RIMA DIDI

Little did I know that the rugged looking, illiterate,barefooted woman whose experiences about life peeped from her cracked feet and spoke volumes of her sufferance and struggles in life and that she would leave an everlasting mark in my mind and heart, so much so that she would inspire me to write about her one day.

Let me call her Rima didi for the namesake. I was married to Madan for a little over four years and it was during one visit to my husband's ancestral house , when we were walking towards the large paddy field ,that a middle aged woman adorning a nose ring called mundri in the local dialect, hanging from the septum of her nose, placed on her weather beaten face, suddenly sprung up from nowhere. Her eyes were sparkling and smile so captivating that nobody could avoid her and I wasn't an exception.

Throwing her long , roughly pleated hair aside,she grabbed my two-year old toddler with her fat, cracked fingers and forcibly planted a kiss on her tender cheeks. My child had been tended gently so far so when didi pulled her to he little soul screamed and Rima Didi roared with laughter. Madan ,my husband patted her back and fondly caressed her. Didi gave my baby back to Madan . My little child kept sobbing. Nonchalantly, didi turned towards me and asked, "Will you take me to your house one day? I have never been to the town." I nodded , which didn't mean 'yes' at all . I meant "Why should I?" This was my second or third encounter with Rima Didi . My first encounter wasn't very pleasant either. I don't know what she thought but whenever I visited the village thereafter ,she asked me the same question and everytime I had an excuse. Such was the excuse that it was hard not to believe. Still she had some kind of spark in her that one could not avoid her completely. She used to visit Madan's parents regularly in the pretext of helping them with field work or doing household chores. She did chaffing, husking,cleaning and stacking grains. She also did grinding and cleaning. Whatever she did , she did meticulously and with pride and perfection. Everybody in the village seemed to be hiring her for similar kind of work. Didi never denied anyone and obliged everyone with her expertise. I was never a 'fan' of Rima didi. Such petty work never caught my fancy nor did I ever find them interesting until , yesterday. My maid as usual sent a word through her son that she was sick and would not come for work. I banged the uncleaned dishes and tied the apron murmuring and cursing her. Madan immediately came to my rescue. He cleaned the rice ,washed and put it in the pressure cooker muttering something.

I could hardly hear him . On asking what he said,Madan told me that now life had become so easy that we don't have to clean rice as it was done when they were very young. 'I have learnt this from Rima didi ' he said. Later Madan went on telling amazing stories about Rima didi,the widow and the hardships she had to face while singlehandedly raising her three daughters and nobody to support her. She used to tell Madan stories from Ramayana and give moral lessons. Madan also learnt folk songs from her. He said that he developed his love for music from her. And I stood there perplexed listening to Madan while he continued with the praises of that woman with unkempt hair . I kept thinking who the teacher was , I who was working for a reputed school and drawing a fat salary and thinking myself to be educated and having degrees up my sleeve or uneducated Rima Didi who unknowingly had taught life lessons to many including Madan ,who remember her every now and then. Suddenly her cracked heels , chapped lips, dirty looking hands looked beautiful and enchanting to me. Didi's selfless nature,love and dedication for her work gave me many reasons to respect her. Little did I know that the rugged looking, illiterate,barefooted woman whose experiences about life peeped from her cracked feet and spoke volumes of her sufferance and struggles in life and that she would leave an everlasting mark in my mind and heart, so much so that she would inspire me to write about her one day. Let me call her Rima didi for the namesake. It was during one visit to my husband's ancestral house , when we were walking towards the large paddy field ,that a middle aged woman adorning a nose ring hanging from the septum of her nose, placed on her weather beaten face, suddenly sprung up from nowhere. Her eyes were sparkling and smile so captivating that nobody could avoid her and I wasn't an exception.Throwing her long , roughly pleated hair aside,she grabbed my two-year old toddler with her fat cracked fingers and forcibly planted a kiss on her tender cheeks. The little soul screamed and Rima Didi roared with laughter. Madan ,my husband patted her back and fondly caressed her. Didi gave my baby back to Madan . My little child kept sobbing. Nonchalantly, didi turned towards me and asked, "Will you take me to your house one day? I have never been to the town." I nodded , which didn't mean 'yes' at all . I meant "Why should I?" This was my second or third encounter with Rima Didi .

My first encounter wasn't very pleasant either. I don't know what she thought but whenever I visited the village thereafter ,she asked me the same question and everytime I had an excuse. Such was the excuse that it was hard not to believe. Still she had some kind of spark in her that one could not avoid her completely. She used to visit Madan's parents regularly in the pretext of helping them with field work or doing household chores. She did chaffing, husking,cleaning and stacking grains. She also did grinding and cleaning. Whatever she did , she did meticulously and with pride and perfection. Everybody in the village seemed to be hiring her for similar kind of work. Didi never denied anyone and obliged everyone with her expertise. I was never a 'fan' of Rima didi. Such petty work never caught my fancy nor did I ever find them interesting until , yesterday. My maid as usual sent a word through her son that she was sick and would not come for work. I banged the uncleaned dishes and tied the apron murmuring and cursing her. Madan immediately came to my rescue. He cleaned the rice ,washed and put it in the pressure cooker muttering something. I could hardly hear him . On asking what he said,Madan told me that now life had become so easy that we don't have to clean rice as it was done when they were very young. 'I have learnt this from Rima didi ' he said. Later Madan went on telling amazing stories about Rima didi,the widow and the hardships she had to face while singlehandedly raising her three daughters and nobody to support her. She used to tell Madan stories from Ramayana and give moral lessons. Madan also learnt folk songs from her. He said that he developed his love for music from her. And I stood there perplexed listening to Madan while he continued with the praises of that woman with unkempt hair . I kept thinking who the teacher was , I who was working for a reputed school and drawing a fat salary and thinking myself to be educated and having degrees up my sleeve or uneducated Rima Didi who unknowingly had taught life lessons to many including Madan ,who remember her every now and then. Suddenly her cracked heels , chapped lips, dirty looking hands looked beautiful and enchanting to me. Didi's selfless nature,love and dedication for her work gave me many reasons to respect her.