Phool, a Dalit flower seller at a Madurai temple, secretly loved Brahmin politician Arvind—until she was stunned to discover that he was the very man who had signed the order…
Part I: The Girl Who Sold Flowers
Phool was called Phool because her mother had no time to think of another name.
She was 22, Dalit, lived in the small basti behind the Vaigai river bund, in Madurai, where houses were made of blue tarpaulin and bricks that were not bricks but stones joined with cement that had more sand than cement. She sold flowers at the east gate of Meenakshi Amman temple.
Every morning at 4 am, she went with her aunties to the flower market near Mattuthavani, bought two kilos of jasmine, one kilo of marigold, some lotus for rich ladies, came back, sat on a small plastic sheet at the temple gate, and made garlands with fingers that moved fast even when eyes were sleepy.
She had studied till 8th standard, then left because school asked for fees for uniform and her mother said, uniform will not fill stomach. She could read Tamil slowly, could write her name in English as PHOOL, in capital letters, because capital letters felt more confident.
Her world was small. Temple, basti, market, temple. But in that small world, she had one big thing. A secret love.
It was for Arvind Sir.
Arvind Narayanan, 38, Brahmin, famous in Madurai. MLA from Madurai Central, known as honest politician. While other politicians had four cars and gold chains, Arvind Sir had one white Innova, one cotton shirt, and a reputation. He had returned from Delhi after studying in JNU, he spoke clean Tamil and clean English, he did not take bribe, he fought for temple cleaners, for drainage, for school benches. People said, he is different, he is honest, he is like that old time leader.
He came to Meenakshi temple every Tuesday and Friday at 6:30 am, without security, without shouting. He bought flowers from Phool.
Not from other flower sellers, only from Phool.
He would say, “Phool, one jasmine garland, big one.”
She would give, with hands shaking, and he would pay 100 rupees for 50 rupees garland and say, “Keep change, for your brother’s school.”
She thought he remembered her. She thought he liked her flowers because her flowers were more fresh. Actually, her flowers were same as others, but love makes you think your jasmine is more white.
She was 22, he was 38. Age gap was big, but in her basti, girls married at 18 to men of 35, so 22 and 38 did not feel big to her. Power difference was big, but she did not think of power. She thought of his smile.
She never told anyone. In basti, if you say you love a Brahmin politician, people will laugh and also beat. So she kept it inside, like a small jasmine bud inside blouse.
Her mother said, “Phool, why you keep one garland separate every Tuesday Friday, not selling?”
Phool said, “That one is extra fresh only, for special customer.”
Special customer came every Tuesday Friday at 6:30 am.
On one Friday, he asked, “Phool, why you never come inside temple? I always see you at gate.”
She said, “Inside, they see caste first, then flower. Outside, they see flower first. So outside is better.”
He was quiet. Then he said, “That should change. Temple is for everyone.”
Phool thought, see, he is honest. He thinks temple is for everyone.
She started waiting for Tuesdays and Fridays more than for Pongal.
Part II: The Honest Man
Arvind Sir had a story that Madurai people told like a story from TV.
He was from a traditional Brahmin family near Tirunelveli, father was a professor, mother was a carnatic singer. He studied in JNU, did Masters in Political Science, came back because he wanted to serve Tamil Nadu, not Delhi. He refused his father’s house in Chennai, lived in a small rented house in Madurai with his wife who was a doctor and his mother. He did not allow his party workers to put his posters too big. He said, work should be poster.
Phool believed that story fully. Because she had seen him.
She had seen him scold a corporation officer for not cleaning drainage near her basti. She had seen him sit on floor and eat with conservancy workers during Pongal. She had seen him buy flowers from Muslim flower seller during Ramzan and say, flower has no religion.
So she thought, if there is one honest man in politics, it is Arvind Sir.
One Tuesday, he came late, at 7:15 am, looking tired. He bought two garlands.
“One for temple, one for my wife, she likes jasmine,” he said.
Phool’s heart did a small crack, but she smiled. Wife. Of course, honest man will have wife.
She made garland extra big, extra fresh. He paid 200 rupees this time.
“Phool, you should study again. There is night school near your basti. I can help with admission,” he said.
She said, “I am 22, who will marry if I study?”
He said, “Marriage is not only thing. You can become teacher, you can sell flowers and also teach.”
No one had ever told Phool she can become teacher. Her own mother said, flower girl will remain flower girl.
That Tuesday, after he left, Phool kept his 200 rupees separate, did not give to her mother, kept in small steel box where she kept temple vibhuti.
She started dreaming. Not big dreams like going to America. Small dreams, Indian dreams. That one day Arvind Sir will say, Phool, come work in my office, help with flowers for meetings. That she will sit in office with fan, not on plastic sheet in sun.
On Friday, the basti got a notice.
Notice was in Tamil and English, pasted on the blue tarpaulin wall, saying, as per order dated 12th March, this settlement behind Vaigai bund is encroachment, to be evicted within 7 days for construction of River View Mall and Complex, by order of Madurai Corporation.
Basti people crowded. Phool’s mother cried, “Where will we go? We have been here 20 years.”
The local leader said, “This is MLA Arvind Sir’s area only. He will stop. He is honest, he will not allow mall over houses.”
Phool also thought, Arvind Sir will stop. He always buys flowers from us, he says temple is for everyone, he will say basti is also for everyone.
She went to temple gate next morning, Saturday, even though Arvind Sir comes only Tuesday Friday, hoping to see him.
She did not see him Saturday. On Sunday, bulldozers came for marking.
On Monday, her mother said, “Go to Arvind Sir’s office, give him flowers, ask him to help.”
Phool made the biggest, most beautiful garland she had ever made, with jasmine and marigold and lotus in middle, like a wedding garland, and went to his office near Town Hall, barefoot, because her chappal broke.
Office staff said, “Sir is in meeting, cannot meet.”
She waited 4 hours outside, garland in hand, wilting.
At 4 pm, Sir came out, with 4 men in shirts, talking about mall project.
Phool ran to him, “Sir, Sir, basti notice, please help, Sir.”
He saw her, saw garland, and his face changed. Not to kindness, to awkwardness. Like he saw someone he did not want to see.
He said, “Phool, not now, I am busy. Come Tuesday at temple.”
She said, “Sir, they will evict in 3 days only.”
One of the men with him, a builder type with gold chain, said, “Arvind Sir has already signed the file, ma, mall is good for Madurai development only. You people will get alternative site near Tirumangalam, 20 km away.”
Phool looked at Arvind Sir, the honest man, who always said temple is for everyone.
Arvind Sir did not look at her. He looked at file. He said to builder, “Yes, proceed as per plan, compensation as per rule.”
And then he walked away, Innova waiting, without taking her garland.
Phool stood there, garland in hand, wilting, same as her dream.
She went back to basti, did not tell mother what happened. She kept garland near her steel box.
On Tuesday, Arvind Sir did not come to temple at 6:30 am. Another politician came, bought flowers from someone else.
Phool sat at gate, waiting, and then her auntie who can read English better came running from basti with a paper, xerox of corporation order, which she got from RTI activist.
Auntie said, “See, Phool, see who signed.”
And then Phool, sitting on her plastic sheet at the east gate of Meenakshi temple with the same jasmine she had kept fresh for him, saw with her own eyes the government order for eviction of her entire slum to build a mall, and at the bottom, in clear blue ink, the signature that said Approved for public interest, Arvind Narayanan, MLA, Madurai Central, dated 12th March, the same day he had told her temple is for everyone and bought two garlands from her, and in that one moment she understood that the honest Brahmin politician she secretly loved and worshipped was not honest at all, he was the one who had signed the paper to destroy her home.
Part III: The Paper
The basti was evicted on Friday, three days early, because builder wanted to start before court could give stay.
Bulldozers came at 6 am, same time Arvind Sir used to come for flowers. Police came. They said, you have been given notice, you have to go.
Phool’s mother cried, her brother, 14, tried to stop bulldozer, got pushed. Their house, blue tarpaulin and stone, became flat in 10 minutes.
Phool did not cry loudly. She took her steel box with 200 rupees and vibhuti, her plastic sheet, and her garland making thread, and sat on road.
Other basti people were shifted to a lorry, to be taken to Tirumangalam, 20 km away, where there was no water, no school, no temple gate to sell flowers.
Phool did not go in lorry. She stayed at temple gate, because temple gate was only place she knew.
At 6:30 am, Arvind Sir came, as usual on Friday, as if nothing happened. He came to buy flowers.
He saw Phool sitting, no plastic sheet, no flowers, only steel box.
He stopped. He said, “Phool, what happened? Why you are not selling?”
Phool looked at him, 22 year old Dalit flower girl looking at 38 year old famous honest Brahmin politician who always bought flowers from her.
She said, in Tamil, because Tamil is more sharp for anger than English, “You signed.”
He said, “What?”
“You signed the paper to break our basti. You signed to make mall. You are honest only on Tuesdays and Fridays at temple gate. Other days you are builder Sir only.”
People around started looking. Temple crowd, police.
Arvind Sir’s face became red, not because of shame, because of fear of crowd. He said in low voice, “Phool, come to office, we will talk. This is development, you will get new house, better house.”
Phool said, “New house 20 km away where no one will buy flowers, where my brother cannot go to school, where my mother cannot go to temple to clean? That is better? You buy flowers from me for 100 rupees and keep change, and you sell my land for crores to builder. Is that honest?”
Arvind Sir said, “You don’t understand, Phool. Politics is compromise. Mall will bring jobs, revenue, Madurai needs development. I cannot stop every eviction, otherwise city will not grow. I tried to get more compensation, I did.”
“You tried? You tried to get more compensation but you did not try to tell us you are the one who signed? You came to buy flowers from me even after signing, you said temple is for everyone. Temple is for everyone but basti is not for us?”
Arvind Sir had no answer that would sound honest in front of temple crowd.
He said, “Phool, I am sorry. I will help you personally. I will give you money, I will get your brother admitted in good school.”
Phool said, “I don’t want your money. I want my house. You cannot give house, you can only give money because money is what you have more now. You had honesty, now you have money only.”
She stood up, took her steel box, and walked away from temple gate, for first time in 10 years, not waiting for customers.
Part IV: Power
Phool stayed that night at the railway station, with other basti women. She did not have plastic sheet.
At night, Arvind Sir’s assistant came, with an envelope, 10,000 rupees, and said, “Sir said, take this, for temporary.”
Phool returned envelope. She said, “Tell your Sir, Phool does not sell flowers now, she sells truth only, and truth has no price.”
Assistant went away.
Next day, Phool went to the local news channel office, the small one that shows local news, not big channels that take money from builders. She took the xerox order paper with signature, and told her story, in Tamil, simple Tamil, not English.
She said, “I am Phool, 22, Dalit, selling flowers at Meenakshi temple. Arvind Sir, honest politician, buys flowers from me. He also signed to break my house. I loved him, now I don’t. I just want to ask, honest for whom?”
Channel showed it at 7 pm. Small channel, but in Madurai, small channel becomes big gossip quickly.
By next morning, auto drivers, flower sellers, temple cleaners were talking. Arvind Sir’s office got calls.
Arvind Sir came to basti site, now empty ground with bulldozer marks, where Phool was still sitting with steel box.
He came without Innova, alone, in same cotton shirt, looking less honest and more tired.
He sat on ground near her, which no Brahmin MLA ever does near Dalit girl in public, and people gathered.
He said, “Phool, you are right. I signed. I signed because builder is my party fund donor, because my party said if you don’t sign mall, you will not get ticket next time, because I thought, one basti adjustment is okay for bigger development. I told myself, honest means not taking money for myself, but I took money for party, that is also bribe, only bigger. I came to buy flowers from you after signing because I felt guilty, and your flowers made me feel honest again for 2 minutes. I used you.”
Phool listened. She did not forgive quickly, because forgiveness in Indian English is not quick, it takes time and many cups of tea.
She said, “You are 38, I am 22. You are MLA, I am flower girl. You are Brahmin, I am Dalit. You thought power difference means you can sign and I will adjust. In my basti, we always adjust. This time I don’t want to adjust.”
Arvind said, “What do you want? I cannot bring back basti now, mall foundation is laid. But I can stop next eviction, I can get you land nearer, not 20 km, 5 km, with water. I can resign from this mall committee. I can tell press I was wrong.”
Phool said, “Why you tell me? Tell them,” pointing to basti women.
Arvind stood up, in front of 30 women, and said, in Tamil, loud, “I was wrong. I signed for mall because I was scared to lose ticket. I said honest but I was not honest to you. Forgive me.”
Women did not clap. They just looked. Forgiveness is not clapping.
Phool said, “You loved power more than flowers. I loved you because you bought flowers. Now I know you buy flowers to wash guilt.”
Arvind said, “Then teach me how to be honest again. Not Tuesday Friday honest, daily honest.”
Part V: The Girl Who Stopped Selling Flowers
Phool did not take his money. She took his help to get land 5 km away, near her old school, with water and bus facility, for all basti people. Not because he gave, because she fought with RTI activist and got.
She started selling flowers again, but not at east gate. She started at west gate, where new temple visitors come, where no politician comes.
Arvind Sir still comes to temple, but he does not buy from her now, because she said, “Don’t buy from me, buy from my mother, she needs money more.”
He buys from her mother now, pays 100 for 50, keeps change.
Phool is 22, still Dalit, still flower girl, but now she is also the girl who made honest politician say sorry on ground.
One Tuesday, Arvind Sir came, not at 6:30 am, but at 8 am, when crowd less. He brought a small book, in Tamil, about Ambedkar, and gave to Phool.
He said, “For your brother, to read.”
Phool took, because book is not money, book is respect.
She said, “Sir, you are still 38, I am still 22, age gap still there, power gap still there, but now I am not secretly loving you. Now I am openly questioning you. That is better.”
Arvind smiled, sad honest smile this time, not Tuesday Friday honest.
He said, “Phool, you taught me that honest is not a poster, honest is what you do when no one is watching, and also when everyone is watching your signature.”
Phool made a garland, small one, jasmine only, and gave to him, not for money, for temple.
He took, put on his wrist, not in pocket.
She watched him go inside temple, this time not feeling love, feeling something else, which in Indian English has no name, but is a mix of respect and anger and hope that even a 38 year old famous Brahmin politician who signed a paper to destroy her home can still learn to be honest again, if a 22 year old Dalit flower girl refuses to sell him flowers.
And on that day, Phool kept one garland separate again, but not for special customer, for herself, for her small steel box, where she now keeps not 200 rupees, but the xerox paper with signature, to remember that the man she worshipped was the one who destroyed her home, and also the man who came back to sit on ground and say sorry, because people are not only honest or only dishonest, they are both, like flowers, fresh in morning, wilting by evening, but still flowers only.
