A single, odd chickpea

Jayanti Roy 

THIS incident is narrated by one of my friends and I present it in her voice: As I joined my workplace and was initiated into its rituals and traditions, I found that there were some really good things going on. All faculty members voluntarily contributed a specific amount which was utilised to treat students with goodies once a month. Students looked forward to it and this gesture helped create a rapport with them. While I immediately agreed to contribute my share, I intentionally held back on another front.

A small group of senior teachers had established a sort of club where a snacking break was arranged every day. It was on a contributory basis and it was expected that every individual would contribute mandatorily to this kitty. The frequency of the treats was very high, and the items served were of high-fat content, deep fried or extremely sugary. Samosa, jalebi, syrupy gulab jamuns were the usual stuff. What pinched the most was that items were ordered only at the whims of the core group members. New or junior members had to contribute but could not express their gastronomic wish. This system worked with such rigidity, as if an unrelenting caste system was at play. Since I was never fond of these snacks and carried tiffin, I did not feel the need to be a part of this group. I refused to contribute, not knowing what this refusal would bring for me. Almost immediately, I was declared untouchable, a pariah. Some well-intentioned colleagues tried to convince me that I should not stand out like a sore thumb, and so, must join. Some others drew my attention to the ire my non-compliance would draw, while some pointed out that I must be a miser to refuse such a paltry sum. For me, the concern was not money but the impact of heavy snacking on my health. And more than that, the question of my democratic right to take my decisions.

As people got weary of counselling me, trying to make a convert out of me, the second round of ridicule began. My short lunch-break and my life both were made miserable by snide comments many of them made in my presence, derision, insinuation, insults, oblique remarks became a routine. I was given the tag of spoil-sport, not a team player, arrogant. What to talk of adolescents, here adults were into bullying and forceful compliance.

It was becoming unbearable and I was about to buckle down. I thought, ‘It all boils down to a few bucks. Does it matter so much?’ I was often reminded of the Hindi idiom, ‘Akeyla chana bhad nahin phod sakta’. A single chickpea! That was what I was reduced to. 

Then one day one of the colleagues said to me, ‘I am also thinking of quitting the snack group. I also do not like this stuff, like you.’

A poster on the wall was shining: First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win — Mahatma Gandhi.