Grit of a woman

I met her years ago as a young reporter in Pune. A women’s group had felicitated Poonam for being the only woman truck driver in the city.

For the interview she came dressed in a red shirt and trousers, dark glasses tucked on her head. But it was her name that aroused my curiosity. ‘‘Who gave you that name?’’ I asked. ‘‘I did’’ she smiled. ‘‘When society did not accept me as I was, I refused to keep the name they gave me. So Poonam, because it sounds like Pune, Maharashtrian, because I am one, and Hindustani, because I am proud of being an Indian. Let them make up my identity, rather than a family which threw me out of their home,’’ she said, with no regret or self pity. She had named her son Krantiveer Hindustani.

She had been a girl with an alcoholic father, uneducated mother, and little education. She knew that a decent future demanded some skills. So she learnt to drive. That made her father so furious that he burnt her driving license.

She was married off. But her independent thinking did not go down well with her in-laws. They threw her out. And Hemlata Gaikwad became Poonam Hindustani.

With a new name, she jumped into a profession new to women, driving an autorickshaw. Eventually, she bought a truck and admitted her five-year-old to an ‘English medium’ boarding school. ‘‘I miss him, but I want him to study English,’’ she said.‘‘Tai, will you teach me English too?’’

I never got down to giving her English lessons. But one day I hope to meet Krantiveer, and tell him the story of his name.