Jai Jharkhand - Part I

I have always wanted to write a post on Jharkhand. I have spent a lot of my childhood there (when everything was all Bihar) and I have many many memories of that place. So this post is dedicated to Bihar and particularly to Jharkhand.

It's ugly but it's true. Bihar and Biharis have always been considered as 'uncool'. Uncouth, unsophisticated, corrupt, criminals, etc. etc. I'm not a Bihari myself, but I am very fond of the place and the people. I think both are cool. I think what you take from a place is what makes you 'cool' or 'uncool' and not the place itself.

My father was transferred to Patna when I was all of six, with neither a clue nor a single hindi word in my head.

In a school where the teachers explained the more difficult concepts in Hindi, yes, I was screwed. I was saved only by the textbooks, which I read with a vengeance because I was determined to prove myself in spite of the language handicap. (Perhaps that's where I get my enthusiasm for my job from, because I realise the importance of a good book when the teacher is no use to a six-year-old.)

My Mom and Dad did not speak much Hindi either, and were actually worried that they would make my vocabulary deteriorate. Though I fail to understand how vocab that was limited to 'haan' and 'nahin' could deteriorate any further. But yes, I picked up fast, and got better with time, although I suffered many many embarrassing moments, especially when I encountered 'new' words that sounded like 'old words'.

I particularly remember this incident when I made a complete fool of myself when a panicky classmate came running to me and said, "Sayesha, Paromita ne classroom mein ulti kar di. Teacher ko bulao!" ("Sayesha, Paromita threw up in the classroom. Call the teacher!") I promptly went and reported to the teacher, "Paromita has hung herself upside down in the class!" Simply because 'ulti' to me meant the feminine version of the word 'ulta' which means upside down.

I will never forget that incident. And the shock on the teacher's face when she heard my report on the 7-year-old Paromita's alleged suicide attempt in the classroom.

Alongside Hindi, I was picking up the cute little language Bhojpuri as well. My tryst with Bhojpuri started when I heard my neighbour's servant Sudhir say, "Hamaar chappalwa phatat gayil!" ("My slipper broke.") I don't think I had laughed harder that entire year. I prompty went and taught the phrase to my Mom, who was laughing at the statement for the next three years at least.

I started my teenage in Jamshedpur, and was there for two years, of which I recall no happening incident or characteristic to jot down here. Tata steel. Lots of coal. That's it.

And then Dad moved to this tiny town called Chaibasa. A lot of tribals who spoke a language called Ho still inhabited the place. The town was so small that everyone knew everyone. Dad was against the idea of me living in a hostel in another town for my studies. So I joined the only English medium local school. I liked it. We had very qualified and experienced teachers who had been transferred to that town or had asked to be transferred for the love of teaching or just for the challenge. But many promptly left it after a year or so, realising that it really was too small a town. So I got more and more used to things around me changing very fast.

No post about Bihar would be complete without the mention of Laloo. I saw him once. In a helicopter. He was coming down to address a gathering in the big field next to my school. He was rumoured to have said, "Bachpan mein hum bhainsan par baithkar oopar helicopterwa ko dekhte they. Aur ab hum helicopterwa mein baithkar neeche bhainsan ko dekhte hain!" ("In my childhood, I used to sit on the buffalo and look up at the helicopter. Now I sit in the helicopter and look down at the buffalo.") Amazing, huh? That dude is something.

I loved the slow pace of life in that town. I loved going to school. I loved my friends, teachers and my subjects. I loved the tribal culture whenever I came across it. I could even sing some of the songs in Ho that blared out of loudspeakers early in the morning, one of which was 'Jimba aabwe jimba aabwe' which my Mom used to sing as 'Zimbabwe Zimbabwe'. She even had a theory that the tribals in Chaibasa originally hailed from Zimbabwe.

Speaking of blaring loudspeakers, how can I forget the homemade remixes of popular songs done for the local temple, that would wake everyone up, including the town roosters! One of them was 'Main shivji ka hoon bhakt bhakt' sung to the tune of 'Tu cheez badi hai mast mast'. Sheesh.

No wonder I was never late for my 5:45 am bus which I had to catch to go to the next town because my school was only upto the 10th standard. And Dad was still adamant to let me go and study outside. (Look at the irony, he had to finally let me go, that too to a whole other country, that too for ten years!) So I travelled every single day to another town for my 11th and 12th.

When I applied for the Singapore Airlines scholarship, everyone around me said that I had no chance in hell because I was from an unknown school in an unknown town in a state with the worst reputation in India. But somehow, I got lucky, and was offered the scholarship.

"You're not going anywhere! You were offered the scholarship, we're happy. Now you reject it, and I will proudly tell people how my daughter rejected Singapore! Hah!" said my Mom. Moms and their crazy ideas... sheesh.

"So? What do you want to do? Do you want to go?" Dad asked.

"What?! I get to decide?? And you're willing to let me go?? Dad, there's a 6-year-bond after the 4-year-course, you remember that, don't you?"

"Yes, I know. You decide and let me know."

"Of course she's going!" said my Grandma. "I have to go back to the village and tell everyone that my grand-daughter is going abroad!"

(Yeah, my grandma was not the typical traditional kinda grandma. She was the totally chilled out types.)

My mamaji told my Dad, "You must be kidding me! Send your daughter off to some unknown land for ten years?? Haha!"

A week later, this small-town girl found herself in Singapore.

And with me, I had brought a large part of that small town, and it marked my first few weeks here in terms of people's perception of me and their behaviour towards me.

Which played a big part in making me the person I am today.

Coming soon in part II - why seniors would not rag this freshie and other stories

Read Jai Jharkhand - part II here.