The first thing former Lok Sabha Speaker and now MP Purno Agitok Sangma noticed on his wedding night were the bedsheets — clean and sparkling white. For someone who’d never had a bed to sleep on, clean bedsheets were indeed a luxury. Just like the lavish spread at the meal — different kinds of meat, varieties of curries, desserts, fruits, the works. It was a dream come true since as a bachelor, food didn’t come everyday. On an average, he would have a meal once in three days, and then too steamed bambooshoots. On good days, this came with rice. Marriage also meant decent clothes, contrary to the one shirt that Purno wore through the week and washed on weekends. It also meant “more money to buy cigarettes”.
Sangma was a beneficiary of the matriarchal system, in which it was customary for the bridegroom to move to his wife’s house. Consequently, overnight, Sangma moved from “poverty to plenty”. Even though marriage changed his fortunes dramatically, this is a custom that Sangma has come to rue, particularly as a father who had to see his son go to another house. “It is a terrible feeling to let go of your son and that too when he is ready to take over your responsibilities. It was terrible when my son left us. I wept…” It was equally difficult for him to allow his son-in-law to take charge of his house. “A total stranger suddenly comes into your home and someone you have reared and loved leaves you.” This was one of the first things that he tried to change through law during his chief ministerial tenure in Meghalaya.
Those were also the days when his wife, Soradhini, gave a slip to security guards each night and walked a kilometre to attend night classes, that were held exclusively to educate maidservants. When the teacher asked her where she worked, she replied: “In the chief minister’s kitchen.” Technically correct, says Sangma, his face breaking into a smile.
After all, their relationship had its origins in school and grew because of food. Purno first set eyes on Soradhini when she was his student in Class V. He grew interested because she cooked for him when he came to live in the annexe of her palatial house, thanks to Soradhini’s father. “Nice girl,” thought Sangma, an opinion he has not changed in the 30-odd years they’ve been married. She still handles the money for which, Sangma says, he has little use — the maximum he has ever carried is Rs 2,000. Yet, there’s no missing the flashy watch and an equally flashy pen, a gold chain, a few rings and, of course, the three cell phones. “One for my wife, one for the public and one for my girlfriend…” Once again a broad smile breaks out.
His friends in the power circles know Sangma as a colourful man. He was a perfect host at the lavish do’s he would organise during his ministerial tenure. But back home in Tura, he is simply ‘Sengarepa’, who uses his money to educate drop-outs and domestic workers.
Those were also the days when his wife, Soradhini, gave a slip to security guards each night and walked a kilometre to attend night classes, that were held exclusively to educate maidservants. When the teacher asked her where she worked, she replied: “In the chief minister’s kitchen.” Technically correct, says Sangma, his face breaking into a smile.
After all, their relationship had its origins in school and grew because of food. Purno first set eyes on Soradhini when she was his student in Class V. He grew interested because she cooked for him when he came to live in the annexe of her palatial house, thanks to Soradhini’s father. “Nice girl,” thought Sangma, an opinion he has not changed in the 30-odd years they’ve been married. She still handles the money for which, Sangma says, he has little use — the maximum he has ever carried is Rs 2,000. Yet, there’s no missing the flashy watch and an equally flashy pen, a gold chain, a few rings and, of course, the three cell phones. “One for my wife, one for the public and one for my girlfriend…” Once again a broad smile breaks out.
His friends in the power circles know Sangma as a colourful man. He was a perfect host at the lavish do’s he would organise during his ministerial tenure. But back home in Tura, he is simply ‘Sengarepa’, who uses his money to educate drop-outs and domestic workers.