Suzy Homemaker

 

We should look for expressions of artistry, and be sensitive to beauty, responsive to what has been created for us” ― Edith Schaeffer,

This academic year, the students joined the undergraduate program six months later than the schedule due to the Pandemic. They were happy that the professional courses had begun finally, and the University was trying its best to save their year by making the academic year a shorter one. The online classes began with great fervour, but we missed meeting the students in reality. The students who joined the course were from various states in India. There were a few students from Kashmir too. The students were polite and elegant in their composition and speech. They were empathetic and actively involved in sensitizing people when a fire broke out in Sweepers Colony, Noorbagh in north Kashmir’s Baramulla district. They helped the weak and vulnerable. A photograph of one of the Kashmiri students clad in white overalls with a dark scarf and a mask overlooking the magnificent green valley in Jammu hurled me back to memories.

It took me to my numerous students, but the Kashmiri girl’s photograph enlists my fond reminiscences of Bashira. About twenty-five students were pursuing a Masters in Computer Applications then. The course had a variation for a similar Masters in Sciences. The Masters for the Commerce students had management skills and related subjects with computer applications. It was a three-year post-graduation course. Most of the students had a part-time job or a full time one. There were a few married ladies and young mothers too. The students who attended regularly were very few. We would sit in a classroom equivalent to a staff room adjacent to the large undergraduate classrooms. There would not be much noise, but we would have great discussions while we studied Business Communication Skills. The subject brought us closer, and I knew the students well within a week. We had a new admission almost two weeks later. I met the newcomer for the first time that morning. She was clad in a black burqa and her face was covered with a thin piece of cloth called a niqab. She had covered her head with a scarf called a hijab. Her beautiful grey eyes were the only visible ones. She was slim and tall. The burqa covered her ankles. She had worn belle shoes, and the fair skin of her feet revealed her complexion.

Many wore a burqa and hijab but their face was never covered but they would not wear it in the classroom. They would again wear it while leaving college.

It was a hot day and the sun seemed to be fiery, letting its heat through the glass window.

I told Bashira, ‘Why don’t you remove your burqa, it’s hot?

She refused and said, ‘It is all right ma’am, I prefer wearing it’

She would sit with the other girls and chat with them. During the class, she was an active listener. Whenever we laughed, I would look into her eyes to see whether she was laughing. The change in her eyes and the lit-up eyeballs would reveal a warm personality.

I would reserve the last five minutes to mark their attendance and have small talk with them. Saturdays were joyful ones with crowded classrooms and many working students. I would often ask them about their future goals. Quite a few would speak of taking up lucrative jobs but Bashira wouldn’t say anything.

One of the days I said ‘Bashira, why did you choose to do a Masters in Computer Applications?

She answered, ‘I like studying because it makes me knowledgeable’.

I asked, ‘What do you intend to do next?

She answered, ‘I do not want to work’.

It was surprising to hear that. With the routine kind of thoughts, I wondered what was the use of the degree then.

She read my thoughts and replied, ‘I will remain at home, women in our homes do not work outside their homes.

I said, ‘Don’t you want to work and bring a change in the trend?

She said, ‘No, I will be using my knowledge in entrepreneurship.

Her eyes reflected great confidence, I admired her uniqueness.

She was intelligent and would answer the subject related questions zestfully. The students would complete their studies by 12.30 pm and would leave home just as I used to. The parking would have numerous vehicles packed closely by noon. I used to ride a Scooter in those days. The students would help me pull out the vehicle due to the haphazard parking. I would see Bashira manage to bring her Scooter out. The Burqa would lie low as always and her helmet, I do not remember seeing her wear that.

I said, “Bashira, are you able to ride the Scooter with your niqab and burqa? The twinkle in her eyes would return revealing that she was smiling.

She said, ‘I live close to the college.

Days passed quickly. We fell into the preparation for the University exams, which was thoroughly an external one. The batch did their best, and it turned out to be cent percent pass result in the subject. I felt elated because it was my first attempt at teaching the graduates.

Bashira completed her course with flying colours, and she began doing what she loved doing. She kept believing in her philosophy of not being a superwoman. It convinced her that it was difficult for a woman to give her best on the job front and time for the family. Many times, the family was neglected owing to the numerous goals related to the job. She felt that her duties towards her family were primary, and by doing her best, she had sufficient time for her pursuits.

The housewife realizes that home-making is an investment in happiness― Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings