Educating BibiStrange how personalities evolve or degenerate with time. How power is probably the most potent energizer of all. Also the most transitory. I remember my first meeting with the first woman president of the Shiromani Gurudwara Prabhandak Committee, Bibi Jagir Kaur.It was the peak of summer. Bathed in perspiration, I entered her government bungalow in Chandigarh and tried to locate a PA to relay my request for an interview. Blue-turbaned men were walking around officiously, each trying to exhibit his importance. Villagers from far and wide were crouched on sofas waiting for an audience with the Bibi. The result: utter confusion. As I hung around in an antechamber, an old biddy from a village near Ludhiana prophesied, "Ai ta Badal Sahib ton age jaange (she will go ahead of Badal)." I shook my head in disbelief. Later I was to modify my opinion.Eventually, the perceptive old biddy buttonholed an achkan-clad sewadar and asked him to give my card to the Bibi. She called me insideinstantly.It was probably the first holistic interview she had ever given and she was anxious to make a good impression. She kept asking for reassurance and approval after every statement. Yet despite that child-like lack of confidence, her sincerity and forthrightness came through. She seemed refreshingly bereft of the politician's stock-in-trade hypocrisy and patent superficiality. Also apparent was her determination to retain her own identity even at a time when she owed her very existence to the chief minister.In fact, the only time she responded with righteous indignation was when I asked whether she was just his stooge as was being alleged. As for being a representative of the so-called weaker species, she emphasised that women were in no way inferior to men. And the very basis of Sikhism was equality of the sexes. I had got my answer. She added that after her appointment, other women in the male-dominated gurudwara societies were at last holding their heads high. Literally.When I next went tointerview her, many months had elapsed. This time I got a surprise. I discovered the unsure, at times diffident, lady had blossomed into a bold, super-confident, even loud, personality. One who appeared to be revelling in her power and position. She sat at a table trading wise-cracks with the men who encircled her with heads bowed in the unaccustomed role of supplicants. They had come with the usual pleas for transfers, etc. She clearly gloried in her power. As she deftly dealt with their requests, she spoke heartily, thumping her hand on the table to emphasise a point every now and then. I was amused by the metamorphosis.It was to be a long time before our next meeting. This time it was hardly time for celebration. She was in the dock, an ex-communicated Sikh. I landed up at her bungalow, which had so far been an open house, only to find it converted into a fortress. The crowds of villagers and sundry hangers-on were conspicuous by their absence. I was reminded of the over-flogged saying about ratsdeserting what they feel is a sinking ship.In contrast to the free access one enjoyed earlier, cops actually barred my entry. I pleaded with them to let me meet her secretary at least. As soon as he saw me, he told me to walk into her room. I thought she would be worried and upset at the fate that had befallen her, probably chalking out her next move. Instead I found her composed, bold and unrepentant, determined to stick to her stand, come what may. And even though her advisers urged her to be circumspect, she agreed to an interview. But this time she did not seek my approval after every statement. She spoke her mind without faltering, regardless of the consequences. And she is still facing them. Perhaps more than anybody else Bibi Jagir Kaur epitomises the feisty new Punjabi woman. Down but certainly not out.
