The Girl with the Black Bullet

I found her very different from other girls. Like really different. In a college known for its prestigious beauties she stood out. She never wore a pony tail, nor had colors on her hair. Her eyes never had kajal or eye liner to enhance their charm. She never painted her lips pink or red, nor did she have nail paints, infact she never grew nails. Her dresses were not colorful. Nor she wore tight fit pink salwars., skirts and tops. She preferred dull shades of grey, black maroon that too men’s Kurtas. Oh yeh how can I forget she never blow dried or straightened or smoothened her hair. Well she did not have long curls. It was neither typical boy cut. It was in between somewhere. But still I found her girlish than those red haired short skirt types. Her smile was from her heart. She never had fake accents or stories. She never bothered about others. And the best part was that she was least affected by others around her. She had her set of friends, mostly guys. The first time I saw her was when she performed for college mime competition. She was active in everything, politics, arts, college culturals, and social activities. Sometimes I felt she was from another planet altogether. I used to eavesdrop to what she talked in the canteen. Her ideas were very different. She was far ahead in time .Sometimes I found her sitting on the stone bench reading books(during class hours) which I could never understand. She used to be the last one to leave college, that too in her Black Bullet. The entire collge used to stare at her wierdly when she rode it. The sound of her Bullet vibrated in the campus. Every one used to call her the girl with the Black Bullet. That became her identity. She was an epic herself. I started watching her. One day during the usual canteen visit she came to me and offered me a tea. She knew everything about me. She said she had noticed me looking at her. Inspite of not being her type, she made me a part of her set of friends. Sometimes I really felt out of place but the only thing that connected me to her gang was my music, my guitar.

On the day of our fare well, I could no longer keep it to myself. I proposed to her. She laughed- her typical reaction, and asif she was expecting this Then she made me sit and listen to her asif I was a child. She knew I belonged to a very conservative family. She said no straight on my face. She asked whether I had thought of how my parents would react when they came to know that their son had fallen in love with a girl who ride bikes, wears loose kurtas and shirts and has no trait of a typical “bahu”. She said this will never work out. She was very confident and had clear idea of what she was saying. She continued “even if your parents agree the society won’t let them accept me. I can’t cook for you, nor can I take care of the house hold works. I love kids, but only when they are someone else’s. I am not saying that I don’t want to get married, that doesn’t mean I will get married either. I have lot of dreams to accomplish. I want to bring about a changes in the society. While you think I must take care of your parents, raise your kids I want to take care of lot of parents and kids who are out there longing for a company”. She raised and left never looking back.

Now almost after 30 yearsof leading an NRI life what reminded me of her was the article I read about her in the newspaper. It was an interview. She is now proudly taking care of not just one but 50 kids. She runs an orphanage. The photograph had her and the kids happily smiling and in the back ground stands her Black Bullet, happily un-married. She has achieved what she dreamt. She was still single and a mother of 50 kids. While me, I got married to a typical “bahu”who is very keen on her IT job. Because of her pressure I got settled in the US. Had one son, who speaks only American English. While my parents are back in India all alone. Now when I look back I feel “she was much more girlish and homely than any of those girls. Only I did not have the guts to say that I will convince my parents and get married to her. I too was in fear whether I could actually accept someone like her. I felt we all live for the society. Society set norms for everyone. Our views are so preconceived. A woman who rides bikes, who cuts her hair short, who wears kurtas are considered feminist, rebel. Only when you get close you know that they are the real woman. Whose dreams are much closer to reality, whose desires have no limit, and they are the ones who push themselves beyond what even a man can even image. The girl with the Black Bullet- she can be the one.