Baskanya

Endless miles traveled. Countless faces met. The memory of a thousand smiles until one feels that one is the sum total of all those dear little faces. Small hands tuck into yours and smile shyly as you begin clicking.

I carry with me one smile in particular. As the jeep stopped in the dusty little village, I see an eager face running to meet me in a swirl of dust. She smiles at me as though she recognizes me. And the minute I see her, I know I’ve gotten my story. I start clicking.

“Wait, wait, who is she,” asks P frantically. “She isn’t even on the project.”

But I am smitten. I can’t stop.

She was a natural. She looked straight into the camera. And she gave exactly the right expressions. If I hadn’t known otherwise, I’d have thought she was used to this kind of thing.

Her name was Baskanya. "Does it really mean what it seems to mean," I ask the community worker. "Enough girls?!?!?!? What kind of a name is that to give a child?" Solomon, community worker and translator of Malwi to Hindi, nods, rather suprised himself.

On enquiries, we learn that Baskanya is the 5th daughter of a family of seven girls and one boy. Strangely enough, the boy was actually born after Baskanya. I wanted to know why they named her that. On further enquiries, we learn our surmise is correct.

P was reluctant about using her story. “She isn’t part of the project,” she kept telling me.

“Then make her part of it, please,” I say.

She probably thought, “What does she know about the reality of working with the community?” But I am determined that Baskanya WILL be part of the project. I am determined that she WILL have a sponsor.

If we had to work with realities, and if we always accepted realities, life wouldn’t EVER change. Reality can sometimes be just an excuse for not wanting to do better. The easy way out. Success stories are always stories of people who worked against and in spite of the realities, right?

Baskanya for one seems to have accepted her reality. I hope my questions have stirred up some dying embers of a dying dream…but then again, what if it has? Can I make those dreams come true? What chance does my status of working for a ‘developmental organisation’ stand against preconceived notions and prejudices?

Baskanya doesn’t go to school. She did though. For one year. And she recounted those happy days excitedly to me. Especially the counting bit. Of how she used to draw. Neither maths nor art have been my strong points, so it is my turn to get excited. I wish for the nth time that I had more money so I could sponsor her as well.

“If you like it so much, why did you stop,” I ask. The boy came along she explains. And then, one after the other, two more girls. They asked her to stay back at home to look after the younger ones.

“Would you like to go back to school,” I ask. Though I am scared I’ll awaken dreams that I might never be able to fulfill, I want P to hear her say yes.

“Yes,” she says and her eyes light up expectantly. I am torn with guilt. What if it never becomes a reality…? Did I do the right thing asking her? Have I given her false hope? I begin to have a slightly sick feeling in my stomach.

She looks at me dotingly and I feel helpless and angry and determined all at once. “Please put her on the program,” I beg P.

“I don’t mind,” she says. “But eventually her parents should agree.”

I ask to speak to her mother. She is ignorant and greedy to boot. “Will they send us the money directly,” she asks.

“ No,” I say. “ The money will be with us and we will see to it that she gets everything she should.”

“Then, why say she has a sponsor, who gives her money,” she asks. I realise that though she is ignorant, she is not stupid. I decide to tell her the truth.

“ We do it so that we know that the money will be actually spent on her. I am not telling about you, but sometimes, if we give the money directly to the child, some parents use it up for the house and not for the child.”

She loses interest at this point. “If we are not getting the money directly, why should she go? She might as well do some work at the house.”

She seems to think its some kind of bargain deal. What she’s saying is really, “ Give us the money and in return we’ll do you the favour of sending her to school.”

“The money is to support Baskanya,” I say. “Not for the family.”

“There is one girl in the village who is going to an ICSE school through her sponsor. He gave the family also a lot of money.”

“That is an exceptional case, where the sponsor wanted to do more than just support her,” explains P.

“Why can’t we get a sponsor like that?”

P is about to explain that we cannot demand that of people and that it’s eventually upto the sponsor’s generosity, but Baskanya’s mother has lost interest. She mutters something in Malwi and walks away. Something not very nice, I think. But the matter, as far as she is concerned, is settled.

I feel my heart sinking. Seeing my disappointment, P relents. “ We’ll see to it that she’s added on the program,” she told me. “We will do something.”

Baskanya looks at us questioningly. We smile at her and she smiles back at us. Her smile gives me hope. I look at P and I can see that Baskanya’s charm has gotten her too.

As we leave the village, Baskanya waves happily. As we reverse and begin to drive out, she suddenly springs forward, much like she did the first time. Her mouth is half-open, her eyebrows raised as though she wants to ask me something. Then suddenly, she thinks the better of it, and steps back.

I lean out of the jeep hoping she’ll come out with it. The jeep is gathering speed. But she doesn’t move. As the jeep zooms ahead, I turn back and see her in the distance—a small speck of pink waving crazily.