When I hear news that’s particularly disheartening, I try and see if a better view or different perspective would improve the outlook. After all, whether one calls a glass half empty or half full usually does make a difference. But over the years, I’ve come across many things that don’t really improve with a better view. Like the findings of this year’s census. They show that the sex ratio (the number of females per 1,000 males) for the 0-6 age group has dropped to 914 in 2011 (it used to be 927 in 2001). What it effectively means is that in the decade of unprecedented economic growth, somehow our country has also evolved, if one can use the word here, into a terrifyingly hostile environment for little girls. Even more dispiriting was the finding that the bias against girls actually rose dramatically as families prospered. The richer Indians got, the more they wished their daughters away...
No magical change of perspective could make these statistics seem better, I thought, not even a pair of rose-tinted spectacles. But then, whilst in Bangalore, I ran into Pinky, who showed me how things could be, if more people began to think the way her parents — a lower middle class migrant couple, did. At first glance, she was just a well adjusted, grade-eight kid. However, chatting with her family, I realised how her perfectly ordinary parents were raising not just a happy young girl, but also the bar for how countless parents across the country brought up their daughters.
She lived in a small neighbourhood outside the Coke factory in Bangalore. Her father worked in the factory and mother looked after their one-bedroom home. Her nine-year-old brother and she study in a private school, and their parents ensure equal opportunities for both. “We want them to have a better life than this. And when I see Pinky immersed in her books or playing football with her friends, I have no doubt that she’ll get it!” said her father. As we chatted, the subject of our conversation walked in, back from a tuition class. “I’m quite good in all subjects except Maths,” she said after greeting us, “but am working hard to catch up!” Her parents had very high expectations from her, she said. “I want to become a teacher when I’m older, so I’ve to study very hard right now!” Pig-tailed and bright-eyed, Pinky seemed very aware of the sacrifices her parents were making to provide her with so many opportunities. She showed me medals she’d won in athletics and some of the paintings she’d made. When I complimented her, she said simply, “whatever I do, I feel I’ve got to do it well!” Meanwhile, it was playtime, and her friends were waiting. “Don’t get on that scootie again!” scolded her mother, “I’m scared at the thought of you on a two-wheeler on Bangalore’s roads!” Pinky looked abashed, though unrepentent. “What can I do?” she said, “my naughty brother has broken the seat of my cycle... and I do love the rush of wind against my face!”
After Pinky ran off to play, her mother plied me with cold drinks and more conversation. “We don’t want her to just marry early, as is customary in our community. We want her to make something of her life. I believe she has the potential to do this. That’s what gives us hope to carry on giving her the best that we can, even when sometimes we can ill-afford it…”
I left soon after, and the coincidence struck me — the person who’d briefly lent me rose-tinted glasses to see her world with, was called, of all the names, Pinky!
