Strength to Say No (15 page)

I continue, ‘But let me tell you what happened to my older sister. For five years she tried to have a baby. Every time she gave birth she nearly died. Her cries, her pains, were heart-rending. She escaped death several times but not the sorrow of losing four babies. My sister did not choose to marry, but my parents chose for her. They decided that she was mature enough to be married and young enough for the dowry to be minimal. I am not criticizing my parents. They do their best every day to put a bit of rice on our plates. On the other hand I do not agree with their forcing me to quit school and marry a stranger older than I am just to have one fewer mouth to feed. That was not easy. I would even say that it is extremely difficult to contradict
one's parents and the consequences are especially hard to take. But today I am here to tell you that it is possible to refuse a marriage if you don't want it. It is possible to find another way that allows you to go to school so that you can really help your parents, have a life less hard than theirs and give your children better living conditions than the ones you had. It is an ambitious vision that is within the reach of each of you. Thank you for listening to me.'

I had hardly finished my last sentence when the crowd began to applaud, mainly the young people in the first row. Mr Kundu took the floor again and reminded everyone that the law forbids boys to marry before the age of twenty-one and girls before eighteen.

I went back down from the platform, happy to have expressed myself in front of all these people, proud of having shared my story, delighted at the idea that it could inspire other people in the same situation.

At the end of the meeting several pupils came up to confide their problems to me. Dipali was twelve, and although her parents wanted to keep sending her to school she was being forced to marry a man of about twenty because her grandfather absolutely had to see her married before he died. I advised her to ask her grandfather if he preferred to go first or to attend the funeral of his granddaughter because of a pregnancy that turned out to be fatal at her young age.

The case of Bina, aged thirteen, was very similar to mine. I could only encourage her to follow my example by wishing her great determination and fewer problems than those that I have had with my mother. I added that sooner or later the parents, who know they are in the wrong, realize they have no choice but
to throw in the towel. With time and the support of her teachers Bina would finally succeed in convincing her parents that their decision was unworkable.

Some parents also came to greet me. Some mothers said they envied the courage they failed to have some years before; others were moved and promised to stand up to their husbands who were considering giving their daughter away although she was still too young to become a wife. I had the feeling of serving a just and praiseworthy cause by giving this speech.

Dipak landed on his feet in Bangalore and found work as a floral decorator. His work consisted of making long garlands by weaving flowers together with a string. During the wedding season he worked straight through without a break several hours a day, seven days a week, including nights. He was regularly called by hotels or rich homeowners who wished to decorate their houses during a religious ceremony or for the birthday of their child. He lived with a friend in a tiny place at the back of a little grocery where the rent was very reasonable for the centre of a big city. My brother, however, did not have access to either water or electricity. He earned enough money to feed himself but not enough to save up and come to visit us any time soon. I asked him to tell me what the people were like and how he managed not to get lost in the middle of this urban jungle. The line went dead. He had no doubt used up all the credit. I wouldn't get my answer until the next call.

I told Baba that my big brother had called, and he was sorry to have missed him. Ma came back with several woven baskets and suggested going to sell them herself at the market rather
than leaving them with the merchant. She was convinced that she could get more for them than the handful of rupees offered by the wholesaler.

The next meeting takes place in front of a hospital also situated several kilometres from the village. There are hardly any children. Once again I have butterflies in my stomach before getting up on the platform and facing dozens of adults. I adapt my speech by saying this time that since I refused the marriage proposed by my parents my dowry is very small. Less than fifteen hundred rupees, while some time ago my parents would have had to pay out more than five thousand rupees. I don't spare any detail of my older sister's miscarriages. Some women seem touched by these events, as if they themselves had experienced them and then suppressed the memory before they surfaced again with my speech. They are the ones that I particularly address, the mothers, for although they almost never have the power to make decisions they exert a great influence on their husbands. I encourage them to listen to their daughters rather than to punish them or to bully them. I mention my painful confrontation with Ma, who is now sorry and recognizes that she was wrong. I urge these mothers not to repeat the same error as the one committed by my mother.

I speak for a little over ten minutes. The message seems to get through to judge by the reactions of the crowd. The deputy minister straightens his unruly hair before concluding and thanking the audience. I have the impression that he, too, appreciated my speech.

The public meetings multiplied without my really realizing it. I had to do about fifteen of them in all. The deputy minister insisted on making an evaluation after each speech. He corrected me, especially when I talked for too long. He reminded me of the points that we dealt with during the training programme. He also noted the positive elements in my speech; he stressed the pertinence of my examples and the very positive reactions of the audience. He was happy that the local press turned out for each of my speeches. Each interview I gave made me more credible and emphasized the depth of my message.

A journalist from the
Hindustan Times
questioned me for several minutes. She was interested in the smallest details and had me repeat the answers so that she could be sure she understood everything. The pages of her notebook became blacker the longer we talked. Her long black hair kept falling over her face, and she swept it back in an almost mechanical way. She looked like those women that you see in Bollywood films with very delicate features and full lips. When she spoke in Bengali there was no Hindi accent, so she must have been originally from Bengal. She wanted to know if I was taken care of financially – if I had received rewards or even gifts from politicians or other people. I told her the whole truth and she seemed to believe me.

The photographer shot after shot. When I ask to see them he shows me ones where the journalist and I appear sitting on the steps of my house, then some others where I am alone or in close-up. He asks me to roll some bidis since that's my usual work. I take the basket and the leaves, and in the space of a few minutes I show the camera twenty-five perfectly rolled cigarettes. The camera clicks away. The photographer glances at the
screen, expertly turns the buttons then nods. The journalist asks him if he's satisfied, and he replies that he has enough good photos to illustrate the article.

My parents are also interviewed, first separately and then together. Even the neighbours come in for a few questions. The reporter takes my mobile, enters her number and asks me to call her if I need anything at all. I thank her politely. I can't begin to suspect that when it appears her article will be read by practically everybody in India, including the president.

The next meeting took place in Calcutta. I was told a few days beforehand, and I learned that other important people would speak. My teacher reassured me and said that I didn't need to panic or get stressed, that it would be the same routine as before with the sole difference that there would be many more people in the audience. Mr Kundu, on the other hand, pointed out to me that I had to be word perfect and more effective than ever. I didn't know which one to believe. My parents were informed, and my mother insisted that Baba came with us.

The car arrived at noon to drop us off at the railway station. The train trip seemed to go on for ever; we had time to eat lunch and dinner. Some people from the ministry accompanied us, and some of them stared at me for a long time because they'd never seen me before. When night came the train staff distributed sheets and a plastic-covered pillow to us. Somebody came to transform the seats into couchettes and in a few minutes the carriage had turned into a huge dormitory. I was just above my father. I had trouble getting to sleep with the noisy rumbling of the train.

The first rays of sunshine came through the filthy window. I got up and gazed at the landscape that was flashing past my eyes.

When we arrived several men welcomed us; they were wearing short-sleeved shirts and ties, and they drove us in a white vehicle with a revolving light on top. The interior of the car was comfortable. Mr Kundu took advantage of the drive to give me some last-minute advice: concentrate, be systematic and if there are any questions deal with them promptly.

There were several thousand people standing behind barriers, which were a few metres from the platform. Big posters were stuck on both sides of huge surrounding walls. I was invited to sit on one of the chairs on the stage. They gave me a little bottle of mineral water, and the guests arrived one after the other. The polite greetings and the hugs and kisses lasted for many minutes while the public poured in. I put my hands together and bowed my head each time someone came to greet me.

When the first speaker finally got up to speak I had already been sitting and trying to stay awake for almost two hours. On the lawn cameras were filming the scene. Sometimes a cameraman got up on the platform, went up to the politicians, recorded some images and climbed back down off the stage and rejoined his colleagues. The speeches were vehement. Some speakers shouted into the microphone enough to start up a loud whistling. Others used their hands and their fists to emphasize an idea, to get the message across. I never do that.