Women’s Day 2024: Bucket, Holi, Ravan & Me
I still remember the conflicting sense of pride and pity that washed me immediately. I wanted to win and give back (why not? She, too, hit me), but deep down, I did not want to strike her or, worse, see her cry.
It was Holi, and like any 8–9-year-old, I was busy splashing water on passersby along with my younger brother, Mick (Addyn).
Two girls stayed in our neighborhood (whose names I cannot recall), with whom we were never cordial (for some godforsaken reason in a kid’s psyche). I still recall the competitive vengeance I harbored for those girls.
For starters, they were fearless! Something we were not. They were also unabashed, bold, and very confident — possibly things that must have triggered our insecurities and ignited a sense of competence (in a kid’s world).
So far, so good.
During that Holi, there was this competition between us and the two girls. It was to splash the most water on passersby (prompting them to stop their vehicle to yell at us was the benchmark of success).
Fist-bumping, we went for it.
One unfortunate person on a bike was the target of all four of us. And somehow, the two girls successfully drove the man to chase us! (my brother’s water gun malfunctioned; I know I didn’t spray enough. It was one of the girls who did it).
After the chase was over, and the man shamed us for being shameless, the question was: whose splash was the reason to prompt him to chase (despite clearly, he was equally pissed off on all four of us).
Words became an argument, and before late, the argument was a physical quarrel. Here, the girls were phenomenal as well!
They were strong, skilled beaters and beat us up left, right, and center. My brother was crying a few seconds into it!
But I was not to be deterred! Gathering courage, I lifted an empty bucket and hit one of the girls with it as hard as possible. My brother, who was crying the moment before, pulled the hair of the other girl.
It must have hurt.
Suddenly, the chaos froze, and we silently looked at each other, trying to gauge the impact — literally and figuratively. The next sound was of the girl, who I hit, breaking down into a sob.
We were kids. And hitting with buckets must have hurt. It would hurt even now, and of course, it did then.
I still remember the conflicting sense of pride and pity that washed me immediately. I wanted to win and give back (why not? She, too, hit me), but deep down, I did not want to strike her or, worse, see her cry.
Yet, humans will bend but not break. I, too, didn’t. After the fiasco, we went back in our respective ways. My pride in ending the quarrel was not more than the guilt of hitting the girl.
I went home, feeling absolutely horrible to the core.
Unable to stay with the fact any longer, I told my aunt the story in a triumphant and cheerful tone, as if I had done something worthy.
I didn’t want to show I was guilty. I didn’t want to seem weak or look like someone who had just hurt another person. I wasn’t wrong! She, too, was beating us, so why wouldn’t I?
I remember my aunt was not at all pleased to hear the story of our bravery. She did not overreact as well. But what she’d say next was to shake me to the core (I am sure it also impacted my brother to some extent).
She told us:
“I hope you know what happened to Ravan after he abducted Sita.”
“In the process, he pulled Sita’s hair and hurt her despite his intentions not to. And what happened next?”
Looking intently at her now-serious face, I heard her say:
“Ravana was destroyed. If you hurt women, you too will get destroyed.”
The weight of the imagery I drew in my mind in real time was profound.
It was crystal clear that I had just been the Ravan who had hit a Sita with a bucket and made her cry (despite my wishes not to).
As hilarious as it sounds, that simple storytelling hit home at the right time, in the right place (at least for me).
It was to shape my worldview and perception of women and anybody I was to deal with going forward.
There’s nothing wrong with children — boys or girls — playing together and quarreling occasionally.
What matters is that children should be taught to treat each other with kindness and respect. Boys should learn the etiquette to treat women and vice-versa.
I am so grateful to my aunt for saying the right thing at the right time. I am also grateful to my mother and sister, whom I went to for validation later, who still made me feel bad for what I did that day.
For all I know, my sister took great pleasure in making me feel terrified and anxious 😩. My mother never overrode anyone’s opinions of me, even if they were unfair or unjust (that was her way of making me resist criticism and learn to accept it).
A child’s mind is gullible, and impacting it with the proper lesson, at the right time can have far-reaching consequences. Both in good and bad ways.
I was lucky that the women in my life did that correctly.
