That Woman In Hampi
This is a piece that I have performed at a couple of open mics.
Hello Everyone! I am Shreya. Born in Jamshedpur and raised in too many parts of the country. Now this part is quite irrelevant to the story that I am about to narrate.
So let me tell you something more relevant. I love golgappas! As a child for as long as I can remember I have had golgappas everyday of my life. That possibly is the only explanation of why I look like one. You know, you end up resembling the food you most often consume?
As I was preparing for this story telling session, I was looking for a story with less of me and more of another person because, quite honestly, I was just looking for something less self-obsessed. I let the reels of 24 years of my life play in a flashback as I looked for a compelling anecdote to share.
And here am I with a story from my final year in college. When me and I my friends like a bunch of hippies went to this rather hippie place, Hampi.
This is the story of a woman who took me by surprise because she was selling golgappas outside the Virupaksha Temple. Now, I have eaten golgappas every day of my life. And yet in all my years of existence and living in different corners of the world I had never come across a ‘woman selling golgappas!’
I was quite intrigued, but early in the morning we were on a really tight schedule and my friends didn’t want me to spend time eating golgappas or chatting with a woman selling them, so we headed to cover the day’s itinerary.
In the evening, I made some excuse finished a li’ll early from the strenuous cycling around town only to come back and have a word with this woman clad in a purple saree who had been running in my mind all afternoon.
I was delighted to see her still there, a little past sunset, selling golgappas on the street. There were less customers around and I found it an opportune time to talk to her.
As I was having her golgappas which I must admit were rather bland and soggy, which could explain the lack of customers, I heard her talk to the neighbouring corn seller in fluent Hindi.
This was the most fluent Hindi I had heard in the entire Karnataka.
“Aunty, aap kahaan se ho?”, I asked curiously.
“Hum north se hai. UP mein rehte hai.
“Yahaan par hamaara mard golgappa bechata tha. Shaadi hui toh hum bhi unke saath gaon chodh kar idhar aa gayye. Tab se yahi rehte hai.
Ka Karein, Didi.?
Doon — doon beti log hai hamari. Abhi toh school jaa rahi hai. Badi waali abhi barhvi mein hai. Agle saal uski pariksha khatam ho jaane par uski shaadi kar denege.
Ek lakh ka kharcha hoga!
Len — den kitna hota hai shaadi mein kya bataye aapko? Aur gaon jaana hoga eee sab ke chakkar mein uuuu alag.”
“Achha”, I muttered.
She had a rather verbose answer to my “Aap kahaan se ho? And yet I felt my question was unanswered.
“Par aap golgappa hi kyun bechte hai?”
“Uh hamesha se yeh gol gappa hi bechte rahe hai na idhar. Toh aadha yeh bazaar ke paas bechte hai, aadha hum idhar.”
At my sixth golgappa when I was done she asked me, “Teekha kam laga kya aapko?”
“Thoda sa,” I replied.
“Bahar ke log nahi khaaan pate hai na issliye hum kam daalte hai.”
I had another plate of golgappas, spicy as she promised. And as my friend returned I made them have a plate each.
Together we made a small humble contribution to the golgappe wali and her daughters’ marriage and education fund.
Looking back I could have told her what my Mom frequently tells my maid, “Aaj kal ladka-ladki sab baraabar hote hai.”
But then, to be honest, I didn’t feel she needed to be told that. While she seemed a little worried by society and its obligated ways, I knew with a woman as fierce as her in the house her daughters would be just fine. While her words, a tad bit politically incorrect, might not agree with the cliched ‘strong independent woman’ but that didn’t stop her from being one.
Here she was, not only living in a city that was not her own, but also shouldering responsibilities with her husband and being an important and equal contributor back home.
That lady was one of the finest female role models I have ever come across. I’d put her in the same league as all the women of self-worth that I admire, often who come from places of privilege. She ticked every checkbox of the women i truly look upto.
It has been more than a year and half since the incident. And yet ever time when a friend puts up an Instagram post of their trip to Hampi, I am reminded of just her.
I wonder if she still sells golgappa outside the city’s Virupaksha temple. I wonder if her daughter is married.
I guess there are just two ways to find out.
One, I make an impromptu trip with my friends or two, you find it out for me.
