Meet Saima, also from Mumbra

The 16-year-old scored 91.33 per cent in the Secondary School Certificate exams, a record for this thickly populated (90-per cent Muslim) neighbourhood on Mumbai’s north-eastern edge. But the news got overshadowed in Mumbra by the story of another girl who also went to Saima’s Abdulla Patel Girls High School—Ishrat Jahan.

Ishrat’s death in an encounter in Gujarat was just a week old when the SSC results came. And then Mumbra became news again.

Not for the first time. Mumbra, 35 km from Mumbai, lives with a dark tag. Since 2001, it’s yielded four Hizbul Mujahideen, two Lashkar and sundry SIMI activists and has frequented news columns.

The chaotic, troubled town—populated by the children of the 1992-93 riots—is the last place you might expect to find teeming with schools and junior colleges. ‘‘There are over 70 educational institutions in Mumbra and its twin village, Kausa. It is the highest number in Mumbai,’’ says Syed Amina Ayub, principal of the English-medium section of Sumaiya High school. But students will tell you how difficult it is to be academic. Crime is common, jobs are few, and drop-outs rampant. It is from here that Saima springs up.

A narrow pathway leads to Nabeel Complex, standing in a row of residential buildings off the main station road. The building — just a kilometre from Ishrat’s residence at Rashid Compound — is inhabited by middle- and lower-middle class families of small traders and businessmen.

Saima’s is a two-room home with a wooden bench covered with a bedsheet for a sofa. An old TV set rests on the dusty wall unit. A pale, green washing machine peeps from behind the wall separating the living room and kitchen. As invitations for felicitations pour in, the teenager is seated on a chair, trying to look cheerful.

She has just returned after completing her admission process to the science stream at Bandodkar College, Thane. It’s just 7 km away, but the first time she has stepped out of Mumbra alone, mother Sultana says.

The Urdu-language topper thinks she should have got more: ‘‘I was expecting better results. I was expecting to top in English but scored only 89 on 100.’’ She talks about how her parents were happy with her results. ‘‘My father was happy. He wants me to study further,’’ she says, looking at her mother, waiting for her to agree.

But Sultana doesn’t. ‘‘Her father left us years ago,’’ Sultana says bitterly. ‘‘I am taking care of my kids all alone.’’

Sultana, a class 12 pass-out from UP, teaches the Holy Quran to neighbourhood kids. ‘‘Every evening, 6 pm to 10 pm,’’ she says, maintaining her stern demeanour. And then she softens. ‘‘Nearly 25 floors up and down each evening. I can’t do it anymore,’’ the 40-year-old sighs. ‘‘But if I stop, how will my kids study?’’

For the mother, education is priority. Her 12-year-old son is also a ranking student from an English-medium school, she says. ‘‘In spite of tension from a broken home, Saima performed well. But I don’t know about the future,’’ she laments. Saima dreams of becoming a doctor. But her pain reflects in her eyes. Mumbra’s topper knows without financial aid she can’t possibly cough up the fees for a Maharashtra medical education: anything from Rs 19,000 to Rs 2 lakh per year.

The family’s monthly income barely touches Rs 2,000 and Sultana has already paid Rs 1,180 as Saima’s admission fees. Her son’s fees come up to Rs 270 a month. Sultana has registered Saima’s name with a trust in Mahim in the hope of getting money for her education.