Rati was born in England of Indian parents. When she was about five years old, her parents returned along with her to India. Soon, a brother was born. Having been born and brought up in England, she was " English " whereas her brother who was born in India was an Indian.
As if the contrast between England and an Indian city was not enough, her father got a job on the construction site of a public sector unit in one of the most backward areas. Bewilderment of Rati in this place was complete.
Rati had however not forgotten the manners and social graces learnt by her in one of the smaller towns of England. She could be depended upon to stir out of the house in only the most proper dress for the purpose of the outing, all neatly ironed and starched. When meeting someone on the road, instead of sheepishly smiling like other Indian children, she would boldly greet an adult with a " Good Morning or Evening, Mr. or Mrs. or Miss so and so ".
If you were to call on her parents, she would answer the doorbell, greet you properly, a pleasant surprise written all over her face. She would usher you in the sitting room and after making you comfortable, inform her parents of your arrival. Then, like a good child, she would withdraw, leaving the grown - ups to their grown - up talk. Among us construction people in that small settlement, Rati was indeed a wonder, an example quoted by some mothers of what a good child should be.
Rati's little brother was however her despair. He was inclined to be merry, to be talking louder than in whispers and to be wearing ill-matched clothes. If she was not wary, Ravi would sneak out wearing only his slippers. Why ! She had once seen him playing barefooted. And horror of horrors ! Ravi had once openly and unashamedly expressed a desire to swim in a pond that the villagers used for bathing, and washing clothes as well as utensils.
Ravi was indeed a great burden for Rati's frail shoulders. Whenever and wherever possible, she attended to his attire, his manners and so on. But the moment her back was turned, Ravi lapsed into a behaviour that Rati had started thinking of as his " Indianness ". The more she tried to cure him of it, the more he lapsed into it. The strain on her mind was beginning to tell.
It was during this period that I went to Rati's house on some business. Her father was away but was expected back soon. I was therefore having a chat with Rati's mother in the meantime. Rati could be seen reading a book in the adjoining room.
Just then, Ravi barged in her room as was his wont, clothes splattered with mud, hair disheveled and a wild look of joy on his face. He shouted " Look ! Didi ! what I have brought for you ! Rati looked and found a small garland of wild flowers for Rati's hair.
For once in her ten years of existence, she forgot to notice her brother's untidy appearance, his abominable manners and even omitted to scold him. Instead, she broke one of her own rules. She walked into the drawing room, garland in hand and said excitedly, " Mother ! Look ! What Ravi has made for me !
No sooner she said it, she realized that an outsider was present. She was about to apologise and withdraw but the look of total approval on both the adult faces changed her mind. When I pulled her towards me, she came unresistingly and sat on my lap as naturally as the rest of the children in that small settlement did, her pyjamas notwithstanding. Ravi's genuine affection had after all overcome her inhibitions.
She was later to realize that one's behaviour corresponded to one's development on a number of planes, apart from time and environment. Behaviour natural to youself can never be considered as boorish except by boors or half-baked copycat people. Social graces that come from within and are a part of one's personality are what count. Acquired manners like gilded ornaments can last only as long as the gilt takes to wear off. The only way to be happy and to go up is to be true to yourself and the world would eventually be true to you.
By now, Rati is a big girl. Call her Indian, call her English, no matter what !
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