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!
Tujhse Naraaz Nahi Zindagi is a landmine of life’s wisdom. Despite being tapped into countless number of times, it still has more to offer. Its layered texture is without the overbearing appendages of pretence. No wonder it is wielded by the pen of Gulzar Saab, one of country’s most aware and prominent literary voices. In its own right this summons life to a center table. And then submits to it. Ensues an engaging conversation that I’ve never had the courage to move away from. For it has often felt a bit too personal when pain is made to sound like a due to be paid. In lieu of life’s grand moments. But isn’t that true? Even without the poetic justice. Come to think of it, don’t we always carry the pain like a tagged baggage? How terribly independent though are our joys, squared up only by infrequent bouts of nostalgia. Barely anybody has spoken about adversity with such poignancy. Life’s hard questions are not innocent whims but Gulzar Saab, a stellar wordsmith, romanticizes pain ...
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