Monday, November 30, 2009

Maharashtra mein Bhaiyya ka ASER:

3:53:00 PM
The recent elections in Maharashtra glamorized a political leader who spoke to all the media channels across the country in his mother tongue, “Marathi”. Some called it a political masterstroke, some said he was true to the sons of soil of Maharashtra and some even went to the extent to calling him the savior of the so called “Marathi Pride”. There has been a lot of discussion and debate about Mumbai belongs to whom? Those who speak Marathi, but are from different parts of the country, those who are Maharashtrians (sons of the soil) irrespective of whether they can or cannot speak Marathi, or it belongs to the normal “Mumbaikar” – an aam aadmi who can speak any language and come from any part of this country but carries the “never say die attitude” of Mumbai along.

I was born in Mumbai. My Marathi is better than my mother tongue “Tamil. In the last 23 years of my life I have adopted so many Marathi ways of living that I feel like an outsider when I go to Tamil Nadu. Yet recently while traveling in a local train I felt like an “outsider” in Mumbai when some Marathi women refused to give me a seat. The recent political game played by certain pseudo secular and pseudo democratic men in Maharashtra has tarnished the spirit of Mumbai and has a massive effect on the minds of those who come from other States, especially North India.

I got an opportunity to participate in the ASER Survey this year. It was ironical that being a “madrasi”, I was told to go to a village in Maharashtra and do the testing in Marathi. I had one more Pratham teacher who accompanied me during the survey. She was a Maharashtrian.

Mharal village in the Kalyan Taluka in Thane district was far from being a village. The waves of urbanization had hit the village and we could see many urban-complexes in and around Mharal. However there were chawls and houses spread across the village and some of the Katkari tribes stayed outside the village boundary.

The ASER survey was going on fine. We had successfully met the sarpanch, collected the school data, mapped the village better than an architect, and followed the rules of the survey to the extent that nobody in the history of ASER would have done. Finally the time came to test learning levels of the children in Mharal.

The first house that we went to was that of a typical middle class Maharashtrian. The children in the house looked like future IIT’ans. They solved the problems in Math and read the text in English as if they had taken coaching classes for ASER, and were aware that we were coming. However they struggled to read the Marathi text (is Mr. Marathi listening?). I was thrilled at their learning levels and the mother proudly said that it was thanks to the tuition teacher and the private “English” school that they went to.

While we were approaching the second house (5th by ASER rules) a group of kids told us “Te bhaiyye aahet” (They are bhaiyya’s – North Indians). The mother and the children from the previous house mentioned that it is a “bhaiyya” family and the kid won’t know proper reading or writing because he went to the Municipal school in Mharal. The mother added that these Bhaiyya’s have come and settled here and are spoiling the Marathi pride. The politician’s game had worked; the Marathi’s hate North Indians.

Nevertheless, thanks to ASER rules which does not specify that the survey has to be done of every 5th Maharashtrian household, I approached the house and saw a boy sitting outside on the porch. There was a young lady with a traditional veil and sindoor, which was a loud evidence of her being a non-Maharashtrian. The name plate said, “Tripathi”. After explaining the purpose of the survey, I looked at her 12 year old son. Call it my bias or the societal influence, even before asking the child his schooling details, I assumed that he cannot read Marathi and started searching for the Hindi testing tool. While I was searching, he looked at the Marathi tool in my hand and started reading the words. I was shocked and asked him if he could read Marathi. He told me that he went to the Municipal school in Mharal and the medium of instruction was Marathi. He read the story in no time and put every Maharashtrian onlooker to shame. I was beaming with pride as if he was my own son. The mother was silently looking while she dried her papad.

I moved to the mother. She mentioned that she has finished her Std 12th. Again a victim of the societal bias, I asked her if she would want to read a simple paragraph in Hindi. She read it and then asked me why did I give her the Hindi para to read? I had to admit that I had assumed that she would not know Marathi. Also the neighbors told me so; of course I did not mention the “bhaiyya" word. She smiled (may be at my ignorance and bias) and took the Marathi testing tool from me. She read it so loud that the neighbors would have definitely heard it. She read it fluently and then asked me if there was any other material in Marathi. Unfortunately we had no more stories, she had read them all. In fact she read it more fluently than the mother of the previous house.

“I am 10th pass from Marathi medium, I am a Marathi Manoos.” she said with pride in her eyes. All her critics were silenced. The boy was still solving the division level sums. It was funny that a “Madarasi” went to a “bhaiyyas” house in Maharashtra and both could read Marathi fluently, which even the “Maharashtrains” could not read.

I wonder if this story should be shared with the wounded tigers and new born cubs of Maharashtra, to show them the Bhaiyya ka ASER in Marathi. After all she was Tripathi, but yet she is a Marathi.

By
Uma Subramanian (Madarasi :-))

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Twisted Tale of my Moustache

12:39:00 PM
I had to travel to nearly half the districts in Punjab, and Ropar was one of my many destinations. I had just finished my meeting and decided to go back to my hotel. I hired a rickshaw to take me to my hotel. Since these rickshaw-pullers were living away from their homes and had come to the city to earn money, I enquired him about a place for home cooked meals. My rickshaw-wala told me about this particular dhaba that was 3 kms away from my hotel. After explaining me the directions to that place, he left. I reached my hotel and immediately went off to sleep.

I woke up at 8.30 in the night after 4 hrs of sleep. My body was aching due to the lack of sleep and food and I had started feeling dizzy. I put on my clothes and decided to walk to the dhaba that the rickshaw-wala had told me about. It was a dark night…even the moon had betrayed me. I looked at the sky and I realized that I had stopped looking at the sky lately. I walked briskly in order to reach my destination. It was a festive season and I was really missing my family. May be that’s why my craving for home food made me walk those 3 kms in such a condition. I finally reached the dhaba and ordered for my food. As I waited for my food I saw a group of truck drivers who were also present there. I suddenly realized that some of them were looking at me. Though my heart skipped a beat, I tried to maintain a façade of calmness. In order to hide my inner emotions I greeted them with a big smile.

One of them then asked me - “How come a person like you who seems to belong to a nice family, is eating food at a place like this?”

This question stunned for a few seconds…I never expected them to ask me such a direct question. “Well, I am traveling to various districts of Punjab due to some official work and since I prefer eating home made food, I came to this place” - is the reply that I gave them.

Hearing this, the other truck drivers who were talking among themselves also joined us. As I struck an emotional chord with my new friends, they wanted to know more about me. They were extremely happy to see how well I had maintained my moustache and went on to explain the relevance of a moustache in a man’s life. When I told them about my work in the field of education, they started a keen discussion on the status of education in their villages. One of them said - “We send our children to private schools to get the best education, so that they can get a government job when they grow up.” Another one added - “We don’t want our children to end up in a profession like ours. We live outside our homes for more than 20 days a month”
We chatted for more than an hour, by which time I had finished my food and it was time for me to leave. And I walk back to my hotel…with a big smile on my face…

Abhineet Singh, Delhi

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