A 'brat' turns teacher, at the age of 7

So I ask the child studying in 3rd class in an aided school at the outskirts of Hyderabad, "What did you draw today?"
Mohammad replies," A house"
"But what does that have to do with global handwashing day?", I ask curiously.
"Nothing"
"Then, why did you draw it?"
"I dont know how to draw anything else."

We all laugh. He was laughing the loudest. Some smiled.
Just to ensure that he had a 'decent' response to give, I tell him..."Okay, when I ask you this question... say this- we are suppose to keep our house clean and wash our  hands well every time we clean it up."

So, I ask him again... "Why did you draw a house?"
He said loudly...boldly..."I don't know how to draw anything else."

And, that's when my duplicity hit me hard. Really hard.

I was twisting this young mind's honest, confident initial response, into a manipulated lie to make him look "intelligible" for the sake of a story...

So, I smile... after apologising to him... I ask again, "So now onwards, after you have participated in this awareness campaign, do you think you will wash your hands often?

"I never used to wash my hands regularly, he sheepishly admitted, but I will start washing regularly now onwards."

I was stumped. Such honesty when other children around him have been claiming throughout the day that they wash their hands 5-6 times a day?

I give him an eclair and ask him if he knows why he is getting one?

"Yes, for talking on camera."

"No", I respond quickly. "You are getting this because you spoke only and only the truth in front of the camera.  He giggled... and wasted no time in popping up that eclair into his mouth.

The interview was over, I had more than enough for the story I was supposed to deliver.
But I got another story...a story that a 7-year-old taught a 30-year-old.

It's a boy! It's a girl!...And a slice of life lived in between these cycles

“I would love to have a daughter, of course much later”, I told this to Abraham as I was getting ready for a dinner with him.

“I want a son”, he said.

I looked at him. I smiled. A kind of a smile that only he can interpret as being a frown, waiting for him to explain.

Abraham continued, “I actually don’t mind either… but I just said that because of your remark, though I am not surprised that you said it, Sneha. C’mon … a child is a child… why bracket them into genders already”?  Of course, our discussion continued.

I tried to defend myself. Though I didn’t agree with ‘everything’ that Abraham had to say, I realised…in this case I was wrong. And, he had understood my bias, even before I had. I remember ending the discussion by saying, “true, both are treasures.” Incidentally, we had one of our best Chinese meals together that night.

 Two months down the line…

I was enjoying a lovely Kerala meal with few friends from old and a teacher. We were catching up with life and future plans.

Just when I was digging into my fish curry, rassam and rice…my teacher tells me, “Oh you've only seen my first daughter. I have a second child too.”

He smiles at the others sitting and declares with a laughter, “My second child is a son, so all further production has stopped.”

 Something happened to me. My heart ached. I looked at his face.

We all were enjoying our food. It was evident from the occasional silence.

Nearly after 2 minutes, I asked him… “Sir, did you just say all further production has stopped because you’ve had a son?” He laughed. Didn’t say anything. Others chuckled too.

 My mind immediately went back to the conversation I had with Abraham… And I told myself, “You can’t blame me for what I said that day, Abraham.”

Though I knew, my response in my mind to Abraham, was again knee-jerk, but then what I experienced on the table with my old friends…is also a reality, even an urban reality.

 Just 2 weeks later…

I was returning from Kannur to Thiruvananthapuram after a story on the gruesome drama behind political murders.

As I neared Kozhikode, I get a call from Delhi office asking me if I could get reactions from schools in Kerala on what they think about the Prime Minister’s speech on Teachers' day.

 I visited two schools in the rural outskirts. In one of the schools, I was interacting with girls and boys from 11^th and 12^th  classes. After we finished our programme, our real interaction started as they hounded me. I was there for 15 minutes listening to their questions.

 They wanted to know how did I become a journalist? What did I study? Where were my parents? Did I study in government schools or private schools? Do I travel all over Kerala for stories?

But very soon, there was a shift in the nature of their questions. Are you married? What does your husband do? Is he ok with your job? Did you know him before marriage? Do you fight because of your jobs? Does he support you? Did he ask you to quit this job before he married you? My answers were straight, in a yes or a no... sometimes a sentence of 10 words for a question.

 My heart sank. These girls were already preparing themselves. They had so much of energy oozing out of them. When one of them told me, she wanted to be like me, I knew what she meant. She wanted opportunities to live her life. She had dreams but she already had seen the challenges around her, from her own loved ones. Few of them were trying to see their future with the reality of my existence. At least with what they saw. As another one said, she wanted a husband like Abraham, it didn't take much for me to understand what that meant either.

They wanted me to sing for them as I was leaving. Most of the students there were muslims. I asked them if I could a sing a song from the bible which my parents used to sing over me.

As they said a yes, I sang over them a song of blessing, with a choked voice. A song that used to be sung over me when I was their age.

In those 15 minutes, it was more than a television story that we shared space for. We shared each others lives.

A reporter and a rape survivor, smile together

I was new to reporting. And, this was the first time I was meeting a girl who had been raped. Or, was she? I hadn't heard well of her. Except, from 2-3 people.

After a 3-hour drive, I reached her home.
Her smile was beautiful and persistent, as we conversed about various issues.

And then I saw her smile change. Subdued, tight lipped. Within minutes I saw her eyes swell up with tears, which she was adamant of holding back. By now, I had begun talking about the rape incident.

I quickly changed the topic. I asked her about her work. She smiled. She said, the regional media had earlier shown her minimally blurred visuals on television. "People in office know I have been raped. They had recognised me on TV. They don't talk to me, they only make comments. I go to work, eat my tiffin by myself, catch a bus and return home."

What is the thing you look forward to? I asked. She looked down. After few minutes said, "I want to live a normal life. I want to see my parents, my sister, smile."

I looked at her, intently and asked "do you remember what had happened to you?"

Yes, she said. "I can't forget that. It's my body. There were several men. I was tied several times. I was taken to so many places... for 40 days. I used to be tired and would sleep during the journey because I wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise. I used to be in pain".

"Our child was infected. She couldn't sit, nor stand for days after she managed to return. She was abandoned in a bus after nothing more of her was left." Her mother was crying as she spoke to me. I have never seen her smile. Her mother was crying. Her father was old and worried.

She was raped when she was 16, in 1996. 34 people convicted by the trial court were acquitted by the High Court in 2005. The court had asked, "why didn't she run away."?

I too asked her that question.
She smiled.She was pained.
Where would I run away? How would I run away? I was a child. I was raped so many times.

I remember talking to her. I was evaluating her mental responses, her body language, her communication.
I was sure she was raped. Her conversation, her reactions still bear the brunt.

I remember wondering, "how can someone not trust what she is saying. She lives the horror story."

My story had a become a headline and an exclusive with her interview. I had deliberately kept out PJ Kurien's angle from my story for that day. The Supreme Court had had taken note of my story since Sonia Singh had decided to play up the story at prime time television. Within days, Supreme Court directed the High Court to re-examine the case.The case was reopened. I experienced the power of media, first hand for the first time. I was amazed, and thrilled..She and her family were happy too.

This Friday, on 4th April 2014, the High Court reiterated what I thought. "There is no reason to disbelieve the survivor's statements." the judge said.

24 accused were convicted after 18 years.

But, will we allow her to live a normal life?

I spoke to her yesterday. I could sense her smile over the phone as she said, " I am happy." We both were smiling.

One of her lawyers, was a step ahead of both of us. Anila, was chuckling.