Social causes | Just another wake-up call

Archive | Social causes RSS feed for this section

The Fortune Teller – A story

The Fortune Teller

I hold her hand firmly. Its’ calloused. I use my thumb to rub the palm as if I am creasing out the lines, so as to read them better. I am waiting for the epiphany to hit me. In the meanwhile I look a little closer. I discreetly push back the long sleeve of her kaftan a little. I see a red tell-tale mark on her wrist. Caused by a slash of a sharp object, maybe a knife at the vein! And then it comes to me. Everything, in a flash!

In the vision she looks fresh-faced and young. I see her as she sneaks out of her home. I even hear the howl of one of the street dogs that doze in the lane where she lives, as she closes the noisy Iron gate behind her. She stops at the end of the street and looks back at her home of 17 years, and hesitates, almost turning back. The man holding her hand whispers lovingly in her ears. He puts his finger under her chin and tilts her face up, so it’s lit by the glow of the street lamp. I see her eyes. They are filled with tears. But there is also hope and trust in them.

I see her eyes again. This time, they are in a dark, dingy room. The hope and trust are gone. They have been replaced by fear and pain, as he tears into her violently. I hear the abuses he flings at her. Feel the slaps he rains on her.

Another flash. I see her eyes once again. They look vacant now, devoid of any feelings. I hear their laughter and the smirks as he calls her a whore and throws her at them. I feel the hands as they maul her pouncing on her like a pack of dogs on a piece of flesh. I shudder!

Like the trailer of a movie the story of this girl’s life plays in front of my eyes. It still startles me, this “Gift”. The gift, that reveals to me, the lives of complete strangers. From The PA system a measured voice announces the arrival of the train to Somalpur. The chaos around us increases. The girl gets restless. She looks apprehensively at every face on the platform. I know she is worried he may be there. I let go of her hand. I already know everything I need to. She is waiting for my prediction. I look into her eyes and say “Daughter you are doing the right thing. Don’t give up. God will take care of you”

It’s the kind of gibberish fortune tellers and horoscope readers tell people all the time. But I hope it gives her courage. She nods at me, in a gesture of thanks. Thrusts a crumpled five rupee note in my hand and hurries off towards the train.

Two Days Later

I am sitting at my usual corner by the staircase, watching people as they come into the station. A man wearing a Blue striped shirt and jeans walks in. I recognize the face instantly. He is carrying a small red bag in his hand. He looks severe. His phone rings. “No you don’t do anything. I will deal with that bitch myself. I will show her what it means to run away from me”.

When the train to Somalpur is announced, a crowd gathers at platform no. 8. The mournful sound of the train horn is heard much before the train itself becomes visible. Men and women stand at the edge of the platform craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the train as it rolls into the station. As the engine makes its appearance all hell breaks loose. Coolies push at trolleys, men drag bags, women straddle babies. They all mill together in hectic activity.

Two days later (Picture courtesy justaboutanythingandeverything.blogspot.com )

Later no one is able to tell how exactly the man lost his balance and fell in front of the train. Many of them claim to hear his scream over the din of the train engine. Some think he purposefully threw himself under the train. A few wonder if he had been pushed. Most people just wish the mauled body of the man wearing the Blue striped shirt is removed from the tracks quickly so they can be on their way.

I sit in my usual corner, my eyes closed. I know the stretcher will arrive soon. The body will be carried away. The train will leave after the “unavoidable delay”. Tomorrow’s newspaper may carry a small news item about the accident. If it does I will cut a clipping and keep it. I open the dirty sack I use as a pillow at night and take out a stash of yellowed newspaper clippings. I like to pore over them sometimes.

Tags: death on railway platform, fortune tellers/ divine vision, Indian story, story about women, story writing/ writers, train accidents, violence against women

Comments 8 Comments
Categories life, short story/ fiction, Social causes

Woman – Just Look at the sky

7 Mar

woman

look at the sky

no matter what they say

that’s where you belong

let your spirit soar

your ambitions fly

your fertility is a gift

don’t allow it to become a chain

that binds your dreams

take pride in it

flaunt it, savor it

but don’t let anyone else

own it

you are capable

of chalking your own paths

of making your own decisions

leading your own life

your ability to love is a boon

Don’t let it become a bane

to love is to give

but also to take

put others first if you must

but be aware of the stakes

and know always

that there is a choice

a choice that’s yours alone to make

don’t let anyone tell you

there is no other way

woman

you are a river

you cut your own course

you are the wind

no one tells you where not to blow

you are the mountain

unrelenting, majestic and bold

Woman

be fearless

there is nowhere you can’t tread

and if ever

the task daunts you

if ever you feel restrained

just look at the sky

no matter what they say

that’s where you belong

you will surely find the way

Tomorrow is Eighth March. the day we in India, celebrate as women’s day. In the last 66 years of independence, Indian Women have taken great strides. Many of us have managed to step out of the confines of our homes and carved out a niche for ourselves in the social and political sphere. Many others have stayed within their homes and still managed to fuel revolution and bring about change. There has been immense positive change. But much more remains to be achieved. Ours is a society in transition. Days like this are reminders of the direction this change needs to take.

Happy Women’s day everyone!

Tags: eighth march, feminism, indian women, postaday2012, postaweek, social justice/ equality, woman's day, women/ woman

Comments 17 Comments
Categories life, Poetry, Social causes

Weekly Photo Challenge – “Lost in Details” – Finding My ‘Special’ Shine –

3 Mar

Today I had an incredible experience!

Past few weeks I’ve being going through life on auto mode. I wake, I work, I eat, I work some more and at the end of the day I sleep. I usually like to go through life full force, cramming as much as I can into every second. Friends, family, work, play, writing….. But lately, everything seemed to have lost its sheen. I still continued to go through the motions but the spark went missing.

And then Today I found it again! In the most unexpected way.

A social service club I am a part of had an event in a school for the mentally challenged. I agreed (not very enthusiastically! I may add) to go along. The school a small one with only 25 children was housed in a single room building. There was a neat well-kept garden outside. The head teacher received us warmly and introduced us to the children and their parents.

Whenever I meet the parents of a special child, I am at a loss for words. I know it’s fashionable to say stuff like “Oh they are such a blessing” or “They are so special” (Which they undoubtedly are!) But in today’s time when everyone is so besotted with perfection- perfect scores, perfect looks, perfect children… I can’t help thinking “Yes! They are special. But where is the space for them?”

Back in the times when we still lived in villages, and aspirations were simpler. At least there was more acceptance of these children. Their lives were not much different from those of the ‘normal’ children. Like all other children they too loitered in the fields, played make-believe games, stole mangoes and tamarind and watched the world go by. Agriculture was the main stay and as adults most of these children could be gainfully employed on the family fields. But in today’s hectic city lives, the gap between them and the ‘normal’ has increased. In today’s times of “Little Champs” and “Young maestros”, the divide between ‘normal’ and ‘special’ has become vast. The mechanized, office based livelihoods available in our cities today, don’t have much room for their ‘special-ness’. And every time I have spoken to the parent of a ‘special’ child I have heard the same fear. “What will happen to my child after I am gone?” Who will look after her/him? Who will take care of him? How will he survive?

In a country like India. Where 70 percent people still live below the poverty line. Where the state machinery has failed to deliver meaningful education and basic health facilities to even its ‘normal’ citizens. What hope of a secure future do these children have?

I remember well the first case I was assigned as a student social worker with a school for physically and mentally challenged children (That’s what they were called then!) in Bombay. I was asked to visit an ‘uncooperative’ mother. I was told “she doesn’t take the child to the therapist for appointments.” When I reached her home – a small cramped hut located in the middle of a filthy slum near Bandra. The lady was making chapatis on a kerosene stove, two young almost naked children stood next to her and a baby hung by her breast. Needless to say, I didn’t end up delivering my reprimand. She gratefully accepted my offer to take the child for her appointments. “It’s not that I don’t want to take her didi but it takes up the whole day and I have to go to work too.” she said.

A child with special needs requires additional resources. Besides financial resources, these children also require more supervision, time and patience. Unfortunately a great number of these children are born in families that don’t have enough to fulfill even the basic necessities. The already limited resources of these families are severely stretched by the presence of a ‘special’ child. These families need and should be provided adequate financial, psychological and emotional support.

The Indian government does support establishing and running of ‘special’ schools. But the number of these schools is grossly inadequate. Many of them are not properly equipped to provide the various therapies these children require. And there is also the fear that confining these children to ‘special’ schools may reduce their interaction with ‘normal’ children and cause social exclusion. The focus thus, even in ‘special’ schools is on ‘mainstreaming’. By mainstreaming they mean pulling these children out of ‘special’ schools and absorbing them in regular schools. I don’t deny the need to mainstream and yet each time I approached a school for mainstreaming these children. I felt like I was abandoning them. Very few schools have ramp access or toilets to accommodate wheel chairs. Children, even teachers were not sensitized towards these children. Often calling them names and staring rudely. It’s no wonder that the children themselves never looked forward to being mainstreamed. Mainstreaming was just another word for ‘adjusting’ . Adjusting, to a world that was designed to exclude them.

I have always felt that the solution may lie in the attitude. If for instance instead of focusing on ‘mainstreaming the children we begin to focus on ‘specialising the schools’. We start to equip our ‘normal’ schools with facilities needed for ‘special’ children, both infra structural and attitudinal. As the schools adapt we can declare them as ‘regular schools with specialized facilities’. A special child crosses over many internal barriers to reach a normal school. The least we can do is ensure that when they do reach there they are welcomed with open arms.

I remember a conversation I once had with a young physically challenged man. He couldn’t walk and had to use a wheelchair to get around. He belonged to a well to do family and his parents managed to get him educated in the best of institutions in India. But he said that the first time he felt truly ‘accepted’ was when he went to an American university to pursue his Post Graduation studies. The university had researched on his particular kind of disability and modified his assigned accommodation according to his needs without any instructions to do so, even before he reached. His eyes filled with tears when he said “For the first time in my life I felt able not disabled”.

Our entire educational system is designed for the average, The average child is who we are concerned about. But an average child is a mathematical myth. An average child doesn’t really exist. Each child is unique. In our quest to treat all children as same we beat out their uniqueness till they fit into our pigeon-hole of the ‘average child’.

But I am digressing. As I am prone to doing each time I reflect upon the state of our children and our educational system. The post was about regaining my lost fervor. And that’s what I wish to share with you.

So here we were, six well turned out ladies from a social welfare group. After, dropping our ‘normal’ children in city’s most expensive schools. We had come here to meet these children and their parents, most of them from poor economic backgrounds. Most of these children were mentally challenged, many suffering from border line retardation. Quite a few of them had an odd gait, held their head in an unusual tilt. A few of them could not walk without support. The principal informed us as we reached that the children had prepared a cultural program for us.

When we walked in, we were surrounded by bright eyes and happy smiles. The children were dressed gaily. There was a buzz in the air as CDs were collected and mikes were set up. Cheerful banter was being exchanged. Mothers fussed over their wards as proud dads clicked pictures. When the program began, we were struck by the pure joy that these children brought to their performances. There was none of the self-consciousness that one associates with stage programs among normal children. The steps didn’t matter, there was no obsession over coordination or ‘getting it right’. Unchained by the expectations to be ‘perfect’ these children danced with abandon. They danced for themselves. And in doing so they made the experience memorable for us.

No matter how hard their life is there is a beauty in it. That one can’t help admiring. Their lack of ambition and self-consciousness makes one wistful, almost envious. Their innocence and ability to derive joy in the smallest of things makes one look around at the world with renewed wonder. Their unabashed joy rubs off on everyone, even my world-weary soul. And I find myself smiling. The world no matter how selfish and brutal is still a wonderful place. I find myself thinking “The key lies in not getting lost in the details of living. Instead we need to just slow down and enjoy the ride”

At the end of the program, we hand out the prizes. The children beam, the parents look on proudly. The warm glow I feel in my heart brightens me from inside adding sheen to my every thought. As I leave there is a spring in my step and I get the feeling that I received the biggest prize of all!!

Other posts on this week’s challenge

Tags: children with physical handicaps, children with special needs, educating mentally challenged children, education system in India, learning from special children, special education in India

Comments 19 Comments
Categories parenting, Social causes

Blueprint for change – making a difference!

3 Feb

5:30 a:m

I wake up, just as the alarm goes off. Quickly choking its shrill voice lest it disturb Arjun, my husband. We both had a late night yesterday at Preeti’s place. I quickly freshening up, and head to the kitchen to whip up our ‘dabbas’. I work in a school and have to leave home by 7:30. At 6 :30 just as I have finished packing Arjun’s dabba the bell rings and I open it to let my maid in. Shanti has worked for me since the past five years. She is a hardworking young lady a mother of two girls. As I let her in today, is obvious that she has been crying. What happened I ask her. “ what else mem saab! He beat me again last night”

‘Why?” I asked

“Does there need to be a reason mem saab? Because he drank too much. Because I have two daughters. Because the younger one is not well and I wanted some money to show her to the doctor”

“But you earn yourself! Why do you need money from him?”

We talk as I rustle up a breakfast from Arjun. Some aloo parathas, they are his favorite. Arjun leaves for office at 10:00 and I like to leave him a breakfast. I am angry, at men like Shanti’s husband who are irresponsible and violent.

“He takes away everything I earn. The little that I manage to hold on to gets spent on buying food and vegetables”

Shanti says as she cleans up last night’s utensils. As I finish morning’s cooking I make tea for Arjun and me and carry it with a newspaper to the bedroom.

“Tea” I say smiling!

He murmurs incoherently and sleeps again.

“Get up” I say going into the bathroom for my bath.

When I come out after tying my saree, almost ready to leave for school, Arjun has still not woken up. I sit down on the bed and gently nudge him awake. I take my cup of tea and sit down next to him.

“When will you ever learn to make tea properly?” says Arjun

“What happened? Is something wrong? ” I say

“ No nothing Its awful like usual” he snaps

“I will just make it again. Maybe it got cold”. I return my cup of unfinished tea back to the tray and head out to the kitchen.

“Don’t bother! It will be terrible again” he retorts

My eyes fill up with tears. I want to say something to defend myself. Something about mutual respect and appreciation but I know where that will lead. There is no time to argue. Much simpler to remain quiet. I go to the kitchen remake the tea . Check his breakfast and lunch tiffin are in order and dash off to school.

“Shanti make sure sahib eats his breakfast and carries his lunch box to office”

7:55 a:m

Driving to school, I reflect on my life. I am an epitome of successful career woman. But in the ways that matter is my relationship with my husband any different from Shanti’s? True, there is no physical violence. But is that a result of well cultivated images or actual difference in the natures of our relationships?

I shrug off these negative thoughts. I am getting late and its necessary to focus on the driving. I have almost reached but it is taking forever to get to the school gate. there is a long line of cars carrying children in front of me. Many of these are vans, their windows rolled down and blaring music. Others are cars being driven by harried mothers or fathers or crisply dressed drivers. In either case the movement is slow, as drivers look for appropriate parking spots to park their vehicles and drop off the students. I honk, even though I know it’s no use. I am in-charge of the assembly today and I can’t afford to be late. even in my nervousness I can’t help reminiscing about the time I came to this school myself as a student. My brother and I rode our cycles to school. Other friends from our colony cycled too and it was easily the best time of our day.

5 p:m

“Why don’t children cycle to school anymore?” I ask my friend, a mother of two young wonderful children. As we set out for our evening walk. “What? Cycle to school?” “ Have you seen the state of the city’s traffic? ” “I wouldn’t feel safe sending my children to school on a cycle. When I was a child, my sister and I took the school bus. Some of my strongest friendships were formed in the school bus”

“But most schools don’t run them any more. All we have are vans plied by private drivers that the school administration has no control over. Many of them are young and rash and frankly quite unsafe” She says

I can’t disagree with that. As we finish our walk and hit the main road to head back home four young boys cross us on their motorbikes. They slow down as they come close to us. One of them whistles another passes a lewd comment, and the others laugh. When my friend and I shoot them an angry look. They rev up their motorbikes and take off. Billowing a cloud of smoke from their exhaust pipes right onto our faces.

My friend and I are disgusted.”What is it with these young boys?” ” Why can’t they pass a woman by any woman of any age without making cheap cat calls”

—————————–

Above I’ve given you a capsule of an average day of not only my life but of the life of thousands of other middle class educated women in India. There are many problems we face every day. Discrimination at work, corruption, red tape, etc. But I will limit my essay today to the five problems brought forth in the events recounted above.

Problem number one:

Though most women my class will tell you that problem number one is finding efficient maids. I think problem number one is creating a safety network for maids like Shanti. These women toil all their lives. Put in longer hours than any of us ‘working women’. Yet they are not entitled to any health insurance, life insurance or pension. They have no formal system of saving, no ‘social security net’ they can rely on, in time of distress. Though the government can and must do more to ensure that all working people whether employed in the formal or the informal sector have access to medical insurance and pension. As an employer I can make a change. I can find out more about the various governmental and private insurance schemes available and sign up to ensure that my maid gets health/ life insurance. Sure, it will cost me some extra money but the satisfaction I derive will be worth it.

Problem number two:

Almost all of us agree that the problem of violence against women is rampant in our country. Many of my friends have often recounted gory tales about their maids, washer women, malish walis, bartan walis, who are routinely beaten up by their husbands. What can they or I do to end this violence? There are no easy solutions to this problem. Steeped as it is, within the structure of our society that considers women inferior to men.

What you and I can do is speak up. The tendency to keep silent creates a vicious circle in which the abuser thinks it is okay to beat up his wife. Next time Shanti complains of being beaten. Instead of simply tut-tutting and expressing my sympathy. I will takeout the time to meet her husband. I will try to speak to him about the violence and tell him it is not acceptable for him to hit her. I can also meet Shanti’s in-laws or women from her neighborhood and ask them to stand up for her. I can offer her my home as a shelter if she needs it.

Problem number three:

It is not true that violence exists only in lower working class families. Violence both – mental and physical are very much present within our homes too. While we easily acknowledge and speak about the violence to others. There is a culture of silence, that keeps us, educated middle/ upper class women quiet about our own experiences with violence. It is always easier to buy peace by keeping quiet.

We have to begin to stand up for ourselves. Next time our spouses/ in-laws/ families are disrespectful or insensitive to us. We must respect ourselves enough to demand that we be treated better or have the courage to walk out. I am an educated independent career woman. I know I am capable of managing my finances and my life myself. I don’t need to stay with a man at the cost of my self-respect. The fear that binds me is the fear of society. I won’t let this nameless fear hold me back from living my life as I wish to. In the same tune, next time I come across an independent woman living on her own I will not make assumptions about her character.

Problem number four

Eve teasing! Why is it than not only men but even boys feel it is their birthright to make cat calls at every woman they see. Boys when alone do not usually misbehave but the minute they are with their friends they think it is manly to tease women/ girls.

Talking about grown ups around me. I am struck more and more by how biased and misinformed people are about people different from themselves. People are petrified of Muslims, apathetic about economically disadvantaged , and the men are complete insensitive to women’s issues. These are people who are very ‘well educated’, most of them with respectable professional degrees. One can’t help wondering how they managed to complete 18 to 22 years within the education system and still missed the basics.

The recent Delhi rape case brought forth a lot of discussion about changing the way men thought and behaved. I have come to believe that gender sensitivity is a matter of an attitude/ a perspective and the place to impart that perspective is at school. I think we lay too much stress on academic achievements and don’t touch upon inculcating a sensitive humane personality.I feel it is imperative that we speak about gender and social equity with children at school. Talking about gender should be about developing an understanding of society’s assigned gender roles and expectations. It should include talking with children about what they consider ‘manly’ or ‘womanly’ thing to do. We need to break these constraining role models handed over by society so that our future generation is not tied up with this false sense of macho-ism and femininity.

I propose to start from home. To talk to the children around me about gender and social equity. I also propose to approach the school next door to talk with students there about gender and concepts of equity. I envisage “Talking gender and social equity” as a short course – two to three weeks to be conducted with school children as a part of their curriculum. The course would have exercises that would encourage children to reflect on socially constructed roles and expectations. I am imagining a kind of capsule learning programme that can spark children’s sensitivity. The program would be adapted to different ages and can be repeated a couple of times during a child’s school life.

Problem number five

Traffic and road safety. Though this is unrelated to the problems discussed above. It is a very real problem that most of urban India faces today. We need to urgently address this issue or else it will become impossible to survive in our cities which are choking up with car fumes. The most important step will be to create good quality public transport systems. Though that is the work of the government and we can not undertake that on a personal level. We can still take some steps that will help in addressing this problem. We can raise our voices in our children’s schools or in the schools we teach that at least these schools provide good quality, efficient and safe transport facilities to the students. Next time we speak to a local MLA, or go to vote, we need to raise the issue of public transport. If we as voters demand better public transport most probably we will get it.

This post is a part of Weekend contest at BlogAdda.com in association with Chanakya’s new manifesto

Tags: blogadda contest; blog for change, gender roles and violence against women, india and indian writers, postaday2012, postaweek2012, social change, social problems, traffic in urban india

Comments 18 Comments
Categories life, short story/ fiction, Social causes

Ten reasons why it’s alright to rape you – A handy guide for rape victims in India

2 Jan

If you are an Indian woman who has been raped. Here is a handy guide to know what are the chances of you getting legal justice. These are the Ten acceptable reasons for committing sexual crimes against women in India.

Reason no. 1

If you wear “provoking” clothes

Read anything other than a saree or salwar kameez. If you are planning on being a rape victim in India pray to god you are wearing either a saree or a salwar kameez when it happens. You see, the intensity of the crime reduces if you were dressed in jeans/ trousers/ skirts. God forbid if you were wearing shorts! What were you thinking woman? You weren’t even raped! You were begging to be forced upon. The poor guy just did you a favor! Now stop whining!

Reason no. 2

If you were out at ‘night’

First let me define ‘night’. It could mean anything after sundown, depending on the kind of city you live in. The first thing an Indian woman does when she moves to a new city is finds out what is the “acceptable” time for her to be out. So while it may be ok for women to be out at ten in Mumbai, in Delhi a ‘good girl’ should be home by eight. Maybe even seven, depending on the locality she lives/ works in. God forbid if you happen to live in one of the smaller cities! The best thing to do is stay home after sundown. You see Indian streets become like jungles at night. Now if you walk into a jungle, you can’t blame the ‘tiger’ (read men) eating you up. Isn’t it enough they let you share their kingdom during the day. God you’re never satisfied!

Reason no. 3

If you are out to have fun

As an Indian woman you must always have a ‘respectable’ reason to be out of your home. Read (to study or work ). Going to watch a movie, to hang out at a cafe, to meet a friend – specially a male friend, are just not acceptable.You are a woman! Don’t you know? Women don’t need to have fun. They don’t need to take a break or meet friends. All that base stuff is for the men. God has created us for higher purposes. If we forget this, it is only right that men remind us. So if you happen to get raped when you were out for any other reason than the two above, just treat it as a friendly reminder of your amazing superhuman abilities and move on!

Reason no. 4

If you are a prostitute

If you accept money for sex not only are your users allowed to treat you like a ‘thing’ and do anything to get their money’s worth they are also allowed to not pay you. Further, even those who are not your ‘customers’ are allowed to have their way with you. Selling sex for money is not like selling a service or a product. Imagine walking up to an architect and demanding he design your house, beating him up if you don’t think the design was up to the mark, snatching the design from him and never paying him or forcing him to design your house at knife point cause that’s what he does do for a living anyway! isn’t it!!!!

Reason no. 5

If you have a boyfriend

Having a boyfriend allows you to be ‘raped’ in many ways. Firstly, the boyfriend himself can rape you whenever he wants because hell! he is your boyfriend right? (eye roll) In fact, even his friends can have their way with you. You ask why? Because if you are brazen enough to allow him to touch you then you are obviously okay with all his friends touching you too. you dimwit! If you have been raped by your boyfriend with his friends, you have no credibility. so what if he claimed he loved you, said that he couldn’t live without you, that he wished to marry you. You should have held on to your honour. The day you allowed him to touch you, you gave him the permission to exploit you. He will obviously take your pictures, make your videos and share you with his friends. Now don’t go saying, he cheated me, he lied to me, made use of me. Men can do anything to get ‘sex’ it’s your fault you fell for his lies. Come on! I am sure even a baby can understand this.

Reason no. 6

If you are married

We are not even sure if your husband can rape you. Ya, we know there is a provision in the law and all that. But honestly speaking. If a husband can not force himself upon his wife then where will he go? I mean isn’t that the reason most men get married in the first place. To get it when they please, however they please without having to pay for it or being nice to their partners. If you as a married woman “are not in the mood”, “don’t enjoy the way your partner does it”, “want to be loved and cared for and not just used” you are using fancy jargon to encroach upon men’s conjugal rights. Surely you need to be ‘cured’ rather than him.

Reason no. 7

If you are not married

This we are very clear about. If you are above the ‘marriageable age’ (Marriageable age being anywhere between 25 and 30) and not married. You are so starved for physical attention that you send out these strong signals asking for help. Like an SOS from a sinking ship. Now can you really blame the middle-aged boss at your office or your Didi’s husband at home for trying to ‘rescue’ you. Poor things!

Reason no. 8

If you or anyone in your family have broken a caste rule

We are a modern country but our villages still follow the caste system. So do our panchayats, leaders and political parties. Even our police understands these rules. The rules lay down stringently who is allowed to marry who, wear what, eat what, have how much land, do what kind of work, speak against who. If anyone in your family gathers the guts to break any of these thousand or more unwritten rules no one can save you from being stripped naked, paraded and gang raped. If you are the victim of this kind of rape heck the crime is not even about you, it’s a ‘caste’ crime and not to be interfered with by the system. Now just pray that the men of your caste are strong enough to take revenge for the crime done upon you by similarly raping one or more women from the other caste. The more the merrier! Or that the local leader from your caste is cunning enough to use your ‘plight’ to propel himself into front line politics. Who knows he may even ensure 5 percent reservation for your caste in all government jobs eventually!

Reason no. 9

If you are raped in one of the disturbed areas

Disturbed areas being those affected by naxalism or terrorism or both. It doesn’t matter then whether you are raped by the terrorists/ naxalites/ police or the army. In either of the cases you are just a number. Just curse your luck at being born in one of these areas and pray that next time god sends you to a mother in Delhi or Mumbai whose daughters at least have names!

The same reason applies to you if you were raped during a communal riot.

Reason no. 10

If you are born poor

Lastly, in India it is ok to rape you if you are born to poor parents. Now poverty is a relative term in India where almost seventy percent people are poor by most standards. Here by poor I mean starving poor. Poor in a bone crunching, hunger gnawing kind of way. Poor in a way that forces your parents to sell you as a little girl to the ‘local’ agent for a few rupees. Knowing fully well the hell they are sending you to. But doing it anyway cause somehow that hell is better than the hell they are living in. And because the few rupees will mean a few more months of existence for the rest of the family. This kind of poverty allows you to be raped by your local agents (to initiate you) the wholesale buyer (to test you) the buyer (to enjoy what he has bought) and then the second buyer, third buyer till you eventually fall into one of the thriving (but invisible to government) red light areas where reason number 4 begins to apply to you.

This is in no way a complete guide. if any of you know anymore reasons feel free to add them up!

The Delhi gang Rape incident is proving to be a watershed moment for the callous way in which incidents of sexual violence against women are dealt with in India.The last few days have left us all in india quite shaken. We have always been aware of the violence, crime and injustice that exists in our society, but have somehow managed to turn a blind eye to it. This profoundly sad incident has forced us all to take notice and react. As we welcome 2013 let us take a pledge. Lets pledge to never turn a blind eye again. Lets us pledge that Every time we see a girl being teased on the road, at school, college or office, we will stand up and protest. No matter who she is. That is the only way we will ensure the safety of our daughters, sisters, mothers and friends. Let us also pledge that we will remain angry with the government and continue to ask questions and demand that they listen to us. Let us pledge to not let fear overtake us . Let us make sure that we continue to occupy the streets late at nights, in even larger numbers. That we use public transport systems even more. That we continue to break the rules. That we do not let such incidents fulfill their larger purpose . Which is to push women back into homes and reduce them again to helpless dependence. Instead let’s make this an excuse for even greater strength. Let us all pledge to make the New Year safer, more peaceful and secure for each one of us…..

Tags: delhi rape case, feminism and patriarchy, handy guide for rape victims, india, legal justice for rape victims, sexual violence in india, Violence and Abuse, why rape is a caste/ calss and gender crime, women against violence

Comments 29 Comments
Categories news, Social causes

The last tree standing – A story

9 Dec

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

I am the last tree standing

Like a sentry I guard this world

I still remember the day I sprouted

Two tiny leaves shyly peeped out

Fresh from the womb of Mother Earth

I looked around

There were many like me

Tiny saplings

All frail and flailing

The tall trees welcomed us

Into this magical world

Shading us from the harsh summer sun

Protecting us from rough winds

As we became older

Standing taller on our stalks

We became more

Aware of the world around us

The birds that rested with us

The squirrels that fed off us

The cat that slept on our branches

The bees that buzzed around us

But my favorite were the human kids

When they came to us

Climbing, giggling, laughing

I felt the happiest

The elders

Fell in a hush each time they came

Humans they said

Were not our friends

We were standing at a crossroad

With the human race

Why don’t they like us?

When I asked

They laughed at me

One of them said

It’s not that they don’t like us

They just don’t value us enough

Land, money, roads, development

Take precedence in their minds

What can we give them?

That’s more important than these

I pondered upon this

Many an eves

To me the human mind

Was a mystery

And then I met her

“Her” being a human girl

Dusky and lithe in long pigtails

She was different from the rest

There was calmness in her being

She watched every step she tread

Careful to not mistakenly

Squash an ant or trample a reed

Under her bare human feet

The first time she made her way to me

She patted, as if saying hello to me

Then gracefully she climbed aboard

And seated herself upon my fork

There she sat for very long

Mostly quiet

But sometimes breaking into a soft song

When she fell asleep

I made sure

I didn’t sway in the heavy breeze

As evening fell she left

I wondered when I would see her next

The next morning before the sun got harsh

She was again in our park

Climbing nimbly she took her place

And spent with me another day

Next day she was with me again

And next and next again and again

She always came alone

Often bringing a book along

Using my bark as a pillow

She laid reading

Sometimes dozing off as

My leaves fanned her

To sleep

We developed a bond

The girl and me

She softly whispered her secrets to me

Her hopes and dreams

She shared with me

There was no one at home

To listen to her

I became her friend

But what was really strange

It seemed she could hear me too

My questions about the human race

Were answered with patience and amazing grace

“All this development and rat race

Will one day kill us” she wisely said

“Humans are not bad you see

Just confused about what life really means”

“And what does life mean” I curiously asked

“Life is a gift, a special treat, to absorb and understand all one sees

To do what one can for other beings,”

“For other beings?” I said

“Like you” she smiled delicately

“You give shelter, you give air

Firewood, fruits you always spare

You protect this earth

You my tree are life’s sentry”

Conversations like these we often had

Our days began to roll along

I don’t know for how long she would have come to me

This wise human child who befriended me

Maybe our game would have lasted forever maybe not

I will never find out

Because that day

While we sat talking – The girl and me

The bulldozers came in a throng

Their roaring noise disturbed our peace

Birds squawked and flew away

Before we knew what was going on

We heard the old Mango tree groan

He had been hit at the bark

The girl jumped off me with a start

She rushed to where the men stood

“Stop” she said

To the one in-charge

“Stop”! I beg you with all my heart “

But the men ignored the little child

The machines continued their noisy grind

Soon the elderly tree lay on the ground

Killing the saplings upon which he fell

The girl shouted, screamed and wailed

But nothing would halt the killing trail

When my turn to be mowed came

The girl flung her arms around me

“No” Not him, I won’t let him go

The men tried their best

To wrench her off

But there was godlike strength in her arms so frail

She stuck to me and sobbed away

As the trees around me fell

I wept too for my family and friends

I don’t know exactly when

Something hit the girl’s head

But even as she slumped and fell

Her arms didn’t leave my swell

Just before night-time came

A lot more humans made their way

To where the little girl lay

Men muttered and women wailed

“So brave” “so kind” they began to say

Photographs were clicked

And meetings were held

No one had the heart

To tear the girl and me apart

That is how it came to be

The girl was buried under me

And a lot of little saplings were sown

Around us

A boundary was made

A guard posted and a sign that read

“Vaishali national park”

Cause that was her name

The girl with pigtails

Who lost the battle and died

But in her death

She brought new life

The saplings are growing

Fast and tall

I guard them now

With my All

And when they ask me about the human race

I tell them her story

“Humans are brave” I say

The best kind of mates

They fight till death

To save a friend!

This entry was awarded the WOW badge! Thank you Blogadda

Tags: Blogadda, environment, Friendship, postaday2012, postaweek 2012, save a tree, story on environment, write over weekend WOW

Comments 21 Comments
Categories Poetry, Social causes

Celebrations that end…..

3 Nov

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 33; the thirty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is ‘Celebrations’

The young lady, lay prostate on the narrow table-type bed. Her nylon saree sticking to her sweaty skin in the heavy summer heat. A ceiling fan whirred noisily in the room. I watched her anxiously. She looked back at me, in a way that said “Don’t worry about me, I am OK!”

I couldn’t help worrying about her though. She could not be more than 19 or 20 years old. Her name was ‘Mahua‘. Short and petite like most of the tribal women I had seen around here. Mahua looked malnourished, and not at all like the full-figured, almost round pregnant women I had seen back home. She had walked 20 kms in the summer heat to reach this little hospital setup that Dr. Rani and Abhay Bang ran. Mahua had been experiencing intense labor pains since the last three hours. And though she had every reason to be scared and apprehensive, she maintained a stoic silence. There was a quiet dignity about her .

This was the first time I was going to attend an actual delivery. I had been watching Rani tai attending to the patients in her clinic since the last ten days. Today Rani tai had graciously allowed me to assist her in conducting Mahua’s delivery. Rani tai, spoke with Mahua in the local dialect, that I didn’t quite understand. But it was obvious that her words were warm and friendly, because Mahua was soon lying down comfortably on the delivery table. Rani tai then gave her assistant some instructions and showed me how to time the contractions. She then left to attend to her lengthy line of patients.

Each time a contraction came, Mahua’s body convulsed! her face contorted in pain. But she did not utter a single cry of pain. Soon the contractions became longer and started coming faster. From one convulsion to another, Mahua now seemed to be in a constant state of pain. Still, the assistant maintained that the baby was nowhere near crowning right now. I wondered if Mahua’s frail body could take this much torture? To give myself something to do. so as to avoid panicking. I wet a napkin and ran it over Mahua’s dry lips. Hoping it will give her some relief. She smiled at me graciously.

“Relax !” I wanted to tell her. “You don’t have to worry about the others around you right now. Just focus on yourself. Shout, vent, get angry if you wish to, scream, let us know you are in pain”.

I had heard my aunts speak of child-birth. It was the most painful process of a woman’s life! they said. On a scale of 1 to 10 they rated the pain of childbirth at 20! “It felt like your very insides were being squeezed and shifted about to make space for the child” said one. The other, a gentle woman who hardly ever uttered a loud word recounts, somewhat sheepishly, about the way she had constantly shouted and had almost hit the nurse when the pain during her prolonged delivery had became unbearable.

I almost wished the lady would hit me now. Anything would be better than helplessly watching her go through this silently. As the pains came sooner, Rani tai returned.

When I had asked Rani tai, if I could watch a delivery. She had been unsure. Laughingly she recounted to me the story of a city girl like me who had ended up fainting herself, as the baby crowned! Leaving Rani tai to tend to both – the patient and her! I had assured Rani tai, I was made of sterner stuff. Now with the delivery about to begin, both Rani tai and the girl looked at me with concern. Did I see them exchange a ” Is this girl upto watching this” look? My god! Mahua herself was barely my age, if she could give birth, I could at least watch! I straightened up , so I would look taller and tried my best to look calm and in control. Wetting more napkins, I applied them to the girl’s forehead and palms. Hoping the sensation would distract her from her pain and give her some relief from the heat.

As the baby started crowning. I tightened my grip on Mahua’s hands. She dug her nails into my palms. Where was her husband? or her mother? or mother in law? shouldn’t someone be here by her side right now? I wondered.

I asked her if she would like me to call anyone. No she nodded , not having the energy to speak. Rani tai indicated to me there was some trouble and she would need to cut a little bit. “Cut” The word itself scared me!Surely, now the girl will cry!

Rani tai explained to Mahua,l what needed to be done. Then proceeded to give a precise cut. The girl lying beneath me took in a sharp breath! her hands were clammy where she held me. Still Mahua didn’t scream. Not even a whimper.

The baby came, Rani tai held it to me. I was mesmerized! The feeling of holding a new life in my hands was too profound to be written in words. Time stood still for a second in the labour room. Next moment, we all burst into smiles. Mahua looked relieved and closed her eyes for a second. I lay the baby next to her. On seeing her baby lie next to her, Mahua smiled, a wide toothy smile!

Just then, there was a knock at the door. As I opened the door, a middle-aged woman stepped in . She strode purposefully towards Mahua. With one deft hand she uncovered the baby, took one look at the new-born baby girl. And walked out, without uttering a word. I looked questioningly at Mahua. She quickly turned her face away from me. But not before I saw a tear roll down her eye.

The girl who had not whimpered during the six-hour ordeal was broken by ‘silence’. The celebrations had ended, before they had begun!

This is a story from my own life. As a final year student of MSW (Masters in Social Work) I had chosen to work at SEARCH. SEARCH, in Gadhchiroli Maharshtra is an NGO run by Dr. Abhay Bang and his very dedicated wife Dr. Rani Bang. It works in an extremely poor naxalite prone tribal area. It attempts to provide high quality health care including reproductive and child care, besides many educational and empowering services to the poor tribal women and men living in the surrounding villages. Dr Rani Bang and Dr Abhay Bang are two of the most inspiring and humble human beings I have ever had the good fortune to meet.

Tai : A term used for an older woman/ aunt affectionately

Mahua: The name of a popular tree in this tribal belt. The flowers of this tree are used to brew a local liquor.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: SIS, Participation Count:4

Tags: foeticide in India, gender discrimination, missing girls, NGO working for health and education in tribal areas of India, post a day, postaweek 2012, state of girl child in India

Comments 30 Comments
Categories human interest stories, memoirs, short story/ fiction, Social causes

Family Secrets – An untold story

7 Oct

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 32; the thirty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following BLOG A TON. The theme for the month is ‘An Untold Story‘

There he lies on the floor. Cold and dead! The man who was responsible for everything concerning me, as a child. From buying my clothes to taking me to the dentist, ordering my birthday cakes to covering my school books! ‘Kaku’ – My uncle!

I look around to check who all have reached already. Quite a few! There is my aunt from Jamshedpur, with her impish looking husband and her son who’s about five years older than me. He never managed to finish college. My older Uncle is sitting in the room to the side. Talking in hushed tones with other’ important’ men of the family. Going over all the arrangements, I suppose. The bedroom door is closed, from inside comes a heart lurching wailing sound. That must be ‘Kaki’ . The pile of slippers outside the room, tell me her sisters are inside, taking care of her. The small verandah in the backside holds other relatives. The mamis, taijis, mausis, their husbands and grown up sons and daughter in laws sit on a large woven mat. Some genuinely upset, others exchanging family gossip, waiting for the proceedings to unfold. My older aunt from Calcutta is also there. The one who lost her husband when her children were still at college. Dressed in a printed chiffon sitting on the floor near the body, she steals glances at her well dressed son, Ravi Bhaiya. He has done well for himself. Its evident in the way the others gather around him, while he shows them photographs from his recent vacation in Bali. Hanging on to every word he utters!

It’s a special trait of my family. They listen to anyone with money. If you don’t have money, you don’t know anything worth listening to! Seems to be the general consensus. Perhaps that is why no one ever listened to ‘kaku‘. He never really had much money. He was the ‘Man Friday’ of the family. The one who did everyone’s bidding. He took my sour tempered grandmother ‘dadi‘ everywhere she needed to go. Maintained her accounts. Spending long hours bent double, over her books checking and rechecking them. Trying to rest the never-ending doubts in her ever suspicious mind. Whether it was an aunt’s father in law’s funeral or another aunt’s mother in law’s impending surgery or any of the other numerous occasions that come up in large Indian families. ‘Kaku‘ was the one, to make long trips in rickety buses, to far off towns to mark the family’s presence.

And there were many such occasions, considering the family consisted of four sisters and four brothers. ‘Kaku’ was the youngest among all. But because the older brothers were too important to be laden with mundane family responsibilities. All the useless, time-consuming, tedious tasks that no one wanted to do, fell to him. And he did them uncomplainingly. I wonder if he did them because he had no choice, or he was too simple-minded to realize that he was being exploited.

I always felt bad for him. pitied him even. This uncle of mine! Youngest among his siblings. Not well-educated like others. Always doing ‘non important’ jobs to scrape a living. His wife, my ‘kaki‘ from a humble background married into a large landed family. Always going out of her way to ‘adjust’ and ‘impress’. cooking endless meals and maintaining a jovial face amidst the endless taunts poured upon her by a demanding mother in law and inconsiderate sisters in-laws. They both raised the protective instinct in me.

Soon after ‘dadi’ died, I got married and left home. After dadi’s death the relationship between ‘Kaku‘ and me shifted somewhat.

“Beta! I need some money, the shop is not doing too well”. He called me up one day! The next time I met him I pressed upon him a considerable sum. “Here ‘kaku‘, use it! “

“‘Beta‘, there is a golden opportunity in the market. A very well located shop that if I can put the deposit for, will give me a handsome return” “The Fixed deposits that dadi left you, can I borrow them, I will return them later” . The fixed deposits were a very large handsome amount. Gifts that my grand-mom left my sister and me, worried about our future. ‘Dadi‘ near the time of her death had become more and more worried about us . her two grand daughters with no parents. “Ok kaku! You can have them. I said with a heavy heart. “I promise I will return them as soon as the shop starts doing well!”, he said

Unexpectedly the shop did do well. Within a year and a half it flourished into a four level showroom.

“I have bought a new car” Kaku called to inform me. On my next trip I found shiny new ACs and LCDs in all the rooms, of the house.

Soon after another call – “I have bought a big car! Scorpion”

Followed by another call soon after

“I have bought a piece of land in a new project on the highway “

It seemed like ‘Kaku‘ had finally found his place in the world.

And then the call early morning. “Kaki sobbed, telling me Kaku has had an attack again”

I did not need to ask what attack. All of us are too familiar with Kaku’s attacks – The doctor classifies them as neurotic breakdown. Whenever life throws something at kaku that he finds himself incapable to deal with he takes refuge in the attack!

” A client ditched me, I have lost all the money. What will I do now! How will I make my children study? “ – That when I went to see him , after his nervous breakdown. I felt like asking him, why he didn’t save when he had the money? Why did he not return what he owed us instead of buying fancy cars and ACs. But I don’t . Instead I say “You don’t worry. You get well. I am here. I will make sure your children study well”

And then the ‘Kaku’ in the court room – The one who sent legal notices claiming accounts of the very money he had used.

Later the same afternoon, he came to see me. “It’s not against you . I know the money is with me , but I have to do this to make the others pay up.” Referring to his long-standing dispute with his siblings.

“But why drag us into it” I want to ask. Why? after all that I have done for you, Why slander our names?”

But all I hear myself say is ” Its ok Kaku I understand!”

why do I always give in to him?

Why believe his stories?

Why do I feel like I am responsible to shield him from his own stupid actions and faulty judgements?

Why do I always need to protect him?

Always keep his secrets! pay for his mistakes?

maybe because he taught me that early in life.

When I was four or five.

And I slept in his bed and heard his stories…

Secret Stories that were never to be told to anyone…

No matter how much they creeped me out. No matter how defiled they made me feel! No matter how they left me a wreck – emotional and mental!

Those that only he and I knew.

And now that he is gone. The secret stories that are mine alone.

Mine – to struggle with! to have nightmares about. Mine to be ashamed of! Mine to hide from the world! Mine! To take with me to my grave. The Untold Story – that must never be told!

Hindi terms used in the story

Kaka/ Kaku – uncle, father’s brother

Kaki – Uncle’s wife

Dadi – Paternal grand mother

Beta – Child

Mamis – Mother’s brother’s wife

Masi – Mother’s sister

Taiji – Fathers older brothers wife

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following BLOG A TON. Introduced By: Someone is special, Participation Count: 4

Tags: child abuse, dirty secrets, family secrets, indian family stories, postaweek 2012, stories for a competition, stories from childhood, violence against children

Comments 50 Comments
Categories short story/ fiction, Social causes

Stopping Child Sexual Abuse – A small attempt!

27 Sep

I think most of you will agree that Child Sexual Abuse (CSA) is one of the most heinous crime commit-able . What a lot of people did not agree on until lately (at least in India) was the rate and nature of its prevalence. When I conducted my research on Child Sexual Abuse almost 16 years back most people I spoke to believed CSA occurred only rarely in “culturally strong countries like India” and definitely not in “nice middle class homes ‘”. This when almost 30 percent of them admitted in their interviews to have some or the other ‘abusive ‘experience.

Thus you can well imagine my surprise when, last month I was asked by a group of ladies, who run a ‘Kids Club’ in our city to give a talk for the kids and moms about CSA. Being a crusader against CSA I was thoroughly delighted to see this shift in attitude. A few years back most women would go “CSA what ? you should speak about that with people living in slums. Not us!” Now not only do they wish to increase their own awareness about CSA but they also wish to inform their children about it.

While newspapers and media have played their part. Credit also goes to shows like ‘Satyamev jayate’. Though I have some minor issues with the content of the show I whole heartily acknowledge that the show brought CSA into focus. It brought home the point that child sexual abuse is not merely limited to incidents that make news paper headlines but something that may be happening all around us and maybe even in our own homes and colonies.

This is a remarkable positive shift! All of us who are concerned about the well-being of children should use this opportunity to the fullest. We must become well-informed about the subject ourselves and speak about it to others around us. Our friends, club members, colleagues, evening walk acquaintances, our children’s friends parents, their school teachers. We must equip parents, grand parents, teachers and guardians of children to raise children in a way that minimizes the risk of such abuse. With this purpose I am attaching with this post my presentation to the mothers on Child Sexual Abuse. I am not sure how good it is but it served as a good starting point for the two-hour discussion we had last month with some moms.

A few clarifications:

Taking a cue from people who have worked on studying CSA and its prevention, I decided to use the terms ‘safe/ unsafe touch’ rather than CSA to make the talk less threatening and more palatable.
I decided to start the talk by sharing my experiences as a child. I said what I believe , that all of us tend to have this rosy picture about childhood, that it is full of laughter, game and fun alone. No doubt that is the way it should be, and for some of us it may have been that way. But childhood is also a time of great confusion. Of half knowledge and vague misconceptions. Of misplaced trust and unknown fears and many potential threats. I believe that we will be doing our children a great favor by equipping them well to deal with these threats. That we do so without shattering the innocence is the challenge.
Statistically speaking one in five children in India have gone through an abusive experience. Chances are some of them are sitting in your group. Be prepared for the ‘sharing’ . Be alert to ‘cues’ and body language. Be sympathetic and non judgmental. Be responsive and responsible. If possible be prepared with the number of a help line or counselor.

Here is the presentation I used!

I hope some of you will make an effort to speak to people around you about CSA. Do check out the ‘bathing suit rule’ on slide no. 18. I absolutely loved the simplicity of it! In slide no. 22 I have given the number of a help line in Ajmer. You could , if you wish add a number relevant to your city. Best of Luck !

Please let me know if you have any experience in talking about CSA to parents/ general public/ or kids. I would love to learn more!

I would also love to hear your views about CSA – its prevalence and how it can be stopped

The talk with children is due this weekend. I will post that too.

For the purpose of this presentation I have drawn matter from a lot of websites on safe/ unsafe touch. Here are the links to some of the sites I had used while writing this presentation. There are many more I had drawn from but because at the time of putting this presentation together I had not intended to publish it, I had not kept a close tab on the sources. I regret this and hope I will be forgiven since my intentions are good!

http://childpsychiatrypune.com/blogs/bhooshan/safeguarding-children-sex-abuse

http://life.familyeducation.com/safety/toddler/53831.html#ixzz20lKvJXwO

Child Sexual Abuse: Six Stages of Grooming

http://overcomingsexualabuse.com/2011/07/17/straight-talk-to-parents-about-protecting-children-from-sexual-abuse/

Confessions of a Child Molester’s Wife

Tags: child sexual abuse, power point presentation on child sexual abuse, presentation for mothers/ parents on child abuse, preventing Child Sexual Abuse, protecting childhood, protecting children from abuse, support groups for parents and children, talking about safe/ unsafe touch, talking about sexual abuse of children

Comments 26 Comments
Categories memoirs, Social causes

The man in an orange turban

9 Sep

The other day as I drove out of my house. I came upon a man sleeping in the middle of the road. His ‘jootis’ (A type of open-backed shoe made from camel leather favored by Rajasthani villagers) placed like pillow under his head.

I don’t live in a residential colony, but on a very busy market road. To our right is the city’s favorite petrol pump where everything from two wheelers to auto rickshaws, cars, trucks and buses come to refuel. To the left a large school with more than 1500 students, with their pick-drop vehicles. Also lining the street are banks, insurance companies, big brand showrooms and the hallmark of any road in small town India – cattle and street dogs. Add to this the absence of a sidewalk/ footpath of any kind, zero designated parking space and you get the picture of complete chaos.

I like to scan the road thoroughly before pressing on the pedal. I love pups and too many of them get crushed by speeding cars around here. As I backed out of my driveway, to drop M to music school, I checked the road for sleeping dogs and the likes only to be surprised by this person sleeping on my way (quite literally!).

Horns honked, cows mooed, dogs barked, tyres screeched, hawkers yelled, school children cheered the end of school hours. Amidst all this noise the man slept oblivious to the world around him . Why? I wondered?

As I watched, a motorbike sped past him deftly swerving to avoid crushing his shoeless feet at the last-minute. I panicked! Something obviously needed to be done. Someone had to rescue the ‘poor’ guy. He must be in some kind of grave problem. May be penniless! May not have eaten! I was determined to ‘help’ him!

I drove back into the driveway. Told M, the music lesson was off. And went back on my ‘rescue’ mission. My gardener and guard joined me. We maneuvered through the traffic to reach the ‘sleeping’ man.

Up close, he didn’t seem like a drunkard or a homeless, dressed as he was in almost spotless dhoti – kurta (An attire favored by traditional Rajasthani men)and bright orange turban. And yet he must definitely be in some major distress to be sleeping where he was. I could imagine no other plausible explanation for such an act.

‘Baba’ ‘baba‘, (A respectful term for the elderly) we called hoping to wake him up. But he didn’t budge. I now began to have doubts, whether he was simply sleeping or under the influence of alcohol. Though people watched us from the shops, no one came up to us. I wondered if they knew something I didn’t. Would we get into some kind of trouble?

The gardener shook him awake. “Baba, come with us to the side. Don’t sleep on the road.” The man opened his eyes. He didn’t smell of alcohol. His face was clean and almost fresh (considering he had been sleeping on the road). Looking up at our anxious faces, ‘baba‘ Joined his hands in a ‘namaste‘ , turned on his side and went back to sleeping.

We noticed a bandage on his left foot. Realizing he may be having trouble walking, the gardener brought his bike. We woke ‘baba‘ again, and asked him to sit on the bike and come with us. We said, he could rest in our garden and have a cup of tea. He refused. Thinking he may not trust us, we said we could drop him where he wishes to go. But he refused that too. Thinking he may not understand Hindi, we repeated our request in the local dialect. But ‘baba‘ simply folded his hands in an elegant ‘namaste‘ and refused again. Almost desperate, we asked him if we could at least help move him to the side of the road. But our help was politely declined once again.

Seeing, that there was nothing more we could do we made our way back home. As we reached the gate. ‘ Baba‘ stood up. His left foot was hurt and he limped as he walked bare feet on the dirty tarmac. A young man offered his shoulder as support. But ‘baba‘ declined. Just as he had declined us. Slowly he started walking away. Though the progress was slow, and obviously painful, there was a quiet dignity about the man.

As I watched him walk away. I wondered:

What kind of situation may he be in? What is his life like?

Why was he so determined to not take any help? Is it that life had taught him to distrust ‘help’ offered by strangers? Is it that his self-respect did not allow him to accept assistance?

And the biggest question. Who are we to judge whether a person needs help or not? Whether his situation needs to be changed? Whether the change we offered was indeed better for him? Are we city/ educated people too presumptuous?

For instance Who are we to decide how a village woman should live her life? How she should cook? eat? serve? How she should behave with her family? How many children should she have? Or how the poor should pray, eat, live, sleep, or even defecate? Or how a tribal must love, marry, or cohabit?

The truth is, that all of us are evolving and adapting to our environment everyday. Our city lives, filled as they are with packaged foods, and stressful schedules are in no way healthier than the lives of the poor villagers we constantly advocate to change. Our open lifestyles and nuclear family lives not significantly happier than their conservative homes.

Does that mean, they don’t deserve to be helped? Not at all! Poverty and lack of education is a curse. Anybody who wishes to make a positive change to his/her life is entitled to our help. The key word here being ‘entitled’!

When the ‘help’ is provided with complete respect for the person one seeks to help. Backed by an understanding or at least an honest attempt at understanding the person’s life choices. Without ‘judgement’ and assumptions. Then the ‘help’ becomes enabling and nurturing.

But ever so often, The help comes like an aid – from a ‘giver’ (supposedly smart, intelligent, right) to the ‘getter’ (supposedly dumb, stupid and wrong). It is not enabling as it doesn’t believe that the person at the receiving end has the ability to judge and make correct choices.

Such a help, at best makes no great impact on the life of the “getter’ and at worst becomes like a crutch that makes the ‘getter’ dependent forever.

A case in point The reservation system in India. A good thought, no doubt at the time of its origin. People from the disadvantaged communities definitely did deserve assistance in order to break the unfair barriers imposed upon them by rigid caste and class structures.

And yet, what use was this “noble” assistance without concrete steps towards changing the disabling structure itself? What use of providing jobs without providing quality education to improve academic and professional standards? What use of a system that instead of decreasing differences and hatred for these wronged communities has instead fanned sentiments against them and increased polarity?

charity sometimes cripples
image courtesy ajewelinthemaking.com

Its time we began to question the “help” we get. Its time we ask for “help” that strengthens our abilities and personalities rather than make us dependent and incapable. Its time we asked for aid that aims to create broader, more long-term impact rather than meet small, short time needs!

Its time we acted more like the man with the orange turban – with dignity and self-respect and a belief in our own abilities, even when down and out.

I would love to know your thoughts on Aid and Charity!

Tags: are government schemes effective, bringing social change, do charity and aid really help people, helping to end poverty, india and indian villages, reservations based on caste

Comments 5 Comments
Categories life, Social causes

← Older Entries

about me

As my name suggests I am a "dreamer" , an idealist at heart and dangerously sentimental. I am also a mom of two, a part time business woman, a book - lover, a stand in decorator for my restaurants ,a movie buff, a social worker by training and a "change-maker". I love traveling, reading and having conversations! not necessarily in that order. This blog is about the conversations! So if you have a moment to spare. Pull out that bean bag, help yourself to a cuppa of your choice and lets chat!

Search

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

about me

Follow Blog

Older Posts at JAWC

What would you like to read today?

You may also like

JAWC on Google +

My friends at WP

The sunshine award By Somesh Mahanty

post a week

The Inspiring Blogger award by Tapish gupta and Dan

blogadda

The Kreativity award By Zinal

notable neewbie

Follow “Just another wake-up call”