Right Race

The race begins the moment a being begins to breathe. The race to anything, everything, sometimes something and finally, towards nothing. Right and wrong are very inappropriate, in my opinion, as a prefix to race, that is. A race is after all a choice, one chooses to participate in. This is the story of Yashodhara Sen, whose tryst with destiny began, like others, in a race. Tracing her life to the moment when she was conceived, to when she was delivered, nothing quite went the natural way. She had a retired growth. Survival for her meant medicines, and artificial milk. But there was a certain twinkle in her soul which would not allow the spirit to dampen.

Like little glow-worms in deep forests, she would make her presence feel, with that tendency of losing herself among the many, yet standing apart. She ran the race to topping the class, and gave it up, content with being more in love with Sidney Sheldon than Charles Dickens. She cared more for Pepsi advertisements during cricket ODIs. Whichever race she ran in , she featured in the 'mentions', if not the gold-silver-bronze. There was a charisma even in her unwillingly participating, or willingly not. You could go ahead and call her 'destiny's child' if that did not mean having to claim medals and degrees. There was something about her, how do we define it? Shine? No. Stardust, perhaps.

Yashodhara was in a race even with Avantika, with a common love interest -- Purab. Her means of winning, however, was letting go. When understanding dawned on her about either competition, or a lack of integrity, she quietly kept quiet. When she was growing up, to the many, "what do you want to be?", she would confidently reply, "actress". People would be taken aback by the authority in her voice. 

Some fool would dare to continue, "But you have such a nice voice. Sing a song!"

"No." Yashodhara was determined. "I am not a singress."

Adults laughed. "Such a sweet child. 'Singress', hahahahaha!"

Right now, at age thirty two, she laughs at the world. In the race of life where rights were mostly imposed on her, she turned out to be an outstanding author. Not yet best-selling, but much well-loved. So much so that nobody dared a laugh at the now copyright, 'Singress.'

She was finally in the right race. She is, after all, a 'Write-ress.' 

Excerpts from Yashodhara Sen's Journals, March, 1996. This piece won her the 'Budding Author of the City'. No wonder, at her death today, the news headlines are running the word 'writeress' followed by a detailed assumptive analysis of what could have provoked her suicide. Her latest book entered the nominations for several awards. 

As a narrator, I can only keep one opening for you. What was Yashodhara's attitude to competition? Was she in the right race as a 'writeress'? Think. Think deep. Aren't you Yashodhara Sen too? Think.