My Date with Suman

For all those who know me well, the word 'Date' will get them intrigued. So who is this girl Suman? Well, Suman is this beautiful 1 year old daughter of a labour family. The date took place during a shared-auto ride while I was returning from my social internship site (TATA Housing, Kalol). I was returning home after a 9 hour long shift which had left me both, hungry and exhausted. So as soon as I spotted my regular auto driver, Ranjit who works daily on that route, I gave him a nod and he came directly to the place I was standing. This had now become a habit, a tacit agreement for mutual benefits. However, I had to wait for at least two more passengers before Ranjit and I could begin our journey. The income of a shared-auto driver is a function of the number of beats and the number of passengers one can carry in each beat. While I was plugging in my headphones to shield myself from both, cold and boredom, a family of three approached Ranjit and started haggling over the rate for a short ride to 'Sola Hospital'. Fortunately, they settled quickly and the family snuggled inside the auto. While I was gazing outside at the hustle bustle of Ahmedabad city, something soft landed on my thighs. It was a tiny hand with very faint palm lines. As I looked up I saw two beautiful round eyes staring directly at me, they left me transfixed for a few seconds. Slowly and deliberately I refocused my eyes to look at the family of three who had moved in. At the far end was a man in his early thirties, tall and thin with a scarf around his neck and hands clasped around a small bag. He was looking ahead, but not at the road, nor at the traffic light which had just turned green. He was looking beyond physical elements, peeping into the uncertainties of the future it seemed. He carried a grim face, with anxiety forming waves on his forehead. Sitting next to him was a women who looked much younger than the clothes she wore. A simple red saree covered her from head to toe, with just a part of her face visible from sides. Her features were sharp and young. In contrast to her husband who hunched his shoulders, she sat erect with a hint of confidence and independence. In her lap, under layers of warm clothes sat Suman. Suman wore a monkey cap which covered everything except her face. Had it not been for the tiny black 'Bindi' which adorned her forehead, I would never have guessed the gender. 

As soon as the auto picked up speed and cold wind clawed at our faces, Suman grew lively and started forcing the layers of clothes out of her way, only to be scolded softly by her mother. The ferocity with which she fought against the layers of clothes finally led her mother to give up the scolding and help her get rid of the layers. Once free, she began waving her hands frantically which thumped my head and face from time to time. Her mother smiled apologetically at me and pulled Suman down to her lap. While I straightened my disheveled hair, I asked politely, "aanu naam suu che?"  (what's her name?). "Suman", replied the mother. Suman, which means 'flower' in Hindi. A simple name to the cheerful girl who had cocked up her head in response to the name and was glaring at me and her mother as if demanding to know who had said her name. 

While we were caught up in traffic at the next cross roads, I eavesdropped on the conversation taking place between Suman's parents. They were discussing the cost of a regular check-up for Suman at the hospital and how it was going to affect their monthly budget. The father meanwhile also commented on the dowry money that they will have to pay for Suman's marriage. I was suddenly caught off-guard by the mention of dowry. Suman was barely a year old, she was unable to walk, talk or understand anything, and her parents were already tensed over the dowry money. How about worrying over which school to send her to ? Or how to tackle her frantic tantrums or how will they be able to afford her demands for pretty dresses. What about her choices ? People she wants to date or places she wants to visit. Will she be ever able to even dream these dreams ?

While ranting internally over these questions I was distracted by Suman, who was now trying to gain my attention by pounding on my arm. As soon as I caught her eyes she awarded me with a beautiful smile. A perfect curl of lips with a small gap in between to flaunt her new incisors which must have been a recent addition to her perfection. Her eyes seemed to be flared up from within and her face wore a determined expression. As the auto came to a halt, and the family began moving out, the last thing I remember of Suman was the reassuring smile which told me that she was more than capable of fighting the odds, of challenging the societal norms and of engraving her own destiny in those faint palm lines of hers.