When women climb trees

Stereotypes were broken, and so were friendships

Recently, I stumbled upon a review of the book The Woman Who Climbed Trees by Smriti Ravindra. The title jolted me back to a memory from three score and ten years ago, when I was an under-graduate student at City College. I had penned a short story based on a true incident, and the similarity of the two titles left me flummoxed.

My story was a tribute to Miss Gangu, our history teacher, an athlete, and a sports enthusiast. She encouraged her students to aim for new goals in physical feats. She had a few favourites who followed her around and went by the tag of Chamchis. In the opposite camp were the Kudumis, or nerds. If and when I was caught in the crossfire between the Kudumis and the Chamchis, I preferred to take a neutral stand. An observer rather than a participant.

Not the one to go by stereotypes, Miss Gangu encouraged her students to break norms, especially gender norms, calling upon her girls to be different and original. That was a very progressive and bold approach from a teacher. Her Chamchis loved her for that. They played volleyball in saris, tumbling in the sand, but all the merrier for it. They beat the boys at throwball and kabbadi matches.

Once, Miss Gangu organised an excursion to Jog Falls. We were all excited and signed up for the trip. The trip was a great success, with the chamchis and the kudumis singing and playing word games on the return journey. The train stopped at a small station. The trees on the platform were covered in pink blossoms, and the air was fresh. Some of us got down to stretch our limbs, as did Alamu, the shortest among us. In a trice, she had climbed a tree, her short legs carrying her to a fork in the tree, where she sat grinning, her face red as a tomato. Perhaps she wanted to impress Miss Gangu with this bold act and win some praise.

“Come down, come down, Alamu, the train is about to start!” we yelled, looking up at her somewhat worried face now. She tried in sheer panic to slide down, holding on tight to her sari pleats, but she just could not get a toehold on the tree trunk. We all waited with baited breath, egging our friend on. The train gave a short hoot, sending us all into hysterics. But the station master had gauged the situation, and he sent one of his men with a ladder to the rescue. Thank God, we sighed; our friend’s face as well as her reputation were saved.

Now, based on this incident, I wrote, not typed, for laptops were unheard of in those days, the piece titled When Women Climb Trees and gave it to the editor of the college magazine. The story was published with my name indelibly printed alongside it. Everyone read it and enjoyed it. Only Alamu stopped talking to me, and Miss Gangu was not at all amused.