Retro Dangal
Dear Daughter of Mine,
Last night I saw this movie about norm-defying girl wrestlers. Some might call it populist and others sappy. By now you must realize that I (and your brother) love to get lost in the fantasy world. So, naturally, I loved the movie which was part biopic part fantasy. I am not sure if you will take after your pragmatic mother or me. Anyway, this is a film I want to watch with you someday. The story involves a devoted father who trains and helps his two eldest girls succeed in the sport of wrestling. In the process, he goes against every recognized custom in his world. People who have watched have been inspired to get their daughters involved in sports (apparently), and there is even a #PhogatsInspire trend initiated by well-meaning people. As is my privation in these matters, instead of looking forward I started looking back. I remembered one other father-daughter duo who set a trend of their own back in the day. I can't imagine Kumbakonam of the 60's to be anything but ultra conservative. From that settlement, from a school teacher's house, their eldest daughter put on the National Cadet Corps uniform and left home for a month and a half training camp in the large cities of Madras and then Delhi. Her father sent her off from Kumbakonam by train. She had a police escort, a Havaldar in uniform, for company and protection that trip. A complete stranger by her side and an entirely new destination. To ensure that she got treated as part and parcel of the police, she had to travel in her uniform. The gumption to drown out voices inside and outside on the attire that you are not familiar with comes to a chosen few. You have to understand that the revolutionary step of sending your teenage daughter to an NCC camp aside, this was not something that family could afford. Where did the spark come from, what inspired them to see through the accepted mist and do something memorable we'll never know. The girl made her father proud. I am not sure if she thought of herself as a rebel and if she did it consciously throughout. She made the journey. She did not see or hear from her family for those 50 days. She trained hard. She made new friends. She saw the world outside her village. She marched in front of the Prime Minister in Delhi. She did hold some disappointment that no one from her family sent her any mail. She must have pursed her lips in her characteristic way and found a way to deal with homesickness. Back home, the father made arrangements with a friend of a friend to see his daughter in the camp and check her well being. He kept tabs through the local NCC director. He had to keep assuring his panic-stricken wife that all was well. He got his fair share of jibes from the community over a variety of topics. He was known for his wit and had a ready repartee for every negative comment that came his way. Those 50 days - a time seemingly before telecommunication - where hope and faith consumed you more than any other human trait - did get over. The daughter came back, and it will never be known who inspired whom, but they wrestled with society to achieve their dreams. With no one to sing their praises, let alone recognize the remarkable thing they just did, they went about their lives. A year later when she got to know that her camp friends from Kashmir were in Pondicherry, she just had to mention it to her father, and he mustered money and accompanied her to visit them. She would go on to work in prestigious institutions in Bombay and Hyderabad living on her own. She would herself become a teacher. She would write award-winning articles. She would become the chief editor of a health magazine. Best of all, she became your grandmother. If and when the opportunity comes in the future, I ask myself today, will I be brave enough to buck the trend and help you with your dreams? They say I take after my grandfather in looks. Here's to the hope and faith that I will be there with his resolute spirit as well.