Samir, from Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh, 21/12/2020
This story was narrated to me by my uncle from the maternal side when I visited him in 2004. After retirement, he chose to stay at Pondicherry. He was old now and like any normal aged person, enjoyed sharing stories and anecdotes with others.
On that fine evening, he was in quite a good mood. While sipping his filter coffee he was speaking about days of his youth. He said, Listen! Did I tell you about MissC? He had not, so I said – ‘no’.
‘But you are acquainted with her’- He insisted with a mysterious smile.
I protested again.
He said- ‘Sam… first, listen and you will tell me about this enigma of a girl’.
He started the story. It was a typical hot sultry languid summer afternoon. After finishing lunch, I was sitting in a tea stall shed that was extended up to the pavement. An old lady bumped into me and before I overcame the shock, sank into the Mudda in front of me. Of course, it was she, MissC; how I cannot see her when she approached me descending from a car. But she was very sharp as usual. She was in her Denim jeans and cotton Kurta. A leather sling bag was hanging on her left shoulder. A young girl followed her and sat on another adjacent Mudda. MissC introduced me to her Young friend Wendy. Wendy was flaunting a steel transgender pendent; perhaps they were coming from the LGBT pride parade. After some pleasantries, she left as hurriedly as she came, promising to see again. She was still so energetic and passionate; her mirthful exterior even if hollow at times, was contagious.
Her whole life streamed in front of my eyes leisurely. It was no less surreal. To all her acquaintances she was MissC. C stood for the first letter of her name. Her life was as colorful as she was cynical. No wonder, she was Miss-see everyone in the town. Though her skin was light-hued, her features were ordinary and by no stretch of imagination, someone would have considered her gorgeous or beautiful. But let me warn you, behind her, curious intelligent eyes, casual manners, good humor and sly almost unfathomable mind there stood a girl who was probably the best companion you could ever imagine of. Our town like a few others in our region retained a distinct British era personality. Her father was a Male nurse from Scotland and her mother was a Bangali Kayastha doctor. Miss-C was their only child; naturally, the whole world revolved around her. I can’t tell if it was she who liked to be a boy or her parents wanted her to be so, so she was raised as a boy. They were our neighbor and she was a student of St. Mary’s School, I was then a student of SVSS School; two years junior to her. She was bubbly who used to dress as a boy and regale us Mimicking the Temple Pujari or by hurling forty choicest expletives in a minute.
She was peerless and her life was also unconventional. She preserves a strange attraction for things foreign-made and she has the art of using a weakness to her advantage. We came to know about her first crush during school days. She used to roam freely with this American anthropology student who was working on some missionary projects in India. They remained in a relationship for about a year and then he flew back to the US. Did MissC miss him or didn’t she, no one could ever fathom; but this liaison gave her confidence, an air of purpose and some contacts which she employed astutely.
Then India got freedom. MissC got an opportunity to work on a USSR cultural project in India. She used to travel to the USSR often and developed some deep connection there. An alleged playboy Kashmiri politician who bore allegiance to Fabian socialism took interest in her. She got entry into various educational and cultural projects. She preferred remaining low key if possible invisible, but insiders tell she wielded immense power in government circles those days.
Soon a young actor-director entered into her life. Puran Kumar was an educated clean-shaven Punjabi Jatt Sikh who had studied drama and film making abroad. Together they made a good couple. She helped him with film scripts and finance. An undercurrent of irreverence, cynicism and childish revolutionary ideas ran through his work. These movies were not successful with the audience, but somehow came to be regarded as cult classics. Her connections ensured his work getting positive press coverage and benign government support. But this relationship was not meant to last long. When his artistic extravagance and her selfishness clashed, both decided to part away amicably. It is to her credit that after many years she helped Puran Kumar get a coveted award and fellowship from the Government.
MissC’s connections in academics and cultural institutions were unique, she was urbane-sophisticated and there was another side of her that was gory and wild. She loved revolution; she had gigantic dreams of a peaceful equitable and just world. The simple poor masses with their petty joy and sorrows, their ancient ways and nature disgusted and challenged her. She loved playing God and all her men admired her for that. Her adventurous spirit took her to the jungles of Assam and West Bengal. She fell in love with a yet more misguided idealist. She gave birth to a child and before she could think about his future, she was summoned to Delhi on an urgent assignment. The boy was raised by a revolutionary couple; he is now a leader of a Maoist organization.
MissC returned to Delhi, Emergency was declared by a democratically elected Prime minister. She got a missive from Russia to rally all academics and intellectuals to support the move. She had granted favors for years, it was not difficult for her. The years of Emergency stirred her deeply… she started feeling like a teenage girl. This was the time when she came into contact with a towering leftist liberal intellectual Mohammad Irfan. An instant bonding developed between them. Both were shrewd, calculative and mature, yet she somehow felt fatal attraction towards him. They shared many things that brought them closer. Irfan exploited her. He was a conservative blue-blooded Islamist. She could see the greed lurking behind his abject surrender and sham admiration. This all drained her emotionally, and though they were not in any formal relationship she wanted freedom from him. In a sense, he proved more than a match to her. With her help, he succeeded in launching a political outfit in Muslim majority areas and works for pan Islamic ideals. He has grown as a popular leader of that community. Even now after so many years of their drifting away he visits her now and then. While returning home his mischievous smile turns into that of a conqueror. In her heart, she felt her defeat; but accepting the truth is something beyond her capacity.
MissC now dislikes men. She is in feminist liberal activism these days. From her life, she learned a harder lesson than that gender roles, nationalism, religion, ethics and morals all are meant to exploit the weak. Now she is working for LGBTQIA rights. Her dreamy eyes have great barren space for Ideals. What always amazes me is her ability to remain aloof from guilt, conscience and feelings; she is existentialist par excellence.
‘Could you recognize MissC, now, Youngman?’ Uncle asked me, giving a conspiratorial wink.
I couldn’t.
Reclining in his reed chair, he said, -‘MissC is the Communism’.
——
(Samir is coporate professional, living in Bhopal. He is regular contributer of #ApnidigitalDiary. He writes in both Hindi and English.)