Cities, changes, anger,

Something has been changing and yet, what has?

I write this in the context of my involvement with Blank Noise and my experience of having lived in two different cities with diametrically opposite reputations where women's safety is concerned. Delhi was known as the big, bad wolf. Bombay was known as the best deal possible. Over the last decade, through visits, through media and through the lived experience, I've had a chance to compare and contrast how safe one is and - sadly enough - how mythical and transient the notion of safety for women is.

In the last year or so, after I moved back to Bombay, I found myself swinging between two extremes. Or rather, I found myself trapped inside a triangular box of behaviour patterns in public spaces. I was either super-confident and barely thinking about myself as a woman in a public space. Or I was worried, super-conscious of the fact that I was a woman and unbearably aware of how I was dressed. Or I was just plain angry.

I have written before about rampant harassment in this city under the guise of massive crowds that are in a constant rush to get somewhere. I have written about helplessness and bottled-up anger often being misdirected, and the worry that one may be over-reacting: after all, the push, the shove, the brushing against could be an accident. How do you prove that it isn't? And yet, the more I travel by trains, the more I walk on crowded streets, the more convinced I am that a lot of the touching is not accidental. Often, I have been caught in a huge crush of people who are trying to go up a narrow stairway, while another crush of people is trying to come down the same stairway. Ninety percent of the time, if I am surrounded by women, I notice that I am not being touched or pushed around.

The sad thing is, that ninety percent of the time, I have begun to manipulate my ascent on the stairways and down platforms so that I am surrounded by women on all sides.

I find this deeply saddening because, in the first flush of confidence after being in Blank Noise interventions, having understood the problem of street sexual harassment as well as street social dynamics better than I used to, I had begun to believe that there was no need to sequester or segregate myself.

It is true that I am no longer feeling as vulnerable as I used to feel. I have learnt to stare back, and to use the simple act of looking as a deterrant, a weapon of self-defense. I have learnt to enter spaces where there are very few women, or none who can afford not to be there, and to walk in with a straight back, a challenge written on my face. But on the other hand, I find that I still have to use this weapon a lot of the time. If I begin to relax - for instance, read a book in a public space, within moments I find that strangers are starting to walk past a little too easily, a little too close. If I were to close my book and look directly at them, the men automatically step back a little or put a few more inches between themselves and me. I feel like I am in a constant state of battle, unable to drop a physically defensive stance.

Of course, this is not true of all public spaces. But it is true that I cannot allow myself to feel safe in this city. Where I live used to feel pretty safe. This is a distant suburb that has gotten heavily populated only over the last decade. I had never had a problem finding transport and had never really been harassed or stalked in my neighbourhood. But recently, late one night, the driver of the auto I was in suddenly slowed down. I asked why and he said someone was flagging him down. Two men on a bike caught up with the auto rickshaw. I told the driver not to stop. The men bent their heads and peered into the auto, staring at me, as they vroomed past.

I found myself wishing that they would fall and have an accident. And was promptly appalled at the violence inside my head.

But increasingly, I find myself bubbling over with a powerful kind of rage. I have - and I am deeply ashamed at this - picked up stones from the street and hurled them at a bunch of boys. It was the day before Holi. I was sick and tired of having things thrown at me, hurtful things like water balloons and chunks of ice. The next time I felt water on my shoulderblades, I whirled around, grabbed the nearest stone I could find and threw it back in the direction the balloon had come from. I bent to pick up some more stones. Two or three seconds later I realised the boys were kids - perhaps between the ages of ten and fourteen. I was sorry, of course. I still am. But one part of my mind was unforgiving. It was saying: 'Fine! So let them learn young'.

Tonight I was talking to a friend, a girl who was so nervous about being at the station in a knee-length dress (with black stockings on underneath) that she called a male friend and asked him to stay on the phone with her until she boarded a train, ladies compartment, of course. I began telling her that I wanted to commute with a long, fat lathi. I would walk out of the house with the lathi held in both hands, horizontal, so that nobody came too close, and on railways bridges, I would keep whirling the lathi like a professional fighter. The image of me as a lathial-ninja was funny and we both had a good laugh about it. But I find myself lapsing into such aggressive feelings that if, one of these days, I am touched on purpose and I catch hold of the guy, god help him.

In Delhi, oddly enough, I never felt this much rage. I don't know why. Perhaps, because the harassment was of a more persistent verbal kind. Perhaps, because I rarely took buses. Perhaps, because whistling or staring or being 'proposed' is annoying but is not such an immediate physical violation like unwanted touching. Perhaps, it is just that in Bombay, all frustrations feed into each other - the violation combined with a lack of physical space and privacy, which mingles with a sickness that comes from incessant crowds and actual filth and garbage and pollution.

On the other hand, I had accepted a circumscribed lifestyle in Delhi. At least, partially. I had accepted the fact that I would not go out late at night unless somebody was going to drop me home. I had to ask friends or even reluctant friends of friends to drive an extra fifteen minutes for my sake. I refused to accept party invitations unless I was certain I could ask this of someone. I rarely spent any time alone except at cafes or bookstores, or whilst shopping, or traveling. I wore western clothes but carried a wrap or jacket if it was a strappy dress.

In Bombay, I don't have the option of being alone, but if there were empty and quiet spaces, I think I would be more open to being there. Or maybe not. After all, I begin to get nervous walking about in Fort or Parel or Nariman Point or Versova or Khar after ten at night. And it is equally true that I have been out in Delhi at midnight and felt perfectly safe, surrounded by friends, women friends, all of us dressed up and in high heels.

The other frustrating thing is the overcrowding. I have been traveling mostly in the first class compartment for Ladies because I cannot find the energy and strength to fight my way into the chaos of the general dabba. After 11pm, the second class ladies' compartment which is adjacent to the first class (24 hour ladies) is converted to a general one. The men come trundling in. Even if there is some room in the general converted compartment, all the ladies insist on trooping into the first class. This is a daily affair and I have made my peace with it. I don't even like this business of second class and first class dabbas and it makes me queasy even bringing up this issue of who belongs in which class, much less fight with some poor harassed woman at midnight, three sleepy little kids in tow, asking her to get off and go travel with the men, or to walk further down the platform to the second class (24 hours) ladies.

What I find sad is the utter ghettoisation of men and women with regard to each other. Most women would rather risk being caught ticketless or be fined for traveling in the first class than get into a train compartment with a lot of men traveling in it. And if I find myself the only woman passenger in the first class ladies dabba, I take the trouble of running to the end of the platform to get into the second class ladies compartment. In fact, I have witnessed fights in the ladies compartments where one lady accuses another of not having a first class pass (based on her dress and appearance, of course, on which another post, another day) and the other lady promptly replies: 'Well, thank god for the second class women's presence or else all your first class women would have been robbed or raped'. What kind of culture is this? How is this a safe city, then? How much safer than other cities?

As soon as the Delhi metro web gets wider and stronger, as soon as the late night trains begin to run a little later, Delhi will end up becoming a safer city. Women's safety has so much to do with infrastructure and so little to do with 'culture'.

How safe women feel is finally just a question of numbers. I notice that, in Bombay, if a woman is traveling alone in a train, she is always looking about in a nervous way. The moment another woman enters the compartment, she breathes a deep sigh of relief and smiles in welcome at the new passenger. If two or three more women board the train, all of them feel safe. If one woman is wearing a short skirt, she appears to look around, unsure of herself. If she spots another woman wearing jeans or a sleeveless top, she feels confident.

The train doesn't change. The city doesn't change. The time doesn't change. The clothes don't change. But the women's experience of the city, the train, the time, their clothes changes - through the simple fact of them being out there in greater numbers, in all their diversity of dress and make up and profession.

one take on love

Here is a piece I did for Valentine's Day and here is where it appeared.

We no longer understand. Those of us who were nourished on a carb-rich diet of the Bronte sisters and Yash Chopra, along with vital supplements like Tagore, Gulzar and Bob Dylan that were steadily poured into our blood. We understand the brave new world of new age romance no more than our grandmothers understood email.

Yet, we use the same language: love, longing, loss, despair. Young people meet each other, are attracted, call each other ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ – or the new politically correct thing: ‘partner’. They commit. They have kids. And one supposes that there must be love in the frame. No reason to disbelieve their ‘I love you’s even though we live in a world where Valentine’s Day has become a bit of a joke with half the world protesting the crass commercialism which has reduced it to greeting cards and online offers to ship bouquets of roses; and the other half intent on buying the cards, the balloons, the diamond pendant (which is supposed to make sure that love lasts forever), and the super-soft Rs 299 teddy bear holding a red velvet heart. On several campuses, it has become ‘sad’ for a young person to be seen without a love prop. Those who do not receive roses buy them and pretend they were gifts. Those who have nobody to buy cards for, buy them anyway, and pretend to be on their way to meet a mythic beloved. Very Calvin-n-Hobbes, except it isn’t comic.

But let me not delve into the Hallmarks-isation of love. What of love itself? How do young people romance each other, minus the props? Ask a teenager and he looks at you suspiciously. “What do you mean ‘how’? Like, I mean, like everybody else. I guess.”

Everybody else would include women like me who grew up dreaming of strapping young men with the mind of a Yeats, the body of a farm hand, the temperament of a Heathcliff, and a propensity to stand under windows, singing about the moon paling beside one’s own face. We, who dared not actually do anything more than dedicate a song at the school fete, or created an acrostic in his name, hoping he would have the sense to crack the code. We, who talked long hours into the night on the phone and could not wait until it was time to step out of the house so one could meet the beloved and talk some more over coffee. Endless cups of coffee, long walks, frequent glances. We, who suffered heartbreak alone, without breathing a word even to a best friend. We didn’t die of heartbreak, of course, unlike heroines in nineteenth century novels. But we weren’t afraid of impossible longings. Nor did we feel panic at the prospect of our teens slipping by without having a ‘partner’ .

But we too have adapted and evolved. New age romance is no longer about borrowing books or quoting romantic couplets. One signs up instead on a Google group that focuses on love poems and dips into the treasure once in a while, and emails a poem to the person one is interested in.
We write SMS poems. We sometimes send text messages saying nothing more than ‘Hi’ or ‘Just’. Just to say hello. Just to say I’m thinking of you. Just to say you’re in my heart. And once we hit ‘send’, we wait, phones clutched to our chests, wondering what sort of reply will be sent back.
If we were born a generation ago, we’d have hit the writing desk and dashed off a five-page letter. Or sent off a single pressed flower in an envelope by registered post.

If we used to make dates at art galleries; we now make dates to go to the mall and listen to new records together at a music store. Or to play a round of Counter-strike. Different medium, but the message remains the same.

Or does it?

I asked a friend and fellow-writer, Manisha Lakhe, who promptly dissed present-day romance as ‘a commercial break in a TV show’. “Romance is dysfunctional today,” she says. “Maybe because people don’t read books. They watch TV so the attention span is low.”

Is love is now a much fast-food phenomenon now: a fly-by-night operation rather than a lifetime of work? After all, a generation that is seduced by advertising lines such as ‘Why wait?’ is not likely to be seduced by the idea of longing and patience. Nobody waits for love to be consummated beyond a few dates – maybe a few weeks, maybe months, certainly not years.
Yet, a corner of my own heart refuses to believe that teenagers nowadays are that much different. The generation that was brought up on online gaming and doesn’t know how to use a pager probably uses the same basic tools to romance – words, making eyes, cafes.

Or perhaps, the change runs deeper, linked to the ways in which Indian culture itself has changed. Love in the 2000s, some people say, is more like pornography, less like erotica. And capping everything is the pornography of money. Lakhe confesses she was horrified when she met a young girl who was accepting gifts of diamonds from not just her dad, but from the boys she knew. “She did not understand why I was horrified. Her attitude was: ‘They like me; now let them work for it’. In my time, only 'bad' girls were like this. I’m not exactly the Grease generation, but still, there was some sort of honour.”

Notions of honour in love have also changed. To show someone you love them, you buy them things; take them out to fancy places. And when they have agreed to be your lover, you focus your energies on finding a nook to neck in – coffee shops or clubs or water-fronts. Nobody bats an eye. And if you break up, you go to the same places with a new person, and still, nobody bats an eye. It is now kosher to be in love with A today, B, tomorrow, C yesterday.

Ten years ago, even in the metros, this wouldn’t have passed for romance. You wouldn’t have described a dalliance as ‘being in love’. Now, of course, we don’t talk of love if we can help it. We say we love a movie, a film star, a Parsi dish, an outfit. But we describe all romantic, quasi-romantic, or a barely sexual association as the prosaic fact of being ‘in a relationship’. Love is now a matter of a status update.

Besides, thanks to Facebook, one doesn’t need to confront the person you want to dump. No need for final goodbyes or having to witness tears. A male friend who doesn’t want to be named admits that he has broken up with somebody on the phone – “distance not being a factor, she trying to avoid me” – but it has never gotten to the point of simply changing one’s Facebook status from ‘In a relationship’ to ‘single’.

It is now possible to track one’s friends’ love lives on social networking sites. I have seen friends go from ‘single’ to ‘in a relationship’ to ‘married’ and from ‘in a relationship with X’ to ‘in a relationship’ and finally, back to ‘single’, along with that awfully jagged tear in that tiny pink heart.

Perhaps, that is all it is – a public signboard on which you can now announce your happiness, and your heartbreaks. Love comes, and goes. And perhaps, we have finally learnt to deal with it without making too much of a fuss about it.

That sure is a lot of crores

This is a Rs 14,296-crore (Rs 142.96 billion) scam and the Gujarat government has no right to 'donate' public wealth to a private player in this dubious manner," Gohil said.

Elaborating on the issue he said that with a meager investment of Rs 381 crore (Rs 3.81 billion), the hitherto unknown Swan Energy will walk away with Rs 14,296 crore. "Starting from Gujarat Chief Minister Narendra Modi to top officials of Gujarat State Petroleum Corporation, energy department and chief minister's office are involved," Gohil claimed.

Ooooh!

The full story here.

Had been in a taxi recently and ended up feeling quite literally as if I'd been taken for a ride.

The taxi driver told me he'd agree on a fixed rate if I preferred but I insisted that he use the meter. I had not come southwards, to town, for weeks and remembered that the base rate had gone up from Rs 13, but wasn't sure what it was now. The taxi meter showed a base rate of Rs 16.50, and then went whizzing up and up from there on.

I, of course, had no way of being able to contest that the meter had been tampered with, so at the end of the journey, I took a deep breath and paid what he asked for. THEN, he asked for an extra Rs 60 for luggage. All I had one one black bag. The pre-paid taxi stalls at the railways usually charge Rs 5-10 per bag. So I argued. However, I had made the mistake of giving him a thousand rupee note already. The taxi driver just pocketed it, and refused to give me back the correct change.

I found myself seething. I threatened I would call the cops. He just stood there, smug, and said, 'Go ahead then'.

So I took down his taxi number. Then, it struck me that the taxi may not be his, and I would only get the real owner into trouble. So I asked to see his license. He either didn't have one or would not show me one. All he showed me was a traffic police document, a fine receipt, which had a name but no identifying photo. I took it down anyway.

I tried called 100 but the line was busy for a long time. So I let it go for the moment. But I went online the next day and I googled the Mumbai RTO and went to the website. Came up with a complaint form, filled it in the details of the incident.

Then I went into town again this weekend and realised that the base rate for taxis is only Rs 14, not 16.50. It made me madder still. I was considering dropping into the RTO office, even if it cost me more money to go there and back than I have lost through being cheated. But I just wanted something to be done to that lying, cheating bully of a cabbie.

But just last night, I received an acknowledgement of the online complaint from the traffic cops. I don't know what this means - whether it will translate into action or not, whether the right person will be punished in the right way, or not. But I have to confess I am feeling pleased. It feels good to just have been heard by someone who is in authority, who is in a position to do something about wrongdoing. And then, I began to think about how much conflict could be avoided if only the police could accomplish this minimum - to listen, and to acknowledge.

I know that resolving stuff takes time. I know the cops don't have that much time. There are accidents and traffic management and speeding vehicles and drunk drivers and godknowswhatelse to contend with. And I know not much can be done, considering it is the taxi driver's word against mine. But even if that driver just gets hauled up, gets told off, as long as he knows that he cannot get away with cheating people so easily, I will be satisfied.

But I have also been thinking about the things that are told to us about cops - inefficiency, complaints, corruption and so on.

How many of us even bother to complain about something? I very nearly didn't, because everyone else seems to be shrugging it off and saying 'kuch nahin hoga'. My brother was the only one who urged me to at least try calling the RTO. And I am so glad I did. Because it has been established, finally, that - Kuch karoge nahin to kaise hoga?

What can the traffic cops do to stop cheating by taxi drivers if we don't tell them? They cannot be expected to randomly start harassing someone on suspicion. Even if they do catch someone doing something wrong, the passenger has to file a formal complaint, if they are to do things the right way. Sure, some cops accept bribes from people who violate traffic rules as well as those against whom some complaint has been filed. But it is not like nobody is trying to do anything about it.

I have been getting text messages from the Anti-Corruption Bureau, saying that if a Central government employee asks for a bribe, call on so and so number. How many of us make those calls? How many of us are even willing to call 100 or go online and get some information about which might be the right department to go to if you want to file a complaint?

The problem, of course, is that we are all people in a hurry and would prefer that the cops just slap around the guy who's been bothering us, rather than us taking the trouble to sit down and compose our thoughts and sign an official document. Essentially, we want the cops to act as bullies on our behalf. And once they start doing that, there's no end to it. Whether it is beating up a man who is harassing a woman, or forcing poor people out of their homes to make way for a new big-bucks project, or encounter deaths. It is mostly an extension and escalation of the same principle. It essentially stems from our unwillingness to do our own share of work to keep society clean.

The trouble begins, for us, when we find that we aren't the only ones with such expectations of the policing process. Other communities, other demographics, other wants. There is an eternal conflict of interests in society and the cops are supposed to be on everyone's side. It is not an easy place to be and I wish we'd remember to remember that more often.

Mandir banega?

'The only chance I see of a temple being built here (Ayodhya) is when Rahul Gandhi becomes prime minister.” I was perplexed by his expectations of the young Gandhi. “Think about it.” he said solemnly, “The locks were opened when the Congress was in power; the idols were installed when the Congress was in power; the Babri Masjid was demolished when the Congress was in power. Maybe we will have the temple when the Congress is in power.'

Rahul Gandhi, are you listening? Are you worried? Are you amused?

Separetely, the above comment is from a piece on Indian Muslims, post Ayodhya, and it appeared in Caravan magazine recently. While the piece is interesting, I can't help feeling just a little frustrated by the maleness of it. Women are almost completely absent from the picture.

This is something I come up against time and again. Muslim women are almost the most visible image whenever someone chooses to write about Islam and the contemporary political problems surrounding it. Photos of faces with just the eyes showing. Or photos of smiling little girls trying to study. Or ordinary young women walking past in burqas. A lot of the issues that dominate this big question - the question of Muslims, often a minority, in present-day democracies - are also about women. The veil. Family laws. Education and political leadership. Mobility and independence.

But when it comes to the actual political-racial debate in the media, nobody seems to be talking to women. Is this because Muslim women simply do not exist as community leaders? Can they only hope to be Muslim women leaders, no more? And if this indeed is the case, isn't it time someone brought that fact into the conversation?

Those who belong

Odd term, this. Indigenous. It means native. Natural. Innate. Those who belong to a place.

And in this world of ours, those who belong, those who have the most right over land and resources, if indeed any of us have more of a right over a given territory than any other person - these people are the ones who seem to be getting the worst deal.

According to a UN report:

In Australia, an indigenous child can expect to die 20 years earlier than his non-native compatriot. The life expectancy gap is also 20 years in Nepal, while in Guatemala it is 13 years and in New Zealand it is 11... While indigenous peoples make up around 370 million of the world’s population – some 5 per cent – they constitute around one-third of the world’s 900 million extremely poor rural people. Every day, indigenous communities all over the world face issues of violence and brutality, continuing assimilation policies, dispossession of land, marginalization, forced removal or relocation, denial of land rights, impacts of large-scale development, abuses by military forces and a host of other abuses.

Insane crime of passion

If anyone had any doubt that real life was way more outlandish, unbelievable, and crazily political than anything any writer or filmmaker could conjure, here's proof:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/jan/13/guatemala-murder-rodrigo-rosenberg

Man crazed with grief after his lady love's murder - stages his own assasination, makes a video pinning blame on the leader of the nation, video screened after funeral, country agog, a government almost brought down. Socialist leader Vs rightwing elite. Scams. Drama. Crime. Conspiracy. Passion!

What's that noise?

Tried wrapping up the protesting year that just whooshed past. It appeared here.

Let me begin this with a confession: I’m a bit of a joiner (also, a bit of a leaver; but that is another story). I often join groups, online fora, communities. And protests.

The first protest I remember joining was a dharna, or sit-in. We were students in a hostel and there was some cribbing about the quality – and quantity – of food served in the mess. I no longer remember who started it, or how I managed to get involved because I kind of liked the food. But I felt I had to show solidarity with other students who were seriously upset.

So there we were at lunch time: a few dozen twenty-year-old girls sitting on the floor of the corridor leading into the hostel, just outside the mess. We sat in silence facing each other in two neat rows. I read a book. Some girls did their crocheting and sewing, or worked on project reports. The warden noticed, of course. Eventually, we were told to disperse and then reassemble in another room.

In retrospect, I wonder why it was such a quiet, controlled affair. We did not shout slogans or even voice our concerns. Yet, we only had to sit there at lunch time instead of going into the mess to indicate that we were not just hanging out in the corridor but were in a state of protest. What we were doing was breaking the pattern of everyday routines. True, we got a dressing down. The principal expressed disappointment in me, personally – ‘Et tu, Annie?’ etc – and the warden threatened to shut down the hostel altogether. But the point is: we stood or rather sat (which is always the more sensible thing to do) as one, regardless of our individual attitudes to hostel food. And we got our point across with minimum hostility.

That was a first, essential lesson in protesting: Thou shalt keep it simple, and visible. Thou shalt not do the daily thing. Thou shalt unnerve authority by not behaving in expected ways.

Most people assume that the average protester is a certain type: a loose clothes-wearing, cloth bag-carrying, barefoot, or sandal-wearing, careless-of-hair-and-nails, aggressive kind of person. They are not entirely wrong. Many protestors are affiliated with rights groups, NGOs, political outfits, and like everybody else, they too try and fit in with the rest of their crowd.

I don’t, but that is because I don’t belong to a real group though I’ve joined a few campaigns now and then. Held a banner at an anniversary of the Bhopal Gas tragedy, asking Dow to take its shit back. Participated in a token one-day fast to express solidarity with fasting activists from Bhopal. Stood still in the midst of disorienting chaos in busy subways or market places as part of Blank Noise’s public interventions against street sexual harassment. Lit candles. Sent off pink undies to the Sri Ram Sena in Karnataka as part of the Pink Chaddi campaign.

In India, there is hardly any respite on the protest front. Every year, tens of thousands of citizens are taking to the streets, or going on the rampage. There was the headline-smashing Gujjar protest in 2008, and the Jet employees protesting at the airport, and anti-China protests led by Tibetans. And before that, there was Nandigram and protests against an OBC quota. An endless succession of protests, each one clamouring for public – and government – attention. This year was no different.

The much talked about protests included the ones at the Climate summit in Copenhagen, and since the participating nations – India included – were walking out in protest, the impact was immediate and plain to see.
Nevertheless, 2009 has been an interesting year – a mix of new forms of protest along with tried and tested methods of satyagraha and mass mobilization.
We heard news of protests in Iran, from the run-up to the presidential election to the announcement of the results. There are continuing protests against the government, which the opposition now describes as a dictatorship. Since there were curbs on media, protesters began to use twitter and cell phones to send word out about the scale of the protests and the backlash. And the world woke up to the power of twitter as a democratic tool.

The other big trend this year was the phenomenon called ‘slacktivism’, defined as ‘feel-good online activism that has little or no political and social impact’. Blogger Evgeny Morozov describes slacktivism as being particularly suited to a lazy generation that does not want to bother with sit-ins, and the risk of arrest or police brutality.

He’s probably right. I’ve joined dozens of facebook groups that protest everything from child trafficking to the military regime in Burma. But I know that real protests mean real action, in the real world. Particularly in countries like India, where the internet is not spread wide enough to impact political decisions amongst voters. The internet does help through a call to arms, though, so word spreads quickly and relatively painlessly. Both the Pink Chaddi and the Blank Noise campaigns, for instance, took off from the internet, but led to real action in the physical realm.

This year also marked the 25th anniversary of two great tragedies. Sikh groups in Delhi protested the delay in justice, and earlier, the giving of a clean chit to Jagdish Tytler for his alleged role in the anti-Sikh pogrom of 1984. And journalist Jarnail Singh protested by throwing a shoe at home minister P. Chidambaram during a press conference.

Survivors of the Bhopal gas tragedy held a weeklong protest against government inaction and the twenty-five year delay in cleaning up toxic waste. Titled ‘Jhoot bole kauwa kaate’ (Crow bites him who lies), the campaign set out to expose the lies of political leaders, including chief minister Shivraj Singh Chauhan who claimed that the water in the hand-pumps and the grounds around the former Union Carbide factory were now safe. Activists prepared a feast using water from their locality, and invited the chief minister and other politicians to come and eat. None of the invitees turned up, it seems.

Kashmir was swept by violent protests in the wake of the alleged murders of two young women in Shopian. The armed forces were accused, and while it isn’t yet clear whether the deaths were murders at all, the commission of enquiry did discover police negligence and several police officers were suspended as a result.

Telangana continues to burn, even as I write, but the issue of statehood did take a critical turn – after five decades of dithering – when Telangana Rashtriya Samithi chief K Chandrashekhar Rao undertook an indefinite fast. The central government finally blinked and announced that it would consider carving up Andhra Pradesh.

Irom Sharmila’s on-going fast against the Armed Forces Special Powers Act in Manipur entered its ninth year. That, sadly, hasn’t quite caused the government to blink.

There were protests demanding the release of Dr Binayak Sen who had been in jail for nearly two years, on the charge of being a naxal supporter. Hundreds of activists and supporters courted arrest in Raipur. Soon after, Dr Sen was released on bail.

Also, in a somewhat incomprehensible and – to my mind, very insensitive – protest, a bunch of parents in Delhi protested the hike in school fees by selling vegetables and shining shoes.

Some protests worked. Some didn’t. But the shape of recent protests has been revelatory. It has taught me that a stereotype is as dangerous to the health of a campaign as it is to a community. Stereotypes feed into prejudice, which complicates an already ignorant social climate with pointed indifference. Nobody cares if they see you doing what you do all the time, what everyone already expects you to do, you end up becoming a media diversion at best, and a traffic distraction, at worst, like oversized billboards advertising underwear. People look, and then look away.

Nothing harms a protest as much as indifference. Jantar Mantar in Delhi is a case in point. Protestors have been sitting on their neatly hemmed-in patch of footpath for years and years. Hardly anybody notices. Certainly, nobody in the government can be bothered.

It is so in most cities. Administrations usually allow protests only in certain venues – a park or maidan, or a stretch of pavement – which is the best way of containing and neutralizing a protest, really. No matter how visible, how colourful and how urgent the protest is, the impact is reduced to nearly nil because the average bystander can only glance at a bunch of protesters in a place where protests happen.

Protests work best when they snap out of the comfortable routine of banner-marches-slogan. Violent protests bring attention easily, but are also easily countered; there is plenty of force and ammunition on the other side. What really helps a cause is to do something new to grab public attention.

And every little bit of attention helps. Marching helps. Shouting and screaming and lying down on the road helps. Writing a poem or a blog might help, although not as much as getting arrested. Throwing shoes definitely helps. Wearing a T-shirt with a message, or handing out a pamphlet helps. Even joining an online forum might help. Because each time you do any of the above, you take a stand. In effect, you declare: “Look, I am not part of this horrible thing going on in our society, and I think it is time we all did something about it.”

Which is all a protest is.

In the coming year, one can look forward to at least a few good, visible protests.
Telangana is simmering even now and while the center has made soothing noises, for now, any step – forward or back – on the issue of statehood is likely to cause a fresh round of protests. In the wake of Telangana, the demand for Mithila and Gorkhaland is likely to be stepped up too, and perhaps, Purvanchal as well, although there doesn’t seem to be any real popular movement towards separate states within Uttar Pradesh yet. If the violence isn’t quickly, firmly, contained in Andhra Pradesh, it is likely that other aspirants to statehood will also learn to smash stuff in order to get a hearing.

Chhattisgarh has been in shock for the last few years. At least, those large swathes of displaced citizens seem to have been in shock for they suffered terribly and, thus far, silently. If they do not speak up in 2010, it is unlikely that they will be able to return to their homes, or even salvage their livelihoods. So it would be surprising if there weren’t any protests from that quarter. However, with so many guns around, the protests would have to be really innovative and really brave to have much impact.

If the prices of food items like sugar, tomatoes, onions and other vegetables doesn’t come down soon, there will probably be protests. Opposition parties are likely to lead from the front; they love inflation.

Judging from the response Bhopal’s long-suffering victims have evinced from the state and central governments thus year, it is likely that there is will have to be more protests about the gas tragedy and toxification of the local environment.

And if the government decides to pursue its dicey agenda and amend our hard-won Right to Information law, there certainly will be major protests in several states. These will probably be peaceful, therefore, sadly, probably not very worrying for the center.

Food for thought

Did you realise that the price of tomatoes is up nearly 500 % (at least in some cities in India)?

Also, did you know that India's daily turnover in vegetables and fruits is USD 59 million, which is three times that of a large firm like TCS. AND, did you know that the average wastage is USD 27 million?

Just visualise it. Rs 130 crores lying about in gutters and on the fringes of farmers markets, rotting. Every day.

And do you know that if the price of tomatoes rises by just 10 % - that is to say that, if you were paying Rs 10 for one kilo, you would now be paying Rs 11 per kilo - the increase would amount to ten times the turnover of all Reliance Fresh stores put together. Or that, Reliance Fresh makes no profit at all from its sales of fresh vegetables?

This info comes from a very interesting two-part article in a new magazine called Beyond Profit. Do check out the piece by Venkat Subramanium.

He also says that it is no point blaming the local subzi-wala for rising prices. It is really the agents and middlemen at work.

According to the article: "Each agent is networked with a few buyers in nearby areas, who are his key primary buyers. Nowadays, with the spread of mobile phones, SMS (text) messages flash back and forth in frenzy before any auction and most prices are predetermined." (emphasis mine).

Predetermined. Which means that there is a whole chain of agents who "keep close tabs on how many truckloads have been loaded up from villages and are on the way to a particular market. On a given day, if there are 20 trucks of tomatoes coming IN to the auction market, they may set price at INR10 (US$ 0.20). If they realize that only 10 truckloads are coming, then they increase it to INR20 (US$ 0.40). Often the farmers are unaware of this silent collusion between the transporters, loaders, and even local dabbha/mote wallahs and how information flows back and forth along the chain. Hence once price is set, it is unviable for farmers to even look for any other market as distances are too far and expensive. As a result, the farmer is forced to accept or dump the product in frustration."

And oh, all that bigmouthing about 'direct procurement from the farmer' and eliminating the middlemen? Turns out that all big brands that sell veggies in supermarket chains also shop at the nearest mandi. By which time, the farmer is no longer in any position to bargain.

Bah!

You can read more here. The magazine also has a new piece on clean drinking water technologies that are now available at very reasonable prices. Do read.

Here's hoping the year ahead is happy, and easier on the heart, soul, wallet, etc.

Some mornings, I begin to believe that there is something to be said for cable television, after all.

When the newspaper doesn't arrive and you decide to get your morning fix of news visually, and then discover that there isn't more than five minutes worth of fresh headlines on TV news, and when you decide to channel-surf for a bit and you come upon the excessive sight of Kimi Katkar in a yellow saree making enthusiastic attempts to disrobe a rustic Anil Kapoor, flinging her pallu away from her chest, lip-synching lyrics like "Utaar apni dhoti, aur baandh meri saree."

For reference:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nFe0yvLgfKg&feature=related

And this, followed up by the sight of two kids starving, waiting on the beaches of Bombay for someone to feed them, and then, delirious with joy at having eaten a little halwa, hopping from foot to foot, going around in circles.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LhcRkLIUjpU

Some mornings, I begin to almost believe in the benefits of cable television.

Am headed south for some poetry and stuff. If any of you are in those places, please do come. Bring friends. Pass the word on to others who might be interested.

In Chennai, as part of the Prakriti festival:
MGR Janaki College; 11 am
AMM School; 2:30 pm
Kalakshetra; 8.30 am

And in Bangalore:

Toto Funds the Arts is pleased to invite you to a reading of short fiction and poetry
by

Annie Zaidi
&
Saudha Kasim

Venue: Crossword Bookstore, ACR Towers, Ground Floor, 32 Residency Road, Bangalore - 1
Date and time: Tuesday, 22 December 2009 at 6.45 pm

Look. Listen.

I have spoken of two violent incidents in parts of the country where tribals live, and which are supposed to have a naxal problem. But it is far, far better that you hear it from one who really knows. Himanshu Kumar, who lives in Dantewada and runs an NGO there, addressed a group of people at an event organised by Tehelka.

Anybody who wants to understand the roots of the problem, and the way forward, should listen to this talk. It is in four parts. Watch it right through.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FAs7sDH-OlA&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2RcWu0JDpA&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pScYdh9Z_mw&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FB2EoqwnQ4&feature=related

More news that isn't making headlines but should

And speaking of social activists in tribal areas, in the naxal context, here's another note from Imran Ali, a law officer with the Human Rights Law Network, about some recent developments: "the arbitrary, unjust and illegal detention of social activist Kopa Kunjam and advocate Alban Topo on December 10, 2009 in Dantewada in Chhattisgarh"

Again, I have not investigated this piece of news myself so I will refrain from making random remarks about 'state oppression', which is a very complex, very loaded phrase that I will expand upon some other day. But I will say that attacks on fact-finding teams and independent investigators are a sure sign of trouble. Trouble spelt U-N-D-E-M-O-C-R-A-C-Y.

Here is what the HRLN has to say about the arrests:

"Ironically, December 10 happens to be the International Human Rights Day to which India is a signatory. As what can be called gross violations of human rights and Supreme Court guidelines, the Chhattisgarh police whisked away Kopa, an activist with a Gandhian non-profit organisation Vanvasi Chetna Ashram, Dantewada, Chhattisgarh, and a young lawyer of Human Rights Law Network (HRLN), Alban Topo, who is working on the Right to Food ongoing case in the Supreme Court and currently visiting Dantewada, without complying with the D K Basu guidelines of the Supreme Court. The two were not informed by the police as to why they were being detained and where they were being taken. Alban was brutally beaten up in over 18 hours of illegal detention and released today by the police in deep interior forests of Bijapur in Dantewada, with a warning that he better cease his association with Vanvasi Chetna Ashram. The HRLN team is yet to reach him and confirm his condition. Condemning the Chhattisgarh police action, senior Supreme Court Senior Advocate Colin Gonsalves called it "shameful for democracy". He said that there is no democratic structure in Chhattisgarh. Alban Topo was illegally detained and assaulted by the state police and his release was sought after much pressure and protests, he added. Alban Topo is visiting Dantewada district as ration shops had been closed there and the starvation situation is quite grim due to the security forces operations. He is working on the Right to Food case filed in the Supreme Court and went Dantewada for fact finding.Vanvasi Chetna Ashram is run by Himanshu Kumar, a committed Gandhian social activist working among the tribals of Dantewada and Bijapur districts of Bastar regions. The Ashram has increasingly raised its voice against State atrocities upon tribal civilians. An all-India fact-finding was conducted by People's Union for Civil Liberties- Chhattisgarh in June 2009 where the team visited the site of the demolished Vanvasi Chetna Ashram (VCA) at Kanwalnar near Dantewada. The findings revealed that during the demolition, the State administration did not even spare the hand pump though it was installed by the Government itself. The fact-finding report claimed that the State is trying to use military means alone to address the problem of Naxalism in Chhattisgarh and anyone not with the state (read also Salwa Judum), runs the risk of being branded a Naxalite sympathiser."

News you might not have heard, or have seen and already forgotten

This is something I have received as a press note in the mail. I cannot claim to have investigated the matter, but I found it surprising that almost none of the major papers had something like this covered properly although tribal rights, Naxal violence and the roots thereof are supposed to be headline-making items in our country at the moment. I am simply reproducing what has been sent to me since I am not currently in a position to verify the claims of the activists. I am personally inclined to believe them. So, here goes:

An all-women fact-finding team was attacked on its way to Narayanpatna, Orissa, where a democratic tribal movement led by the Chasi Mulia Adivasi Sangh is being brutally supressed by the police at the behest of local liquor mafia, landlords and mining companies. This team had gone to Narayanpatna to bring out the real state of affairs, particularly regarding the spate of rapes and molestations of women by the Orissa Police, CRPF and the dreaded Cobra battalions. The local media has actively tried to hide the truth, branding the peaceful Chasi Mulia Adivasi Sangh as a Maoist outfit.

Please show your protest by calling the DM and SP of the district.
DM -- Gadadhar Parida 0 94381 8184649
SP -- Deepak Kumar Chauhan 0 94379 62200

From the Press conference: Update at 9 December, 2009. 2.45 p.m.

The 9 (member) women fact-finding team just concluded a press conference at Parvathipuram, Vijayanagaram District, Andhra Pradesh. Here's the narrative of the day's happenings as told by Shweta Narayan and Madhumita Dutta to Nityanand Jayaraman over phone:

At 10 a.m., the All India Women's Fact Finding Team consisting of 9 women reached Narayanpatna Police Station and requested to meet the Station In-charge.
1. Sudha Bhardwaj, Advocate, Chhattisgarh2. Mamata Dash, Delhi
3. Madhumita Dutta, Chennai
4. Shweta Narayan, Chennai
5. Rumita Kundu, Bhubaneswar
6. Pramila, Bhubaneswar
7. Kusum Karnik, Bhubaneswar
8. Ramani, New Democracy, Orissa

9. Durga, Chhattisgarh

We were told that the policeman was busy, and were asked to come in the evening. The person questioning us asked us for names and mobile phone numbers and names of organisations. We gave all of that. We noticed quite a number of uniformed policemen, and many people in plainclothes. None of the people in uniform (we assume they were policemen) had any name tags. We asked one of them who the people in plainclothes were, and were told that they were all policemen. We asked the man how many police were there in this area, and he said more than 2000 police. One striking thing is that none of the many people gathered there were adivasi.About 20 adivasi men were huddled, squatting inside the police station premises. We asked the police man near us who they were, and were told that the adivasis were former activists of the Chasi Mulia Adivasi Sangh, who had come to surrender. This has been happening for a few days now, and many newspapers are reporting this.

By this time, the crowd of so-called plainclothes police were getting restless. We heard people commenting saying: "Ab aa rahen hain. Jab hamarey gaon jal rahe the, tho kahaan the?" (When our farms were being burnt, where were you? Now they show up.) Madhumita felt the situation was looking troublesome, and suggested we leave. As we were stepping out of the police station, our driver was cordoned off and was being questioned in a very hostile manner and being threatened. We heard someone saying that he is a regular to these parts, and they enquired as to his antecedents.We somehow managed to extricate the driver. One of the policemen in plainclothes, who we saw inside the police station premises, was taking photographs, and he said "Maaro Inko." (Beat these people up). That is when more than 200 people surged ahead. The driver was being slapped repeatedly. Madhu and 75-year old Kusum Karnik tried to intervene and that is when one man went for Madhu's throat. Kusum was hurt too.

Rumita Kundu was verbally abused inside the police station. One man crudely said that all these women had come to sleep with the men there. Mamta Dash was hit on her back, and abused. One man attempted to strangle madhu. When she moved to save herself, her jaw was injured. All this happened inside the police station premises.The driver was the one that was being assaulted most, and we did all we could to extricate him and board our vehicle. By this time, the vehicle was being broken. The rear windscreen was broken. With great difficulty, we fled the area driving towards Bandhugaon. We were followed by the plainclothesmen who claimed to be police on bikes. Somewhere between Bandhugaon Police Station and the village itself, we were stopped by two men in plainclothes. They said they were police, and they demanded to see the driver's license. As he was enquiring, about 20 people gathered there. But nothing untoward happened here. We were scared nevertheless.

From there, we proceeded to Kottulpetta. Even before we got to this village, news seemed to have reached them about our visit. A road blockade had been organised, with a bullock cart blocking the road. There were no oxen. The people there, again all non-tribals, pulled out the driver and started assaulting him. They tried to pull down another male colleague of ours, Mr. Poru Chandra Sahu and tried to beat them up. We intervened, and that's when Kusum didi, the 75-year old activist, was hurt on her head. We were there for more than 15 minutes. More violence. More damage to the vehicle. More slaps for the driver. Our friends outside had been notified almost as soon as problems began, and phone calls must have been pouring into the Collector and SP's office.

By this time, two bikes carrying one of the plainclothes "policemen" who had taken our names in Narayanpatna, and another plainclothes guy who was tall and burly, reached there and asked the youth to disperse. We reached Bondapalli, the border village within Andhra Pradesh. Almost in no time, a jeep load of Andhra Pradesh police along with plainclothes youth (young boys) armed with rifles and bullets arrived on the scene. They demanded to know who we were. We were treated more like criminals than victims, and our vehicle was searched. Only after Madhu spoke to the SP of Vijayanagar, and the DGP were we allowed to go. The police who stopped us immediately changed the tune, and offered to help us with medical assistance etc.

Our experience with armed youth and police has left us clearly terrified, and convinced that the situation created by the police in Narayanpatna and this part of Orissa is extremely vitiated. We have the following concerns and demands which we conveyed to the media at a press conference in Parvathipuram, Vijayanagarm District, Andhra Pradesh.

Concerns:

1. The scenario of terror that we witnessed, and were subject to shows the kind of tense situation prevailing in the Narayanpatna area post November 20, 2009's police firings in Narayanpatna.

2. There is no access for people to get in and out of the villages in Narayanpatna, with all routes blocked by armed goons.

3. There is no way to get information about what is happening inside, and no means of verifying the very disturbing accounts we are getting about abuses, molestations and violence against adivasi people.

4. The number of plainclothesmen who claimed they were police, and the comfort with which people outside the Narayanpatna police station were interacting with the police, and reacting to one policeman's instruction to beat us up, suggests that there may be some truth to reports that there is a Salwa Judum style Shanthi Samiti in this area as well. This may either be sponsored or working in close complicity with the police and state.

4. If the Fact Finding team of prominent women has been treated with such violence, it is clear that there is absolutely no room for dissent inside the villages.

5. All the people who attacked us were non-tribals.

Demands:

1. The officers at the Police Station should be suspended to create an impartial stituation and enable the carrying out of investigations into the firing of 20 November, 2009, and the subsequent reports of atrocities against tribal people.

2. The SP Koraput should be suspended.

3. The Government should constitute a high-level independent investigation team and not depend on the police, who are clearly biased, and are using the language of terror and violence to suppress dissent.

Press Note ends here.

If you want to know more about what has been going on in Narayanpatna, here are a few basic facts, and some links:

Tribal land had been taken over by non-tribal forces, including industries, right since the 1960s. There had been a growing sense of alienation ever since. An organisation called the CMAS began a movement to reclaim tribal lands. About 2000 acres (some reports say, 1500 acres) was taken back, and according to some reports, a bumper harvest ensued.

On Nov 20, 2009, a group of tribals were protesting. The police opened fire. Two tribals died. One fact-finding team's report is here. The team found that the protests and the land movement was NOT led by naxals. Activists were concerned. A judicial probe was called for. Medha Patkar urged the governor to resolve the issue as quickly as possible.

And what else can I say? Just remember this incident an its historical context, the next time you hear about 'naxal-infested areas'. Remember this, when you wonder why there is violence brewing in the forests. Remember this, when you wonder about why people sometimes make violent demands for separate states, or separate nations. Remember this, the next time someone talks about 'mobs' or 'public anger' or the absence of a formal police complaint. Remember this. Record this. And remember too, that there are strong vested interests that prevent information from seeping through to the rest of the nation. If you reject this information now, you reject your own citizenhood, in a sense.

And yes, do call the DM and SP of the district. If you know the CM's number or fax, call to ask why something like this could happen, and what action has been taken against the guilty.

Song, 2

Poison breath, poison blood
Poison milk, poison mud
Poison pump, poison tap
Poison in your mama's lap
Eyes of milk, limbs askew
Dow child mine, is that you?

Baby-making, weird art
Many arrive with half their parts
You don’t know the nuts and bolts
Little girls bleed, women don’t
There's mercury and chromium too
Dow child mine, is that you?

Applications, admin blues
So many don’ts for one big do
Petition-petition boring game
How to run if you are lame
Dharna-dharna, starve and sue
Dow child mine, is that you?

Leader comes, toxin pet
Says I’m fine, not dead yet
He fought toxin long ago
Now he’s paid for, top to toe
Back bent whole, toothless too
Dow child mine, is that you?

© Annie Zaidi, December 2009
[Songs of sympathy, 1]

Bhopal, Bhopal

Because you are Bhopali too. In wanting justice. In wanting wrongs to be righted. In wanting that people don't just shrug and look away and click their tongues and decide to forget, while you stand there, demanding that accountability be established. That people be protected from those who refuse to take responsibility for their actions. For those who place a lower value on Bhopali lives than their own. Because if you were not Bhopali on December 3, 1984, you were just plain lucky. But in every other way, and for every real purpose, you remain the person who could have been Bhopali on December 3, 1984.

Saw and did.

It has become a bit of a ritual for me. At least once a year, I like going to film festivals and gorging on art until it leaves you feeling slightly sick and headachy and I don't want to hear 'cinema' again for the next three months. It Delhi, it was Osian/Cinefan, and sometimes, smaller documentary film festivals in the middle of the year. In Bombay, it was MAMI, which made us wait so long this time around that I was actually considering going off to Delhi instead, just to get my annual fix.

However, this time, MAMI left me disappointed. Perhaps, it was because of the huge number of films, and my own awkward instinct, which seemed to be guiding me into mediocre screenings. Though I cannot fathom why there should be so many mediocre films in just one festival. Perhaps, I just missed the good ones. After the first three days, I began to rely on other people's recommendations, but even so, the overall sense I have was one of being underwhelmed.

It did not help that one had to dig deep into one's purse each time one wanted a sip of something warm. Forty rupees for one thimble-sized cup of horrid, oversweet coffee from one of those push-button machines?! That's just plain chori and seenazori.

People have already complained (on blogs, in newspapers) about the technical stuff - power cuts, format issues, terrible sound control, and so on. So I won't go over that in too much detail. But I do want to replay this: during one of the screenings, things started to go horribly wrong. The screen split up and the right side went completely dark. Then the screen split up again, and the bottom half of the frame stood hovering on top of the top half, with a noisy black line in the middle.

Behind me, there was a bunch of people whispering. From their conversation, I guaged that these were government employees. One of the ladies said, "You know, if this had happened at one of our events (meaning: a government-organised festival), they would have been up in arms. There would be such an uproar about the imcompetance of the state..."

She was right. There would have been all sorts of noises about how you cannot expect anything better from the public sector, and how the state should just let the experts/professionals handle this stuff, and how the private work ethic is better than the public one.

Which got me thinking. Why do we react with so much bitterness and anger when something goes wrong at a state-organised event at say, Siri Fort, or the Nehru Centre? And why do we just mumble about technical glitches, and then shut up, when the same thing goes wrong at a privately-owned multiplex? I am not talking about the difference in facilities alone. I am talking about an attitude. People who work with the government also work very hard to make such festivals happen. They help to fund stuff, they run stuff, they get the experts in to do their stuff. But I never hear anyone lauding them for their commitment to art or cinema. Why is that? And when non-government agencies are brought in to take over or partner such events, why is the criticism so muted?

At any rate, the thing is, I am still feeling hungry. The festival didn't have the overdose strength this time. I don't feel engorged with cinema to bursting point.

That said, this time, the documentaries were quite good. It was such a pity that almost all the documentaries were relegated to morning slots, which meant a slim audience, and I couldn't make it to most of them because of a lengthy commute. But I did catch 'Meet Me at the Mango Tree' and 'Made in Pakistan'. Both are good, engaging documentaries that accomplish what good films should - gently zoom in on a few human beings and their lives, and then allow us to see. Not just look, but see.

'Here', a Japanese film, was my usual odd pick. The sort you see only at film festivals and wonder what it was all about. The sort you cannot dislike, cannot accuse of anything, but cannot entirely like either. Experimental to the point of not being able to wow you, and yet, the sort of film you are not likely to forget for years.

Amongst the feature films, I liked a few including 'In the Loop', 'Fish Tank', 'Happy Go Lucky', 'Eden is West', and a Konkani film that roughly translates to 'Man Across the Bridge', made by a young Goan filmmaker called Lakshmikant Shetgaonkar. If you get a chance, watch.

Shame, shame, shame, shame!

What can I say?
When the fourth estate, the sturdiest pillar of democracy cuts away not just at its own roots but also hacks at the constitutional heart of this country, then what is left to say? Apparently, the Lok Sabha elections were not much different, although clearly, media managements and marketing teams seem to be refining the system each time we go to the polls.

I really don't know what to make of 'freedom of the press' these days. People in traditional news media keep worrying and debating about whether the business is dying. Perhaps they should do something to hasten its demise instead.

Do we not do our utmost to ensure free and fair elections? Do we not express outrage at booth-capturing, or attempts at influencing votes through distribution of cash, liquor or even expensive food items? Do we not declare elections days 'dry days' for this reason? Do we not place deadlines on campaigns, and do we not prevent threats, intimidation and hate speech?

Why do we do all this, if not to ensure that democracy works as best as it can, in its own muddling, bumbling way? And how can we bring ourselves to stand by and watch this happen?

I vote for a constitutional intervention. Let there be more stringent laws. There have to be limits to selling 'space'. If newspapers and television channels have so little self-respect, so little understanding of what their jobs mean, so little love for freedom or faith in the power of word and image, then they deserve to be regulated.

In fact, there already is a law that says: "Whoever voluntarily interferes or attempts to interfere with the free exercise of any electoral right commits the offence of undue influence at an election. (171C(1) The punishment for the offence of undue influence is prescribed under Section 171 F of IPC, which says punishment of imprisonment up to one year or fine or both could be imposed." But perhaps, this is not punishment enough.

I, as a citizen of this country and a journalist, want those who are guilty to be sued. I want them to be fined for at least an amount equivalent of what they have collectively earned through the last Lok Sabha and Assembly elections, and I want the money put into a trust which ought to go into a national body of ombudsmen, or an independent body of media watchdogs, with a legal cell attached.

And yes, I want all those candidates who paid off the media to be disqualified, and to be barred from contesting again for the next ten years.

Now, somebody please go file a public interest petition. Let the courts decide. Let the lawmakers decide. But for our own sakes, let us put a stop to this.

An anthology on India now

This is out.
It was first published in Italian, and titled 'India'. Now it has been untranslated and published as 'India Shining, India Changing'.
I'm in it, with an essay on child protection realities and the relevant policy in India. Please head out to the nearest bookstore.

Including One Woman

Wrote this poem a couple of years ago, in response to a photo and a brief news item about the police opening fire upon a group of protesting farmers in July 2007. It was published in The Little Mag a few months ago.


Including One Woman


Last night there was a great storm
but the sky stood there - upright,
almost a hard white.

Last night, she'd gone
to the state capital; we'd had a fight.
But they said, she's waiting, come.
Now is not the time.

So I went and there she was.
White sheets, like we've never crept into.
Her, like I'd never seen her before.
Red saree, yellow flowers,
like I've never seen grow.
Hair wild.

On the bus, I borrowed a newspaper.
Five, it said, including one woman
(I hadn't let her take the child).

There was a photo but
you could hardly tell.
That wild hair.
Yellow flowers, red saree
and her smell. A new smell.

This new smell I did not know.
It came from her. I touched her and thought:
Why does she need to go
to these places? These new places
of noise and smell
and run run run.
Red. Red. Red.

Wild saree riding up her legs. Bare feet.
On the street she lay on concrete.
The sheet was so white.
They said, they'd help me
take her home. I said, thank you.

I lifted my hands and said, sir,
raam-raam. I said, I kept the child.
And they said, this is no place for children; you were right.
But, I said, but
we had a fight. We had a fight.
They said, you were right. I said, she wanted the child
by her side.

Beside her, I squatted and cried:
I should have been at your side.

She had looked up at the sky and said: Listen.
The sky is rumbling. There will be a great storm.
Keep the child warm.
And I had sworn not to see her face again
if she went to the city, again.
But she went. And here I am.

I'll take her back. I'll take her back. Let me
please take her back, I said.
They said, we will
help. It wasn't supposed to be
like this.

I said, sir, yes.
They said, be strong, stay calm.
I said, yes.

At the fire,
I told the child:
Last night there was terrible storm.
And the sky stayed right where it was.

(C) Annie Zaidi, October 2007