One medium two lives

Rushi was born in the Walled City and then moved to Jafrabad,to a 25×10 square-foot house. A fortnight ago,Rushi,lean and frail,was leaning against a lamppost,sweat running down her face,looking dejected. She hadn’t made it to the first list at Ramjas College at Delhi University. Rooma Naaz,her elder sister who looked uncomfortable in her black synthetic chudidar,tugged at her sleeves and told her not to lose heart. With that kind of percentage,you’ll get in anywhere,she told her sister.

For months now,the mother and daughters have been preparing for Rushi’s college. A pair of sandals with fake Chanel logos is neatly packed along with dozens of kurtas and salwars in a rusty steel box.

On the first day of college on July 16,Rushi will wear a pair of jeans. For Rushi,it’s a small act of defiance,a break from convention. But she is only following her mother Nafeesa,who had defied tradition by working to provide for the family. A few days ago,Rushi was reluctant about wearing jeans; not any more. “I used to care. But we have to catch up with the rest of the world,” she says.

Coming from an Urdu medium school,Rushi grappled with the typical problems—lack of textbooks,teachers and poor infrastructure. She had to translate notes from Hindi to Urdu to prepare for her Class 12 examinations. Books weren’t available. But teachers were helpful and Rooma,who studied in a Hindi medium school,also sat down with her sister,helping her with words.

“They say Urdu medium girls can’t make it. We are looked down upon,” she says. “I want to show we are as good as them. So what if we had problems?”

After years of poor results,Urdu medium schools in Delhi have picked up,scoring an overall pass percentage of 88 per cent in this year’s CBSE Class XII board examinations. A few years ago,the pass percentage in the Class X and XII board examinations fluctuated between 30 and 40 per cent. But schools have fared better recently though school officials say it is also because there is no science or commerce stream in Class 12 for the girls.

The Zeenat Mahal Government Sarvodaya Girls Senior Secondary School in Jafrabad,where Rushi studied,is better known in these parts as the “tent wala school”. The roofs leak and there aren’t enough classrooms for the 3,500-odd students. So classes are held in a tent.

Jafrabad,where most people are poor migrants from Uttar Pradesh and Bihar,is a predominantly Muslim area where girls give up studies after high school. According to a school official,who did not wish to be named,only about one per cent of the girls attend college.

But Razia Begum,principal of Zeenat Mahal school,can see a shift in mindsets. As a community member,she has tried hard to convince parents that girls’ education should be a priority. “Most of these girls are first-generation learners. If some parents are sending their girls to college,it is a big achievement. We are a community that has lagged behind,” she says. “The situation is changing but it is a slow process. Need-based education should be imparted in schools to uplift the community’s social and economic condition,” she says.

According to the Rajinder Sachar Committee report on the social,economic and educational status of Muslims in India,around 25 per cent of Muslim children in the 6-14 age group have either never attended school or have dropped out,which also explains why so few women go on to college.

Rubeena,a young teacher at the school and a Jafrabad resident,says that after she cleared her Class XII at Zeenat Mahal school in 2003,she was among a handful of girls who went to college. “It is the mindset here. They fear that if the girl is more educated,then it will be difficult to find a match for her,” she says.

Nafeesa had sold her earrings to put her first-born in school. Her husband lost his motor mechanic job over a decade ago after the garage where he worked closed down. Money was tight,but for Nafeesa,education was a priority. Married off at a young age,she recalls her own days in an Urdu medium school in old Delhi,where she wrote short stories. “I thought I would become a writer. But a woman’s life is linked to the man’s. If he is weak,the woman breaks down too. I won’t let that happen to my daughters,” says Nafeesa. Her family of eight is now dependent on the Rs 9,000 she earns every month embroidering clothes.

Nafeesa says she had read about the Sachar Committee report in the papers and hoped things would improve for her four daughters. She had enrolled them in an English medium school—Oracle Public School—in Jafrabad but soon realised she couldn’t afford the fees. So the girls switched to Zeenat Mahal school.

During the days she waited for her results,Rushi had enrolled in a private institute to learn English. It didn’t cost much—a mere

Rs 300. She stammered and struggled through the first few days,trying to introduce herself in the language. But cramming didn’t help and so,she quit after a month. These days,in the evenings,she reads A Course in General English by SJB Mathur.

Barring a couple of occasions,when Rushi ventured out of the ghetto in Jafrabad,she had never been in the city. So the day she tagged along with her elder sister Rooma to look at the cut-off lists at Delhi University,she dressed up in a garish,embroidered turquoise kurta. Her face dropped when she found herself among girls dressed in tight jeans,tighter tops and walking in their stilettos. Then she came back and told her mother that the clothes she was stitching for her weren’t what they wore at the campus. She wanted jeans. So Nafeesa went to Gandhinagar and bought jeans and shirts for Rushi. Her daughter should look splendid when she enters college,“she should shine”,says Nafeesa.

“I have maintained our tradition,” Nafeesa says. “I don’t want a bad name. I have told them if they get boyfriends,I will stop their studies. But I know they won’t. They have seen me struggle.”

At Zakir Husain College,where she made it in the first list,Rushi has chosen English as her medium of instruction. No doubt she will have problems but Rushi is determined to make it work. “I want to become a lawyer. I want to do something for my mother,” she says.