“Shanthi, this is Sharada Kasim, a new girl,” said Mrs. Das to me. “Sharada, this is Shanthi Paul.”
“Are you Sharada or Kasim,” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you a Hindu or a Muslim?”
“I’m a Christian.”
“Whaaat …?” I was stupefied. “Then, why are you Sharada Kasim?”
“Because Sharada is a girl’s name, and Kasim is my family name,” she said.
“Really! What’s your father’s name, then?”
“Sadananda Kasim. And my mother’s Ambika. My sister’s Ganga. And my elder brother’s Churchill.”
I warmed to her, a chatter-box like me. “Do you have any brothers and sisters,” she whispered in class. “Younger sisters. Twins, Sara and Susan.”
During lunch break, I took her to my friends. She opened a box of sandwiches. Most of us usually brought curd or lemon rice with lime or mango pickle. Only Jahnavi and Shivani brought rotis always. It did not really matter who brought what, for we always shared.
“But I thought Kasim was a Muslim name, Sharada. Our sports captain is Javida Kasim.” We were under my jacaranda tree.
“Yes, it is. Many Christians in Gulbarga have Muslim names,” she said. “My grandfather’s father was a Muslim Kasim, but we’re Christian Kasims.”
All this was getting too much for me. “Come, let’s play tag,” I said.
After lunch break, she did not come with me to the Kannada class; her second-language was Urdu.
“Why should a Christian learn Urdu, Sharada,” I asked her as we walked home. “Why not? We speak Urdu at home. It’s only with others like you that we speak Kannada,” she said.
“But Urdu…? Isn’t it the language of the Muslims?” “It’s ours too,” she said, smiling.
“Will you come to the Krishnarao Park this evening? I have a whole bunch of friends. Your sister can play with my sisters.” “Right! See you then,” Sharada said.
“Amma, there is a new girl in class. Sharada Kasim! And she says she’s a Christian. Can you beat it?” “Oh, they must be related to Ambrose Kasim. They’re from Gulbarga. Nice name, Sharada. That is Goddess Saraswathi’s name.”
“So, Amma, isn’t Sharada a Hindu name?” “So what, magale?’ Amma said gently. “What’s in a name, anyway?”
Suddenly I felt a glow in my heart.
Sharada was on top of a slide and ran down the slope to me with her arms outspread, grinning. She played with my friends, while Ganga made castles in the sandpit with the younger ones.
“Your new friend is amazing, Shanthi,” Amtul said. “She talks Urdu better than we do. Just like my grandfather does. I’ll take her home. But she says she’s a Christian. I thought you Christians spoke only Kannada and English.”
“I thought so too, Amtul. But who cares!”
Sharada knew all the games we played. She loved being a leader like me. When we played seven tiles, she led one group and I led the other. Then we held each other’s hands and whirled round and round until we were heady.
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