Mardaani

My sincere apologies to Ms. Mukherjee (Mrs. Chopra?) for using her name to grab eyeballs. It’s all about packaging now. But I first heard this word way back in class VII in a Hindi text book, a prose on a legendary queen. The meaning explained through a variety of questions, reference to context problems and what not by my Hindi teacher. And now looking back, I truly realize what Mardaani is all about. It’s surely not just fighting with arms, or chasing goons, it’s about fighting and living life with an optimistic sense of hope.

I knew of her existence way back in junior school. She taught Hindi, a subject that I dreaded. It was and has remained the Achilles’ heel in my otherwise good academic record in my school days. She actually taught me in seventh grade, but my fear of the subject remained or should I say rather grown over the years. I still remember that horrid morning, when I boarded the school bus and asked casually a fellow class mate the expansion of cubes. It was the dreaded half yearly exams and that day was Mathematics (or so I believed). The friend looked at me as if I had just grown two new horns. Surprise, worry and a slight suppressed giggle.  I had somehow managed to mess up the dates and it was actually the Hindi test. I laugh when I think about it today, but at that moment all I remember is I suddenly felt dizzy and blank. Before I knew it, I was sobbing. The sobs grew to an audible cry when my slight hope that it was she who was wrong and we would have the Mathematics exam collapsed after we reached school.

She Mrs. Rajni Dutta or Ma’am Dutta was she was called spotted me in the corridor. I always knew she was strict, rather I had a pre-conceived notion that all Hindi teachers where just as bad as their chosen discipline of study. Some of my classmates were trying to calm me down while the rest chose to move away and do last minute revisions praying for an easy paper and perhaps thanking that they didn’t have the same fate as mine.  She dispersed the small crowd and took me aside and enquired in the most cheerful voice. I sobbed and told her that my Hindi was weak and I had prepared Math for a Hindi test. I would surely fail.  She simply smiled! How wicked I thought.

Our school is Catholic. I mean it follows basic Christianity. So morning assemblies were a must and if you were caught skipping it under any pretext, you were dealt with utmost severity. It was September, a pleasant fall, and the students moved to the main ground for the assembly. Right after that the students would come back to the classrooms, put their books aside, carry the exam paraphernalia and move to the respective classrooms for the gruelling three hour ordeal. So it was roughly twenty-five to thirty minutes before my impending doom.

She said, “Wait here”. She disappeared somewhere but was back in less than two minutes. She had with her the Hindi textbook and some notes. “Come on, read!” She commanded. I was too dumbstruck to disobey. I don’t really remember the next twenty minutes. All I do is

“Bundeley Harbolon key munh, humney suni kahaani thi,

Khub ladi Mardaani woh to Jhansi Wali rani thi”.

She made me quickly revise the names of authors and poets, some short questions from the text, primarily Jhansi Ki Rani and some more stuff. She asked me, “you are a Bengali, and then you do celebrate Dusherra?” I said yes, Durga Puja, right after these exams. She smiled again. That would take care of the essays.  And then she simply told me a maxim that I use even today. For grammar in Hindi, simply say the sentence to yourself, if it sounds right, it probably is.

The assembly was over, she took me to the ladies room, made me wash my face and said, “Life is an exam Swagata and more often the syllabus is far more unknown. All the best.” With that she was gone and I was there taking a dreaded three hour Hindi exam, literature and grammar. I had paid attention to the pre-exam revisions sessions held in our school and me and her had crammed in those final twenty five minutes.

Try hard as I may, I don’t remember what was in the paper, or what I actually wrote. I do remember getting a 79/100, the highest I ever got in Hindi in my school.  No, she hadn't told me what would be in the exam nor was she too biased while she graded my answer script. She was above all that petty partiality and favouritism. She had simply helped, calmed me down and made me take an exam. I later learnt, in those two minutes she ran up to our head mistress, asked for permission for me to skip assembly. She had based her arguments on my previous reputation and record in school and simply said “I know the girl, she is not lying.”

To my relief I left Hindi a year later when I was given a choice between Hindi and Sanskrit in ninth grade. I chose the latter. But my relationship with her continued, even after school. We became friends. Through those years I learnt that she was a fighter and was constantly giving an exam. She hailed from Lucknow. She had two daughters.   She lost her husband when her younger one was forty five days old. She was a great teacher, a single parent, and breadwinner. She didn't have self pity. She juggled several roles. She always smiled.

I would call her on her birthdays. I had a long chat before I left for abroad. I last spoke to her when I had come home for my first vacation. She sounded cheerful as usual. I grew busy and we kind of lost touch. I saw pictures of her daughter’s wedding on Facebook. Yes, she had raised two lovely girls, was marrying off one of them, she did everything, without a man. She didn’t look like a haggard sorrowful woman. She did her duty with élan and was celebrating like everyone else. She had aged since I last saw her, but her face was now calm, graceful and content.

And two weeks back again on Facebook, I read “RIP Rajni Dutta”. Three simple words posted by some random student and some teachers. It had been somewhat painful. Even if it was, I am sure she would smile at that too. To me she epitomized eternal hope, a spirit to live and fierce determination. If fate wanted her to lose, she gave it her best fight. She was in every sense, Mardaani, a strong woman, a no-nonsense attitude, but with a touch of love, compassion and a rare sensitivity.

“Bundeley Harbolon key munh, humney suni kahaani thi,

Khub ladi Mardaani woh to Jhansi Wali rani thi”.

Good Bye Ma’am.