The rickshaw wala asked if he could onboard another passenger. Trampling
on my hesitant approval, he came sat next to me. Cosied up on a cycle
rickshaw as it peddled forward.
I think there are no bigger signs
for a feeling as ones when we are tentative – the fidgeting, the
clamminess, the unpurposeful whistling, the show of looking the other
way. – there’s just so much, given away so easily. And I am sure I did
too. For I was excessively aware that I was sitting next to an eunuch
but more so because of what he asked next.
Darr lag rha hai? (Are
you scared?) I nodded away – no – managing a nervous half-smile and a
plastered silence. But our conversation escalated when he admitted his
next sentence – hum bhi toh insaan he hain (We too are humans). I shot a
glance at him, at his face. The 14-year old me didn’t know any better.
But when I retrospect today, I wonder what would have hurt more – to
have someone look at you with un-bargaining denial or with sympathetic
acceptance.
Our laughter never really rose above the differential
rungs of our identities. But it did travel. Briefly, be it may. I had
rallied the rickshaw for only a kilometre so I got down first but what
he said next is why I am telling this story today.
Throughout the
ride, he referred to himself as a collective noun – “hum bhi toh insaan
hi hain” (We too are humans) – but as I was leaving, he finally let
that baggage go. He spoke about himself, umambiguously identifying as a
female. In that moment as the rickshaw was trailing away, I saw her find
her courage and spare me the stomach for it. For she understood, her
rebellion didn’t have to be at war with my mind. At least, not back in
2009.
But, it is 2020 now.
More than a decade since I have held this story inside.
More than a decade since I watched her silhouette battle and then disappear under the streetlamp.
More than a decade for our collective conscience to rise.
More than a decade since I heard that hauntingly existential cry for approval.
More than a decade. At least, a decade.
It’s time!
To Baburao Ganpatrao Apte, There's something about you that left an indelible laughter in my mind ever since the first time I saw you on screen. Wait, do you understand you are no comedian or joker. You are an alcoholic, debt stricken bloke always swaying to and fro between Raju's cunning mind and Shyam's righteous attitude. You affirmed your seniority everywhere but you never made any sense to me or anyone out there. Tenants need to pay their rent. You get it right? On my off days, when I see your unadulterated smile it bewilders me - I mean how can this man live with such conviction and ease. What about his isolated life? His debts? These questions linger on my mind. It's not okay to be unambitious and surrender to your fate but when life doesn't give you 'Star Fisheries', you can always show some content in your dilapidated 'Star Garage'. Your innocent gullibility, incorruptibility and rustic lunacy bought chuckles. Well, you need to learn that Sh...
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