Adrija Raychaudhuri, X D (2018 – 19)

Rajasthan has, so far, been synonymous with royalty, with its splendid forts and palaces, doorways and hallways, legends of queens and kings, victories and defeats and the culture and heritage of old times. Evidently these times are distant, preserved only as memories in the high-walled structures, still attracting visitors from all over the world.

We travelled through the narrow, steep and dusty roads of the Aravallis. The turmeric tinted rocks of Haldighati surrounded us. Camels grazed on scattered bushes, of species unknown to novice travellers like me. We found rickety vehicles of all sorts come up on the apparently never-ending roads that stretched far out in front, and those which we had left far behind, for good. No wonder, they belonged to the natives of the ‘rich’ Indian state.

Therefore it was not much of a surprise, when for a kilometre or two, a shabby tractor waded in the sand in front of us. What did surprise me was that the driver was draped in a saree.

When the roads did allow us to make our way past the vehicle, I looked back to have a look at the ‘woman’. To my amazement, through the dust clouds that the wheels kicked up, my eyes met those of an urchin, on a solo expedition through the village roads. Disguised, apparently because probably he did not wish to be found out.

Realization dawned on me. How could I have even thought that women would be driving through these roads? Women here, and perhaps in millions of such other places, hardly have the freedom to make the journey called life. They are almost always driven, through roads and life.

It is time that these rusty old folds in society are left far behind, for good. Like many, I ponder. And travel on.