Saraswati is my maid. She is an immigrant from Karnataka, speaks broken Hindi and is reed thin. Like many people who belong to the invisible working class, she existed on the fringes of my consciousness. Until the other day when she asked for 2 days chutti. She was trying to get her daughter admitted to a grad college and wanted the days off to do the rounds of Mumbai colleges. Her criteria was simple- affordability. The frills and fancies of elitism did not fit the modest family income of around 4000 per month. I shut down the laptop and started talking to Saraswati. Saraswatis daughter Ramya has been a bright student. She did reasonably well in her boards despite all the odds. Saraswati does not want to talk much about the odds- she has accepted the leaking roof with as much equanimity as she has accepted a missing husband. The same kind of practised nonchalance with which she says that her daughter may have to now stop studying because the college fees could be out of her reach. Yes the 20000 admission fee which was the lowers she had been able to find among city colleges is too high for a family whose annual income borders around 40000. Saraswati’s dilemma is understandable. She will have to go through great pains and even more sacrifices to ensure her daughter graduates. And she is not sure of the returns. Well, are there returns? Ramya will study in a low cost, less reputed college and not a top shot grad college which automatically becomes a passport to brighter careers. Yes her journey is uphill. The same city where the mother and daughter are scared to dream of a better future, saw the daughter of an auto rickshaw wallah bagging the top honours in the prestigious CA exam. And while such examples may still be considered rare, everyday you see scores of girls from low income households take the trains from the derelict suburbs to the swanky business districts of Mumbai. Their clothes may be less expensive, their bags cheap imitations of the designer purses but the look of dogged determination on their faces is worth a million dollar. They bank on little else other than the education achieved at great cost and the burning ambition of a young, hungry India.
That day I had a long conversation with Saraswati. Told her how her daughter’s education can be a passport to a better life. That Ramya may never have to feel helpless thinking that her husband could desert her, she would have the wherewithal to survive on her own. I did not give her a rosy picture. Further education may not suffice to get a job but atleast it would set her on the path. And with the kind of talent that she has, she could be one of those faces which takes the train to economic freedom everyday. Or goes up on the podium to receive the top honours. For the greater Indian underbelly who fights a grim battle of survival, education is the only way of breaking into the Eloitist world. Saraswatis daughter is but a symbol of that difficult at times seemingly impossible journey, a journey where we can all help. If only by listening and giving a small push in the direction of the upper world with its carefully erected barriers.