Aishwarya Rai Bachan and Radha

Since last April or so, we have been hearing so much about the state of pregnancy of her highness Aiswharya Rai, the Bachan bahu, as she is popularly known as. Prior to that, there were speculations about her not getting pregnant; one imaginative journalist, even went as far to, attribute that to her state of health and the Big B protested vehemently through twitter. Media got annoyed about her not showing her baby bump. (It is another matter, if she did that often, they would have said that she is showing off her baby bump). Media made out her outings (which rarely happened) into an event. Not to talk about the number of astrologers who predicted the sex of the baby and so on. So much was talked about the pregnancy of this former miss world!

I thought, for a change, I will write about the pregnancy of Radha, a construction worker. I know this would not make hot news. But somebody should chronicle this for the sake of it. Radha got married to Murugan last year without much sound and furry. In her village in Theni district, every woman (read girl) gets married sometimes when they are 16 to 18 years of age and her parents did not defy the rule. In no time, they left to their honeymoon destination- to Chennai-, where Murugan works as a construction worker. They have an individual shack, thanks to the contractor. He sometimes thinks of the ‘welfare of the worker’. If they were made to live in the outskirts of the city, money should be spent on transport as well; and they may not reach the worksite early. Radha joined the workforce on day one without a proper call letter, interview or an appointment order.

Marriage brought out big changes in the life of Murugan. Now he does not have to think of carrying water from the tap and standing in a long queue for that; nor does he have to cook or look for cheap eat outs. Above all, somebody is there to make love at night.

Radha got used to the city’s ways in no time. Now she is comfortable with the filthy language that is used near the water tap and the fights while fetching water. Even she does not mind using such language now. Domestic chores are nothing new to her; but making love was. Radha got pregnant. Radha was ‘lucky’ and she could continue with her work as the construction work did not demand a perfect figure; but only the ability to lift and carry bricks and concrete mixture. Nothing much changed in Radha’s life; except that the other women allowed her to fill water without waiting in the queue; they sometimes prepared some food for her and also helped her while she was at work so that she got some rest. Radha worked till the week before her delivery.

Meanwhile, Murugan was running from pillar to post to make some extra money so that he could take care of her delivery. However, he was happy about her pregnancy like any other man of his class. He was a bit worried about her health as the doctor told him, in the previous visit, that she was weak and needed more attention. It wasn’t that she was on a diet or something; just insufficient nutritious food. He had to rush to the village to bring her mother to Chennai. Radha was supposed to go to her maternal home for delivery, especially when this was her first child. But they were too poor to take care of her. They are still paying off the loan they took for her marriage. And in Chennai the government maternity hospital is close by to their worksite in Egmore. Somebody should be there with Radha in the hospital when he runs around to arrange things. The hospital has had many incidents of child theft. He did not tell about this to Radha as it might scare her. But he was sure that some older women should have told her about the reputation of the hospital. But private hospitals were unaffordable to the couple. So Murugan was clear that somebody should be there with her till they come back home.

Radha delivered a baby girl today without knowing the significance of the day 11-11-2011. And nobody was particularly happy; it was, after all, a baby girl. I am putting this story in my blog as there were no takers for the story in the mainstream media; as it does not invoke any specific interest in the readers. Hence no news value!

My Journey to Kothagiri in Nilgiris

I have been to Kothagiri, Nilgiris (Popularly known as Ooty) recently and I spent four enchanting days there. I have been to Ooty earlier as a tourist as well as for some work. Ooty is also beautiful but too crowded and too commercialized to my comfort. Walking through the tea estates was fun. But the real excitement started when we walked beyond the private estates (owned by wealthy classes and politicians) and entered the forest area. The local person who accompanied us was also some sort of a historian. He told us that the name Kothagiri means Kothar’s Giri (Mountain of the kothars- a primitive tribe in the area). Now most of this mountain ranges are owned by the wealthy and the politicians. Yet another long and dreadful story of exploitation of the Tribal over the centuries! Thanks to the British; they initiated the ritual of chucking out the tribal from their lands unceremoniously. And the mighty Indians followed it shamelessly. The local person explained to us with specific names of the politicians or the industrialist who owned a particular part of the mountain.

My trip was to meet the tribal, original inhabitants of the mountains, who were pushed towards the interior forests. Trekking through the thick woods breathlessly was fun as the ambience was enchanting and breathtaking. The forest was infested (I mean inhabited) by bison and also bears. The accompanying person narrated interesting (bizarre) stories of encounters with bison and bears. People would howl, at the top of their voice, or would throw huge stones (not in the direction of the bear but in a different direction, basically to create a huge noise) when they accidently met with a bear. And at nights, the tribal see to it that they ventured out in a group. The most interesting fact that I heard from the tribal leader was that, earlier, they never had the concept of fencing; they considered the whole forest as theirs. There was no need for a fence. Now they do have fencing around whatever little land they hold; but the community shares most of the things (even if it is a jackfruit from the forest). It is unheard of among us the ‘cultured’ and ‘civilized’ people. Thank God, we did not encounter any bears on the way. But only once, my leisurely walk ended abruptly when we saw a couple of bison hanging around a tea estate. It was too close to comfort.

The deforestation and climate change have made the lives of the tribal and the wild animals miserable in a similar way. They both lived harmoniously with nature for ages. Now the loss of the forests and lack of rains together have disturbed the balance of the eco system and as a result the wild animals do not have much to eat in the forest. They encroach into the agricultural land of the tribal and destroy whatever they see. Animals also come out looking for water. The tribal are not able to cultivate the traditional crops/grains which had given them a balanced diet. Yet another issue is that of rice having become the staple diet thanks to the free rice distribution by the government and the appalling disappearance traditional food grains. The shift away from millets to rice has certainly contributed to incidence of malnutrition in the region. Man animal conflict is frequent now. The animals do tread into the city sometimes

Tribal hamlets are small, around 20 to 30 families. I met the tribal women at their hamlet and we had a long chat about their lives, tradition and their aspirations. It is really sad that they no longer practice the traditional medicine and a number of persons who know the wonderful secrets of the plants and herbal kingdom have reduced into just a few. This exceptional knowledge may vanish from them (as these are typically transmitted through the oral tradition; no records are kept) forever, if efforts are not taken to preserve it. I felt happy that their music has not left them so far. The drums talked loudly. It was their festival season and they will travel a long distance through the forest to visit their kula deivam (traditional deity) drumming throughout the day. And they will have a special puja and a social feast will follow.

We trekked down silently listening to the whispering of the huge trees and the slow whistling of the wind hugging the tea estates. I am confused now; totally confused. What is development? Who are we to define development in our own terms? What is education? Is there something called culturally sensitive education? How the present education system is going to help them when the schools and hostels are not providing quality education and work only in name ? There are lots of questions to be answered. Well. It’s unfortunate that the answer is not blowing in the wind. The answer is not blowing in the wind!

Happy Diwali...Would have been happier if so many crackers were not around

Anna Hazare led Anti Corruption Movement- Festival of Masses- From Chennai

“Crime” and “Punishment”

Haven’t blogged for a long time. Happy times make one feels content and inactive. I. was generally enjoying my break from work & work & work with my son chinks who is on a vacation here and also reading a lot. Just completed Orhan Pamuk’s White Castle and am now glued to another of Pamuk’s; My Name is Red. I had also enjoyed Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee. So was generally in a reading mode.

Now I had this urge to break the routine comfort and write about the little boy Dilson who is no more. I do not know Dilson personally, I have only this newspaper reports lying before me with a photograph (obviously hurriedly sliced out from a family photo; may be this is the only photograph of the boy the family had) of this little boy. The report made me sick; like any other human being would be.

Dilson from Indira Gandhi Nagar slum was shot dead by a retired Lt. Colonel on the 3rd of July. The `crime’ that Dilson committed was that he sneaked in to Army Officers’ Enclave, the residential complex of army personnel, to gather badam nuts. 13 year old Dilson is a child worker; a 5th standard school dropout. It wasn’t, exactly, his choice. His father fell ill and Dilson was forced to step into his father shoe - provider. (Despite the tall claims of the Government and the NGOs after the Right To Education Act, there are a large number of working children. A national shame in the era of scams and black money running into several thousand cores of rupees).

July 3rd, being a Sunday, Dilson and two of his friends, thought of having some fun and also collect something edible. He sneaked into the Army officers’ enclave while his friends waited outside. He began to pluck the nuts and had thrown it to the friends across the boundary wall. This joyful ride did not last long. Somebody got irritated for obvious reasons. [1] The child trespassed [2] he made a noise. He would have disturbed the peaceful sleep of a retired Colonel in an AC room (his wife initially said they did not hear any shot being fired since they were sleeping in an AC room). The infuriated Colonel decided to silence this “nuisance’ forever. He shot at the child from a close range.

Unfortunately it was not an accident. The shot was fired with an intention to kill. Not to scare them away. A responsible army officer would know as to what such a weapon can do and more so when fired from a close range. The Colonel, trained in weapons, would not be that naïve to not know that aiming the head of the child from such close quarters will kill the kid. He admitted to the police that he committed the crime since he was infuriated as the children ignored his repeated warnings in the past. If he really wanted to live in serenity he could have selected a place far from the crowd in after his retirement. The newspapers do not explain as to why this man was living in the quarters in the army enclave even a couple of months after he retired? Was he a squatter himself?

This guy himself has three sons and I am sure that these children would have irritated him at many points of times while they grew up (otherwise children are not children). Children are not always angels. They sometime give you such hard times which will make you think the old saying that “your enemies in your last birth are reborn as your sons”. But you don’t kill your children just because they irritate you: you don’t kill them just because they are noisy. But you can kill a slum boy because he is after all a slum boy; no money, no power, no real connections. We all know whenever something gruesome happens to one of them, the slum people get restless for a day or two and they stop the traffic for a day or two. The police know how to handle such developments: a lot of cajoling here and a bit of pressuring there, etc, etc. They get to normalcy soon. They cannot strike for long as they have to think about their bread for the day.

Getting back to the situation, you will not shoot at children just because they trespassed in to your area and plucked some nuts. You don’t even do it to crows. I remember my childhood. Those were times when children were not hooked on to computer games and the SMSs . Of course boys were naughtier than girls and they plucked mangoes from others’ trees (not because they were hungry but just for the fun of it). This irritated the owner of the trees to no end. But they either shooed away the children or shouted at them or complained to their parents (that was the highest punishment). Once my twin brother (please forgive me bro) and his ‘gang’ went for a night show and while coming back, middle of the night, these teenagers attacked our one and only Mary Chechi’s mango tree. Those mangoes were very special as these were not sour even when they were raw. She heard the noise but did not open the door as it was mid night. However she switched on the light and peeped through the window to see who the culprits were. Knowing very well she would be behind the curtains, these boys shown their buttocks to her. Just imagine the state of poor Mary Chechi; all of a sudden seeing quiet a number of naked buttocks. Of course shell shocked! Needless to say she could not identify the face of any of those buttocks. We knew the story as my brother narrated it to us exclusively. But my mother heard the version of Chechi next morning and she cursed the boys, without knowing the active participation of her own son.

Dilson was killed for a lesser “crime”. Though this was a defence enclave, it was just another residential complex where there is nothing classified. Nor is this place situated anywhere near a sensitive installation.So much so, the security to the enclave has been outsourced to some agency and poor men from Orissa guard the compound for a pittance. And Chennai is not a conflict zone like Kashmir. There is a sentry at the gate who can intercept the trespassers and ask for an explanation about their presence in the area. Even the sentry was not under the instruction to shoot at the intruders.

Now I write this because I got angry with the sympathetic reports that have begun to appear in the newspapers; that the Colonel and his wife did not eat anything for a day when he came to know that the boy was dead (as if he did not know when he fired from a close range) and such other reports that ``he was under depression” and that “he dedicated his three sons to the nation’s security”. Such stuff made me angry. If a person is depressed, he should have taken treatment for that. And in that case it was important that he did not keep a lethal gun with him.I am ‘infuriated’, but of course not enough to kill someone but to write this to overcome my anger!

I Salute Anna Hazare

It is too early to conclude what would be the outcome of the movement ignited by Anna Hazare at Jantar Mandir in Delhi. However, I am thrilled to see the massive response gaining momentum within a couple of days after he began his fast unto death. All that the Gandhian is demanding is an effective Lokpal (not the sham that the draft Bill prepared by the government) against corruption. These days I was little too pessimistic and always thought nostalgically that the era of peoples movement and protests are over forever. Rather I hardly saw any space for civil society protests in India. This feeling is not without reason. Look at Irom Sharmila’s non violent struggle for the last 10 years against the draconian AFPSA in Manipur. I was completely disappointed when I tried to discuss this issue with few students from the North East. They in turn asked me who is Irom Sharmila?. The movement, which is a Gandhian one, in every sense of the term, deserved better response from the government and the civil society. Here I am not trying to reduce the efforts of the groups that are taking up the cause for the last 10 years as non-consequential. The Narmada movement under the leadership of Medha Patkar too, though got wider publicity, should have got better treatment and support. I did look at the movement of the people in Egypt with envy.

I started thinking that the people, especially the large middle class, who benefitted out of the political system, are too self centered to think beyond themselves and the poor never had the space and time for organizing or be part of a protest; as their prime concern is to deal with their own everyday existence in this maddening world. The young generation, I thought, is no good as they are hooked to facebooks and tweeters and to their mobile phones. However, I stood corrected when I saw the crowd at India Gate and Jantar Mandir. And that too a large number of young people! I got touched when a young girl of 17, still in school, told that “if a 73 year old Hazare sab can fight for us, the least we can do is to be part of that fight in large numbers”. She further said, “no; we did not bunk classes. We told our teachers and parents that we are going to take part in the procession”.

It was nice to see the young ones sitting as part of panel discussions in TV channels (for a change) along with veterans like Lord Megnad Desai (Of course, Vinod Sharma, a journalist by profession and an eternally loyal supporter of the congress establishment was there too) and venting out their anger against corruption. It was clear that their participation in the movement may be spontaneous, but their anger was accumulated. It was accumulated against the corrupt system, corrupt politicians irrespective the colour of the flag they belong to, against corrupt bureaucrats and ultimately the inefficient system that invariably failed to take action against the corrupt. The anger and frustration were writ large on their faces.

An old man who came with his two young grand children told, amongst the candles of vigil, that he wanted his grand children to become part of this great moment. This is for them for years to remember.

I watched with pride the mass of people, swelling like flood water; felt bad that I was not there physically; and sing such songs that we used to in the university: “we shall overcome someday” or Bob Dylon’s “times are changing”. I see people- young, middle aged and old, men and women, from different parts of the country. People chanting…people singing…. I liked it when they turned back the politicians (who came to appropriate the movement in the pretext of supporting the cause) not so politely.

The visual media vied with each other to show the people at India Gate and Jantar Mantar with candle lights and brought live discussions to the drawing rooms of those who sit far away. I thank them for that. However, I got nausea when I saw Burka Datta anchoring a programme on Hazare’s fast. What an audacity! When she herself is very much part of the corporate-politician nexus with corruption! The least that NDTV could have done to the people was not put her up on such a show. And how much I wished that one person from her audience asked her: What about you madam? What right do you have to talk about ethics and corruption? Perhaps that was the only disappointment of the evening. I am eagerly waiting for hear more news on the protest. We are also thinking to do something in Chennai to show our solidarity to the cause.
“Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly again'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changing'.