Census 2011

By Immaculate E M

The scorching Sun had hit the Ashtamudi lake hard. She was low and slow, tired of the villain suckling on her, shimmering her waters and overshadowing her tales. The story had been quite different a few months ago - she was full and brimming with life - a history probably unknown to a visitor at this time.

She rushed back home to fetch something she had forgotten. I opened my polka-dotted umbrella and began walking through the interlocked courtyard. My mother and I boarded the auto-rickshaw parked at our gate. The driver smiled at us, chanted a short prayer and started the journey.

That was my first day. I was supposed to help my mother fill out the forms. I wasn't sure. My cousin had been with us on vacation since her college closed for the summer. She had left the day before yesterday for her friend's Wedding in Gujarat. My mother showed clear signs of missing her dear Leenamol.

I could see pink and white paper carefully rolled and tucked into the fashionable plastic shopping bag in her hands. She caught me gazing and explained that those were the sheets where she had to fill in the details of all the people in the area she was assigned for the 2011 census.

The occasional judders ended at a junction without shops. My mother took out a map of houses in 'Vrindavan Nagar' - the place assigned to her, while I held the umbrella over her. There were many circles crossed out - those were the completed houses. She insisted that since we were early, we could try those uncrossed ones that could fill the gaps. Most of them had occupants who were not home when she arrived before.

The first house we went to looked abandoned. The second had incredible inmates who treated us like guests. My duty was to gather and cross-check data while my mother entered them into the thick, pink and white sheet. They were a thoughtful family with all documents ready and all essential details memorized. They even gave us directions to the next house, insights into the abandoned ones and where to be careful and vigilant.

The third had a man with a questioning face who was reluctant to let us in. There was a dog on the loose in his premises, guarded by walls of mica sheets, while he shouted at his neighbours that we were frauds. My mother tried convincing him that this was for the statistics but in vain. The man was uncooperative. When she asked him about the advertisements on the survey on TV, he looked at us like he'd shoot us if he had a gun! We covered some more homes in a few hours.

We reached a house around lunchtime. Luckily, it belonged to another teacher in a Government school who understood the plight of executing the task in the sweltering mid-day. I was tired by then and regretted agreeing to accompany her. Moreover, she was persistently blurting how good Leena was at the task every time she got a chance and how I was irresponsible and a sloth.

I desperately craved a nap, but time couldn't wait. The Sun beamed with all its strength while we travelled from doorstep to doorstep, and each household welcomed us differently. By then, I had realized that it was not a one-person task, and I got a knack for doing the job. Another instant my mother mentioned Leena, I said, "Okay, I quit! Shall I go home?" She rolled her eyes out at me but conceded as she had no other option.

In the evening, around five, the Sun had lost his spirit. A smooth wind eased the air and brushed against my skin. My mother said it was time to wind up. One more house and we would be going home. She was already on edge as it took police interrogation sometimes to get an answer.

The last house had a car porch. It was concrete, with a mosaic floor, probably at least twenty years old. A lady in a blue nightie with small white flower prints, likely in her fifties, rushed outside with a broad smile and welcomed us to their sit-out. She seemed very pleased and brought us plastic chairs with a sunflower on the backrest. My mother got quite furious. She was stalling us. "Please, there is no need. It is time for us to wind up."

The lady was so excited to have heard us and rushed inside to prepare tea. Walking in the heat had definitely taken its toll, and this exuberant lady was making things difficult.

The lady brought the tea. Her name was Shyama. She had two children abroad and a husband who was a retired officer in the Income Tax department.

My mother interrupted her, set the tea aside and listed all the necessary documents to be presented.

"Make it quick. We don't have much time", my mother said in an impatient tone.

She sat there sipping her tea while the lady hurried inside. Somehow, she seemed to enjoy hot beverages on hot days.

The lady brought us a zipped folder. My mother started with the questions without looking up from the papers, and a question came up where she needed one of her husband's certificates. She looked clueless.

"Lady, isn't the certificate in the folder you brought?" my mother asked, exasperated.

"Oh, it must be!" she started ransacking the folder only to find out it wasn't there. "It must be in the other folder," she said with a sly smile."

"Go get it then." My mother was clearly losing her patience. I sensed that she could explode any minute from then.

It was then that an old lady dressed in a saree walked in. Shyama introduced her as their neighbour and walked inside to find the certificate.

"My name is Mariamma. I live next door. My house must be next. I just came to ask if you will be coming today. I'm going to my daughter's house in the evening. Should I wait?"

My mother felt relieved to see a sensible soul and told her we would be coming in the morning tomorrow.

"You know her, don't you? She was a police officer. She won an award from the chief minister last year - for her services in the traffic police."

The one who fined all the bikers breaking the law! The one who everyone daring to drive the main road feared, including my mother. She had been a topic of discussion in every household with a vehicle in my neighborhood.

I could see a sudden change in my mother's face - an air of awe could be sensed. Fear from a distant memory seemed to seep backward into the surface.

She returned with the folder. My mother was looking different and suddenly more civil.

"Madam, please tell me your name. "

And a series of ‘madam’s followed.

My mother acknowledged her and she exchanged a few stories. I had to suppress my giggles as we reached her gate.

The burning Sun had set. We resumed our journey back home, laughing, light hearted, along with the Ashtamudi.

By Immaculate E M