The Day I Became a Sweeper, From a Princess
A small lesson my father taught me
As tears flowed down silently down my cheeks, I held my father tight, as he rode the scooter to my school. I couldn’t bear to see people turning around and staring at me, pointing at me. I just wanted to vanish into thin air. I prayed that my father did not stop the scooter at any point. Please God, let this nightmare be over.
I was dressed in rags, an old saree( traditional attire of Indian women) deliberately torn at places. An artificial filthy wig of more white than black stuck to my head. My face was smudged with kajal( black kohl) at places to make me look mucky.
I was on my way to a fancy dress completion in my school and I was dressed as a sweeper.
But I was so happy just 2 days back when our class teacher announced the fancy dress event! The first thing that struck our 6-year-old minds is that we all get to dress in some character.
All of us in the class started discussing what to become. Princesses. Because you get to dress gorgeous. And look beautiful. I was partial towards Snow-white and Cinderella. I had started making mental notes of how to act and dress; all while listening to my friends jabbering about their choice of characters. Some chose Rapunzel planning to tie up a saree for hair, some went for Sleeping Beauty and some simply wanted to wear a gown.
I couldn't wait to go home quickly and ensure that my father was free that evening. We had to go to the only shop in the town that rented costumes, envying all my friends who stayed closer to the market area and could reach the shop earlier. But bad news awaited me. My father had to go someplace and had left in the morning, only to be back on the evening before the event.
Chances of getting hold of a good costume just went out of the window.
He came home late in the evening and looked tired. But upon hearing the situation, he decided to take me to the shop right then. More bad news awaited there.
As I had feared, all the good costumes were gone. Not even of a doctor. The shop owner jokingly held a worn-out wig in his hand and said —
“This is all that is left.”
I immediately made up my mind. I am not participating this year. But then I see my father’s big hands moving towards the wig and taking it. We will take it, he says. For whom! I wonder. Mom doesn’t need one. Whatever he wants to do with that. I am too sad to even talk.
The ride back home is silent.
Once we reach home, my father gently holds my hand and walks me inside. Too heart-broken to talk I just walk. He sits beside me and tells me —
“You are going to participate. I know you wanted a princess dress and you did not get it, but there is no point in not participating at all. Let’s see what we can make of this.”
And he showed me the wig!!
I am not wearing that!
But despite all my complaining, he did not budge. A little more coaxing and compelling, and I finally give up. I just stood there while my mom ran around fetching things and my father turned into an artist, basically trying to spoil a painting.
After half an hour, the result is exactly what he wanted.
I am looking horrible.
As I sit on the pillion seat of the scooter, I look around and see my mother as if appealing for the last time, just tell him I don’t want to go. My mother has a frown on her forehead, wrinkled nose — a typical look when the mother feels for the kid but knows that she has to do it.
No help coming from there, I look ahead, as the first of many tears roll down my cheeks.
As we near the school, my heart starts racing. How will I face my friends like this? And as my father parks his scooter, my head bent, I look from the corner of my eyes. All girls have come in pretty dresses, dressed like Princesses. That moment I hated nothing more in my life than princesses.
My father gently held my hand and we walked the path of shame to my classroom. As we stood at the door, suddenly the class went silent. Everyone looked at me and I felt like shrinking to the size of a fly and buzzing away.
My teacher acted quickly and paced towards the entrance taking my hand from my father and gently guiding me to a seat beside a window. I sat and looked out to find my father standing there.
He bent and handed a big bar of chocolate to me. Come on, that can sweeten the most bitter moments. With a big smile, I took it from his hand. I looked at my teacher, who already sensing my sad plight, gave a smile and a nod. I quickly tore the cover and started relishing the chocolate, ignoring the pairs of eyes still checking me out.
My father softly tells, as I am all engrossed in the sweetness of chocolate,
“Lipi, you are already dressed. You are in school and you are also participating. The only thing you are not enjoying is your get-up. But look around. Nobody is dressed like you. You are different. Can you turn ‘different’ to ‘special’? Think of something that no-one here will do.”
As I nibbled on the chocolate, I saw what he was telling. There were 7 princes/princesses, 4 dolls, 3 doctors, 2 police officers, and a butterfly. As I think a little more my father again prompted —
“Do something funny”.
Now, I was in a better frame of mind. Having had the chocolate. I start thinking about what can I do on the stage that surprises everyone.
And just then our teacher takes our group towards the performance arena.
I see the stage, a simple elevated platform, with the judges sitting in a line along one side. One by one, the kids perform displaying their costumes and extensive make-ups leading up to my turn.
As I climbed up the stage, I looked at my father, who gave a smile and waved at me. I bent down and started sweeping the floor enacting a sweeper walking towards the judges. I stood up and softly scolded one of them for littering the floor, and enacted picking up the thing. Then I mimed eating a pan( betel leaf), chewed a bit, and spat on the floor. And again I bent and walked away sweeping.
I could hear the loud claps and I felt as if I conquered the world. But little did I know that I had actually conquered something much more.
SELF-DOUBT.
Next time things did not go my way, I thought maybe this will lead to some better or the best. And later in my life, when I have found myself in extremely unpleasant, and trying situations, I tell myself — it is just life telling me:
This is all that is left.
And I start to work around it. Try to make something out of it. Because that is what my father taught me that day. Quitting is always an option. Always the easiest one. But never the best. Trying is much more rewarding. And since that day I have taken pride in TRYING. I have failed. A lot. But always left with ‘something’ to work again.
By the way, I won the fancy dress competition that day.
