was a high shelf, crowded with pictures
of every god and goddess. A small steel
box contained vermillion powder.
She dipped her ring finger in the powder and placed
a spot on my forehead, saying, “I am extremely grateful that you agreed to come
home. May you be as happy as I am!”
While we walked back to the mall, where my mother
was waiting, I stole a glance at Swapna.
She was humming a little tune to herself, as she walked. When I bid her farewell she said, “Please let
me know when you come to India, next time.
We can go to the park with Latika Junior and have lots of fun!”
I nodded, smiled and impulsively hugged her, and
said “Thank you!” before joining my mother.
I guess Swapna could not figure out why I thanked her. It was not for the coffee and biscuits.
Perspective
What did she see in me that I didn’t? What was so
special about me? Yes; wonderful offers were waiting for me, as I had been a
consistent topper. My dreams were big - multinational companies, prestigious
appointments around the globe, and eventually, a CEO position... I had the drive,
I had the guts.
But those dreams suddenly seemed to be
disintegrating after meeting Swapna again.
I felt strangely empty. Here was
a woman, so happy with what life threw at her. Her optimism was
infectious.
All of a sudden, I knew exactly what I wanted to
do...
I no longer wanted to travel the world, nor hobnob
with the who’s who of the international management scene, nor shop at the
trendiest outlets...
I just wanted to create more Swapnas. I wanted to
create opportunities for women, here, in India - in my own country - for my own
people... I wanted them to come up in
life, I wanted them to send their children to schools, good schools, and I
wanted them to realize their dreams...
I felt exhilarated. I did the required research, discussed
my ideas with my slightly skeptical, but nevertheless supportive family... And
that was how the concept of ‘Swapna Soundarya’, the areca plate-making unit,
was conceptualized...
It’s been three years, now, since I started this
unit.
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Hexagonal, rectangular, circular,
triangular, small, medium, large - the areca leaf plates were arranged
according to shapes and sizes. The orders had been completed on time. I was
relieved. The workers had been paid and were leaving the factory.
I locked the premises and walked
out into the late afternoon sunshine.
“Didi!” I heard a familiar voice.
I turned to see Swapna standing
behind me. When did she come here? She
hadn’t informed me about her visit. She hugged me warmly and said, “I knew it, Didi, I knew it! You are so special. And
today the world knows it too.”
Whatever was she talking about, I
wondered. She saw my bemused expression and said, “Oh! You haven’t heard yet!
I’m sure your phone was switched off, while you were working. Oh my goodness!
Didi, you have won the ‘Woman of the Year Award!! I took a bus as soon as I
heard the news; wanted to congratulate you in person.”
I was stunned! This was so
unexpected.
Yes, I had given a couple of
interviews; I’d explained about the
alarming levels of poverty and illiteracy, the lack of basic amenities, the
absence of a good school - all of which had convinced me to choose this village
for my small-scale unit.
After my master's degree, I’d got
plum offers, from around the world; I had turned them all down and had opted to
come down to this village, to do what I felt compelled to do - much to the
amazement of my family. I must have succeeded to an extent; going by the award
that had just come my way.
I sent a silent prayer up to God,
feeling grateful for the peculiar circumstances that had brought me here. A few
years ago, it was unimaginable that I would be working in India, and that too
in a remote village!
Yes, ten years ago, if you’d told
me that I would be running a non-profit organization to help underprivileged
women in the most backward of villages, I would’ve scoffed at the very thought
of it. But here I was, doing just
that.
I realize today, the undeniable
truth - The most unexpected challenges come your way and how you accept them -
that’s what Life is all about. Unexpected circumstances tend to rock you out of
complacence and yet, you realize eventually, that it’s all for the best!
‘Swapna
Soundarya’ - The Beauty of Dreams (in Sanskrit) - an apt name, I felt, for my
dream project! Every new day brings new hope for someone out there and I am
blessed to be a part of a movement that makes life more beautiful for so many
women.
And it is the nondescript Swapna
who somehow made it happen... She, however, has no
inkling about that. There she stands, so happy for me, so proud of me...As
always...
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(Extract from "The Statuette and Seven More Stories" by Radha Deep)
