Dear Mr MP

Dear Mr MP,

I did not vote for you or for any of your adversaries in the last election. I do not shirk my civic duty. Far from that. I did ‘vote’ as I exercised my right not to vote, a right that the makers of our Constitution had given to all citizens in who simply need to fill form 49 O. Yet a right that was kept hidden by the likes of you, forcing the likes of me to abstain from voting and thus allowing our precious vote to be misused. There was a time when I voted regularly and blindly  believed in our democratic system. Alas that is not the case now.

My first disappointment in the system stemmed out of a visit to Parliament House circa 1983. Since, thanks to live TV, I have seen time and again the rowdiness and shenanigans that happen in the House. The time wasted that translates into 250 000 rupees a minute is shocking. The political games played are outrageous and the whole drama absurd.

We elect you to represent our aspirations and hopes. We elect you to be our voice. We elect you to enact laws that would benefit us. When laws are passed, it always seems to be in a raring hurry and the game of the ayes have it, the ayes have it seems just that: a game! But most of the time Parliament is stalled for entire sessions and bills are not passed.

Last week you had the chance to redeem yourself and show us you cared. But you did not. There was an uproar in Parliament over the horrific gang rape that has got the country outraged. Thank God you found the time to discuss the issue. There were many impassioned speeches that almost rang true. But you could have walked one more step. How proud we would have been of you had you decided to pass all the pending bills relating to women issues. But you did not. These bills are still gathering dust in some remote corner of the building. You could have set a precedent by showing us you cared about our feelings, our fears, our desires. Do not tell me you were not aware of the anger and despair of all of us who were on the streets. Technology allows you to keep track of everything, does it not.

Do not tell me that you have not passed bills in record time. You have done so in the past. I guess women are not important enough. Perhaps we are not real vote banks. Perhaps we are second class citizens in a patriarchal land. Perhaps our safety is not important enough. I would have thought it mattered as in spite of killing us in the womb or in the name of honour, we still form a large chunk of the electorate of this country! 

Do you hear the raging roar coming from every nook and corner of the land? Will it make you leave your comfort zones and take action. And by action, I do not mean a few outlandish measures that we know will not work. Will you give up your holidays and sit in session and make the laws we women are clamouring for. Is that not your primary role? To make laws to benefit the citizens. But who am I kidding. A quick perusal of the scores of laws that are ‘pending’ show that when it comes to laws that help the people you never find the time to enact them. 

Today the country is outraged. Do not think that it is only because of one case. The tragedy that befell the woman who is fighting for her life was the straw that broke our back and believe me when I say that we have strong backs. But how can we not be incensed when even as the country took on the streets a 3 year old baby was raped in her play school 

You talk of increasing police presence but do you know that  we have lost faith in your police has been caught saying aberrations such as women deserve to be raped because of their dress. I would like to ask you why action has not been taken against these so called protectors of law? And you want them to protect us. We have been told by those in power not to go out after a certain time and so on. We would like to remind you that we too are citizens of this country protected by the same constitution that protects you. We demand our right to freedom and we demand it loud. It is for you to ensure that this happens. That is why we elected you.

We do not want lip service or band aid therapy. You need to address the real issues. Where have you failed society as this is where it all begins. Rapists and eve teasers do not come from another planet. Have you failed in providing quality education and enabling environment to children in your city. You have not. It is time you thought about this. The men who harass women and the cops who abuse them stem out of this failure

Yes we need laws to punish culprits. We need fast track justice. We need a punishment that deters. I want to ask you why you do not raise your voices when killings of women are ordered by kangaroo and extra constitutional courts. You always fall short of acting because of vote bank politics. And by the way a study published today states that men accused of raping women are given tickets to contest elections and this across the board. Some are elected and thus become law makers. You expect us to believe that they will enact laws in our favour. I for one do not. We need electoral reforms. But who will bell the cat.

We are angry today. I am angry today. Enough is enough! It is time you heard our voice.

An Indian.


a dream on hold

The story of the young girl fighting for her life has touched many deep chords in me. And that for many reasons. First her spirit for survival. Even the doctors are amazed at her desire to survive. But that is not all. I heard an account of the visit made by the Lok Sabha speaker to the her family. In her mellifluous and somewhat haunting drone, Ms Kumar told the moving story of this young woman. She comes from a poor family. Her mother is illiterate. The father sold the only piece of land they possessed to fulfill their daughter’s  dream: to be a doctor. A rare occurrence in a country where parents bend themselves backwards for their sons; one that is so much more touching as they have two sons. Ms Kumar was impressed by the dignity displayed by this couple in the wake of such pain. There was no anger. Just  composed acceptance and the plea that this should not happen to any other girl.

I have witnessed this dignity time and again in humble families and have been moved. The wisdom displayed by those we often do not even look at, is more than humbling. I can only salute such individuals. I can also understand why this young girl is fighting all adversities with rare courage. You see she is fulfilling a dream that has been made possible by the sacrifice and unconditional love of her parents. It is too precious to give up.

This young woman is very akin to the young girls I have been caring for ever since the project began. Young girls who have dreams. Young girls who have the passion to fulfill their dreams. I remember Babli when she first came to us. She had a congenital heart problem that needed surgery. One could see her heart beating furiously as she spoke. The very first words she said to me was that she wanted to be a ‘police’. That was her dream. I did not have the heart to tell her that even if she got operated she would not be able to be a ‘police’. I simply told her to hold on to her dream. Babli was operated upon and today studies in a boarding school. She may not become a ‘police’ but I know she will succeed in fulfilling her dream. One will simply have to revisit it a little.

Today there is a young woman battling for life, battling for her dream! A woman who wants to honour the sacrifice of her parents. For the moment her dream is on hold. I pray to all the Gods in heaven to heal her and give her the chance to fulfill her dream as her spirit is intact. I hope God will hear this prayer.

She has to live.

But there is another aspect of this terrible tragedy that has kept me awake at night. I saw a grainy picture of 4 of the perpetrators and my heart missed a beat. These boys too are just like the boys I have seen in the past years. Second generation migrants living in slums and having their own set of aspirations no matter how skewed. Kids who grow up on the street as this city only opens school gates for them after 1pm. Boys who spend their mornings hanging around the corner and probably whistling at girls passing by. Kids who grow up listening to bad lyrics of Bollywood films that often denigrate women. Kids who have no mentor. Kids who cannot process the reality they live in and that is made of conflicting images: the tradition of the family and the uber modern urban reality they face. Kids who see their fathers drinking and are quick to emulate them. Kids who see their fathers beating their moms and believe that is the right thing to do. Kids who have costly wants that no one fulfills and so they come up with their own ways. How easy it is then to go wrong.

These are the kind of children that come to project why before they go to school. We have been mentoring and guiding them to the best of our ability but this week’s incident has made my blood run cold as it proves how much these children need and makes us that much more responsible.

Everyone is talking of what should be done to ensure that such horror is never repeated. Authorities are talking of banning tinted windows, increasing patrolling etc. But the real challenge is to change attitudes and teach our young lads to respect women. Moreover it is crucial to give them quality education that allows them to grow in an enabling environment and not cramp them into classrooms with brutal and insensitive teachers. That is what the State must do. It is appalling that India’s capital city does cannot provide proper schooling to its children. All children need love, understanding, compassion and guidance. That is the only way we can bring about the change we all seek.

Are we ready to really walk the talk

Are we ready to really walk the talk

(I begin this post by urging you to spare a thought for Aruna who was sexually assaulted and brutalised almost 4 decades ago. Since she lies in a vegetative state abandoned by one and all: her fiance, her family, her friends and even the justice system. She waits in a dark room for death to release her from her terrible ordeal. This is what happens to victims of rape and sexual assault.)

She went to a movie with a friend in a swanky South Delhi mall.. After the movie she boarded a bus with her friend. What happened next is nothing short of a nightmare. She was  gang raped by six or seven men including the bus staff and mercilessly beaten with an iron rod. Her friend who tried to protect her was also beaten. She was then stripped and thrown out of the bus. As I write these words she is fighting for her life in a hospital. As always the authorities – in this case our Chief Minister – have promised strict action, whatever that means. Five of the six suspects seem to have been arrested. I only wonder what punishment will be meted out to them.

This happened in a city which is ruled by a woman, in a country where one if not the most powerful political person is a woman. The incident occurred in a posh area of the capital city makes it that much more alarming. In any civilised city one should be able to go and see a movie with or without a male escort and return home safely using public transport. That is what this young girl believed! Then things went terribly wrong. Many questions come to mind all begging for answers. First and foremost how was this rogue bus allowed to carry passengers? How does a passenger know whether the bus she is getting on is a genuine one? How were so many drunk staff on the bus? Maybe the transport authorities should look at that? But these are not the real questions. What really needs to be asked is why is our society churning out so many men who feel they have the right to view women as commodities, use them and then throw her away like a used object? Why do such men brazenly feel that they can get away with it?

What is horrifying in this case is the brutality meted out to this young woman. The doctors have stated they have never seen a victim of sexual assault subjected to such brutality. What could provoke these men to behave in such an outrageous manner. I heard on a new channel that they wanted to teach a lesson to the girl. A lesson for what! For being out at night; for being with a man; for fighting back; for having broken the unsaid covenant that says that women ONLY are the keepers of a family’s honour. Many questions that need to be answered one by one if one has the will to do so.

Everyday women are abused, raped,  molested, assaulted sneered at, leered at and more of the same. Many, too many, remain silent. Some cases come to light because of their being out of the ordinary like the one of the young woman. Then the show begins: politicians find a new way to espouse their agendas; the media to increase their TRPS; civil society to vent its pent up anger. The question is how long with this anger last? The authorities are masters at the waiting game. This too shall pass as everything seems to.

I think it is time we gave a thought to a woman named Aruna that we all seem to have forgotten.  It was on the 27 November 1973, almost 40 years ago, that she was raped, sodomised and strangulated with a dog chain. She has been living in a vegetative state for 4 decades, abandoned by all: her fiance, her family, the justice system, collective conscience.  Aruna’s story movingly recounts what happens to a rape victim in reality.

We clamour for quick justice for the perpetrator; but who gives justice to the victim. Even if she is not physically mutilated, she is emotionally shattered. Our system is such that if she wants justice then she has to accept being raped over and over again: by the police, the defence lawyers and the whole caboodle that makes our weak and spineless justice system.

When I was a young woman I too lived in Delhi. That was 40 years ago. I worked at the radio station and my duty hours were at night. An official car use to come and fetch me at 9 pm and drop me back at 2 am. Sometimes the cars broke down in far off places as we had to fetch people from many locations. I often would be the last one in the car but when I look back at those times I remember an array of emotions: anger, frustration but never fear. Delhi then was safe. True there was some Eve teasing and misplaced comments but not the chilling fear we are experiencing today. In those timed a stern stare would make the person look away. In those days we went out alone or with friends. I remember how we sneaked out of college at night to have paranthas at a known outlet and came back safe. We saw evening movies and caught public transport back without feeling scared. If we felt a tad apprehensive the presence of a male – pal of relative – was enough to set things right. Even the parents approved.

The recent incident has put an end to that sense of security. The girl who is fighting for her life was with a man. And  she was so brutally and inhumanely aggressed because she dared fight back. It seems that the perpetrator resented to having been bitten by her and flew in a manic rage.

Come to think of it, even the Taliban views women as  safe with a male escort. But that is not the case in India today. Women are unsafe no matter what. When they get molested or abused, authorities are quick to find fault with them, it is always what they wear, where they go etc that is the cause of the reprehensible behavior of their male counterparts.

What make men take such liberties and feel they can get away? One of the obvious reasons could be the fact that most of the cases of harassment go unpunished. Perpetrators seem to get away with alacrity and impunity. But there is more. It seems that our society has become one where though we still loudly praise Goddesses in all shades and hues, we treat our women with abject contempt.

The men that committed this heinous crime were one of a multitude that inhabit a city that has seen an exponential population growth in the past decades subsequent to the wave of migrations that we have witnessed courtesy the ever growing need of a city aspiring to become a world class one. For that to happen it needs hands willing to get dirty and those come from across its limits. The perpetrators of this week’s crime were a bus driver, a cleaner, a fruit vendor, a gym trainer. Young men eager to spend a Sunday on the prowl in their pals bus. Now rape is a power game and power comes courtesy hooch so easily available across this city. (The government seems on an overdrive in opening watering holes in every nook and corner of the city!). The perpetrators in question have been well honed in the art of denigrating women as they belong to homes where women have scant authority. They come from homes where their mothers are beaten by their drunk fathers and little girls are killed before they are born. They come from a section of society where boys are treated like demi Gods and made to believe that they have license to do anything. They come from a place where one’s whistles at the passing girls or sings cheap film lyrics that denigrate women. They come from a place where if women dare step out of line they need to be chastised at once. So when a young woman dares challenge them all their misplaced manhood is violated and they act the only way they know. That is not all. The move to the city has brought into their lives realities they cannot process or handle. It is a recipe for disaster and one sees the outcome in every aberration you hear about each and every day: children and women raped and assaulted. The question is how to we address the crux of the problem. Education? Awareness? Gender sensitisation? But what can you do when even the basic chapter on sex education is not thought in state run schools. The teacher often asks the student to read the said chapter.

The city is in damage control mode. Old laws yet to be implemented are suddenly revived:  ban on tinted windows in vehicles, more patrolling etc. Will it change anything? I for one remain sceptic. There will be a lot of hue and cry for a day or a week and then every one will revert to old ways.

It is heartwarming to see the outrage across the Nation. But can we sustain it till we ensure that things change? I do not know. But that is not enough. What needs to change is our attitude to women. Can we hope that the young men protesting on the street will be as vocal when their parents demand dowry or their sister choses to marry a person of her choice? Or will the traditions and misplaced code of honour silence their newly found cause.

There is a long way to go. Are we ready to walk the talk.

What does it take

What does it take

What does it take to get people to open their hearts? I am at a loss to find the right answer. This is why.

It has been almost a month since a little crew of very special children decided to craft dreamcatchers. A little background first. It has been our endeavour at the special centre to try find something that children with special needs could craft and sell. This is because the ones I call children as some have been with us for more than a decade, are now young adults and like all young adults they too want to earn a living and become independent. We have explored many avenues but they all fell short in some way or the other . Some were too heavy to mail – our waste material mats -, others too fragile – our painted earthen pots –  and so on. And of course we needed something that was not seasonal. And one more thing, we wanted everyone to participate in its making in some way or the other. That is when I thought of an object I had stumbled upon quite by chance and warmed to immediately: dream catchers. I had always been attracted to the wisdom of Native American tribes and found solace and comfort in many of their sayings.

Dream catchers are meant to filter out bad dreams and let good dreams and thoughts enter our minds. The legends are many but the bottom line is that dream catchers filters out bad forces, and help us stay on the right path in life. Is that not what all of us want! I for one believe that dreams come true and thus the dream catcher is something right up my street. Moreover it was lights and unbreakable thus solving the problems we had with our earlier ventures.  The idea was opportune and God sent as it came when we have Emily with us, a young volunteer who knows how to make dream catchers. And above all is this not the right object for our very special bunch of dreamers who can all participate in some part of the making of dream catchers. Ok they may not look perfect but remember they are made by those we far too often tend to forget or ignore.

Our dream catcher crafts persons are a motley crew of people with a huge heart. Some cannot walk, others cannot hear or talk and yet others cannot understand the world in the same manner we do. Yet they put their heart and soul in the beautiful dream catchers they create and in with each turn of the thread or feather hung they add their little prayer just for you. They wait with bated breath for orders as with each dram catcher sold their future seems a little more secure.

Behind them is a marketing team: Emily, Shamika, Rani and yours truly. We set up a Facebook page and an on line payment option. We all thought that with the thousands of friends we had, orders would pour in, particularly as it was Xmas time. But that did not happen. True some die hard friend and supporters reached out and placed orders. But that was it. Irrespective of the number of reposts, the results remained the same: a deafening silence.

 I guess people have lost the ability to see with their hearts. Wonder if anyone could tell me why.

You were on my mind

You were on my mind

This morning I went to INA market. For the uninitiated, INA is probably Delhi’s treasure trove for food, and a cornucopia of pleasures for the senses in every way possible. The abundance of colour, fragrances and aromas make it a sensorial delight. You can amble for hours feasting your eyes on the beautifully arranged vegetables, the mounds of assorted spices, the stalls of fish and meat and so much more. For me INA has become a kind of pilgrimage since the day my father breathed his last, as it has he who made me discover this unbelievable place. So today, his 20th death anniversary I found myself amidst fish and vegetables, remembering the man I so loved. Ram was not just my father. He was so much more: my friend, mentor, guide, my confidante, my first and perhaps last true love and even my partner in crime. He taught me so many things, actually most of what I know today. Ram was larger than life. A master in the art of living on the one hand, and in diplomacy on the other. One of the youngest recipient of the coveted MBE, but also a Commander of the Wine tasters. With him I rubbed shoulders with the high and mighty and dined at the finest tables. Thanks to him I discovered the pleasure of reading and was primed in to every art form possible. It is Ram who also took me to every corner of the countries we lived in and imbibed me with many cultures.

But that was just one side of Ram, probably the lesser one. What he truly taught me was the art of looking with one’s heart. Our visits de the INA did not end with impersonal shopping sorties. Far from that. Most of the shopkeepers he frequented were known to him at a personal level. For many he had provided pro bono legal help. He knew about their families, their problems, their achievements. To them he was topi wala sahib, the men in a hat, as he always wore some kind of head gear. So every trip to INA was never a short one. True we came back laden with baskets of fish and poultry, fruits and vegetables and often a warm treat for Mom  who shunned food shopping. But we also came pack with precious human stories that made the experience unique. When he died, many of the INA shopkeepers closed their shop to attend his funeral. And when I gathered the courage to go back to INA after his death, I was overwhelmed by the number of persons who stopped me to say: Topi wale sahib bahut yaad aate hain – we miss the man in the hat so very much. And the bonds remained as once when I went to Papa’s preferred meat shop to get some meat for a party, I was shocked and rather annoyed when the owner ignored me whilst attending to another customer. The mystery was solved when the customer left and Abdul Bhai turned to me and said with a broad smile: the meat is not good enough for you! And though I came back empty handed, having just got a cup of warm syrupy tea, the moment was one to be cherished as it brought memories of Ram in abundance. So imagine my surprise when today, after 20 years I found the meat shop owner at his shop, a rare occurrence as he has aged and now leaves his sons to run the business. For me it was a boon: an occasion once again to reminisce about the topi wala over yet another cup of luke warm over sweetened tea!

This truly special moment made me realise what my true legacy from Ram was. It was not just Ram who taught me about life but also topi wala – for want of a better name! If Ram initiated me to the high end of life experiences it was topi wala who taught me about life itself. From the pleasures of caviar laced with non alcoholic bubbly to the delight of a rustic roti eaten with mustard oil and salt, he made me discover the true meaning of things. From the pleasures of the intellect via books and art to the soothing lull of a bhojpuri berceuse, from dining with royalty to sharing the table of the house staff, he ensured that I remain grounded in reality at every given moment.

He taught me to always keep an open mind; he taught me to learn from the smallest and the humblest, as that is were one found the truly inspirational stories and real values. When he left this world I was to say the least shattered. I mourned him for many years and simply gave up on everything. Life simply seemed to have lost all meaning. I was rudderless and lost. In hindsight I feel terribly ashamed of the time I lost. It is not what he would have wanted me to do. But I needed time to pick up the pieces and rebuild myself into something that would appear whole. I know if he were here he would have given me a kick in my butt and told me it was time to put all the lessons learnt to the test. But I am not as strong as he was, or he thought I was. I needed time to process the loss and reinvent myself. It took 8 long years: from November 1992  to June 2000 when I met Manu. I wonder today if Manu was not sent by an exasperated Topiwala ! The bottom line is that something happened that day. It was as if I had finally awoken from a long slumber. The rest is history and there for all to see.

Sometimes people wonder why I taken on every challenge that comes my way be it opening a new class or mending a broken heart. You see, for me it is honouring Ram’s memory in every way possible. He for one would not have wanted me to chicken out of any situation and I intend to agree. So the road ahead is long and filled with challenges. I will walk because I knowRam walks by my side!