by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 26, 2006 | Uncategorized
My mother died of cancer. Many do. The difference was that she stubbornly refused all form of treatment. She bore her excruciating pain with rare courage. Life had to be lived till the very last breath was her leitmotiv, and she did, remarkably alive as she quietly died.
She could have had the best treatment and at least the most sophisticated pain killers, but somehow she refused them all. For many years after her death I battled with ifs and buts and ceaseless torment. My demons were only set to rest when I met a leading oncologist who shared his view about terminal diseases with me.
Dr de Souza had been with Bombay’s leading cancer institute for many years and has held a unique discourse to many patients and their families who come remote parts of India. Strangely enough he has ofter sent them back, counselling them not to spent their meagre resources or sell their last possessions for a treatment that will never cure the disease. One must remember that the poor only come to such specialised institutes when the disease is too far gone. His advise is to take care of the living and their future rather than fight a lost battle. Instead of hospitals he set up hospices so that the terminally ill could be cared for, and the family find some support.
All this came back from some recess of my brain as I made sense of our poor little Nanhe’s mom was trying to convey. She had just been told that both Nanhe’s kidneys had packed up and that his only chance of survival was a kidney transplant. I wish he had just taken the Dr de Souza way and sent her home with the right advise, no matter how harsh and cruel it sounded as what awaited her was even worse.
The doctors who gave her this unreachable ray of hope knew Nanhe’s condition and what awaited him. They were aware of the fact that even if he got a kidney he would never walk, never comprehend the world and never be able to survive. One is not even thinking of the innumerable obstacles that exist on the way to an organ donation. To rid themselves of the constant nagging of a loving mother, they just told her to buy a kidney at the cost of Rs 100000. Maybe they thought she would be scared away by the astronomical figure, but they forgot they were dealing with a mother.
But we know we are.
But how does one tell a mother that there is nothing much that can be done for little Nanhe. How do we tell her that her son is slowly getting ready to move on to another and hopefully better world. How do we explain to her that what the doctors have said were empty words, and that for this one time ever a mother’s prayer will not be heard.
We have had many a difficult moments, bu this is one that defies them all as where does one find the words to say that Nanhe’s smile is today in real danger?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 26, 2006 | Uncategorized
Have you ever wondered how much a handful of spinach costs? A few coins on a market place, a little more in a fancy store… and a few leaves picked up in a field would not be missed by its owner.
Not quite. In a remote village in the state of Bihar a little 10 year old girl lost three fingers as she dared to pick a few spinach leaves from a field. Before you express indignation let me simply add that the little Khushboo is a dalit and the owner belongs to a higher caste! And if that was not enough the girl and her father are too scared to open their mouths.
At times like these I am left speechless as nothing one can say can even begin to explain this horrific equation: a few leaves of spinach = three little fingers! I hang my head in shame as I try and look for the beginning of an answer that would explain this..
One has heard ad nauseum about the reservation issue that is threatening to destroy our social fabric. One is led to believe that the creamy layer of the so called lower castes will hog up all our place in the sun. But nothing can make up for the three tiny fingers cut off in a fit of rage for a few leaves that may have just wilted and rotten had they not been plucked.
Why did little Khushboo commit that offence? Was it to ensure that her family would not go hungry, was it because she could not bear to see her mom beaten by a defeated and helpless father, was it because it had been so long since she had tasted the freshness of a green vegetable. This is something no one will know as the little girl will keep her secret locked away inside her.
When someone decided to divide human beings into what is known as castes, I am sure that the reason was not to give one caste the licence to snip off fingers. So we before we battle about the right of one caste to accede to higher learning, maybe we would address the question of Khushboo’s finger and take on the responsibility of their loss. Khushboo’s fingers, Priyanka’s life are just two examples of the countless tragedies that some of our own suffer because they were born in the wrong caste.
It is not reservation or affirmative action that will right his wrong. Neither is it the few fleeting expression of indignation that cross our minds as we see or hear such stories. We need to go deep within ourselves and to see what made us lose our human compassion down the line, what hubristic demon took possession of us and made us lose all sense of reality. What gave us the right to treat another fellow being in such a barbaric manner.
Khushoo’s fingers will heal and her father may have to pay a few more rupees to find a man for this child. The perpetrator may or may not be caught. At best he will spend a few days in jail as all he took away were three little fingers. And all of us will move on with our lives till the next tale of horror jolts us back into momentary compassion.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 25, 2006 | Uncategorized
o
The world celebrated Xmas. In a tiny lane of an urban slum in Delhi a bunch of very special kids did too. Just like children all over the world they wanted a Xmas tree and nothing could stop them.
Nothing to write home about, some would say, but what if I told you that each and every child in this little group is different: some have remarkable minds locked away in useless bodies while others try to make sense of the world with limited means. Some are condemned to a world of silence while others live in immobility. Oops I forgot to tell you that all of them have never known the thrill of opening a present and have only survived on hand me downs!
But somehow the Xmas spirit is such that it breaks down all barriers so we were not surprised when we saw them storming to the terrace in search of a potted plant, any one would do. In the most remarkable example of cooperative effort and armed with bits of papers, cloth and heavens knows what else, they set out to create the most beautiful tree I have ever seen. True it broke all conventions, but while doing so it set its very own and these seemed closer to the Xmas spirit.
This tree was imbued with the purest form of joy, it was one that needed no borrowed trimming or expensive decoration, even a discarded old white sock looked pretty as it dangled in the blowing wind and as they proudly posed for the customary picture, the air was redolent with the abundance of giving that emanated from this humble tree.
I do not know whether anyone of them knew about Xmas and its significance, but somehow they had intuitively grasped its ever essence.
Isn’t that what xmas is all about!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 21, 2006 | Uncategorized
I happened to be standing at the gate when the cotton carder went by. Hearing the high pitched sound of his carding bow was a Proustian experience as it brought back a flood of long-forgotten memories.
There was a time when you could plan your day with almost clockwork precision just by listening to he sounds of the passing hawkers. There use to be many in our street: the vegetable and fruit vendors, the cobbler, the kabariwalahs the best recycling man ever. There was the man repairing jewels, the one who sharpened your knives and even one to clean your ears. Not to forget the toy vendor, the ice cream seller and so many more, each with their own calls that brought the street alive. Some were perennial, others seasonal, but to many like us they became familiar faces that were part and parcel of our lives.
Today there but a few, particularly in up market areas where forbidding gates with placards barring entry to hawkers have sounded their death knell. And with it the end of many small jobs that fed families and many trades that will soon be forgotten, trades that often use to be passed on from father to son.
I recently spent time with a shopkeeper friend whose shop came under the sealing hammer and who will move on the a mall miles away. His shop sold a medley of items; a great place to buy that gift one often remembered at the last moment. Over the years one had established a relationship with him and his family, seen the son get married and witness the birth of the grand child. Many recipes, and pieces of advise were shared, not forgetting the cups of tea! As I left the shop, my precious packet tucked under m arm, I realised that it would people of my generation who would feel the loss the most. The shopkeeper will find a new life in his squeaky clean mall, and will soon have a new clientele; for him it is a matter of survival. But we, the middle-aged middle-class middle everything individual will find ourselves disorientated.
I do not see myself trudging to an impersonal mall miles away for that gift. An appropriate amount of money in an envelope would have to do.
A was filled with sadness as I saw that one more chapter of our lives was ending. We had no option but to adapt as best we could and we would ultimately. But as I looked at the face of the brave cotton carder, now aged and tired, hoping that someone would stop him, I imagined the numerous evenings when he would have returned empty handed and his family would have slept hungry. At his age he had no other option and had had to fight the advent of polyfill quilts alone and bravely.
In our rush to embrace modern ways, do we realise the price that needs to be paid.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 18, 2006 | Uncategorized
The Jessica Lal verdict is out. It took a long time coming. Wonder why as she was shot in a place filed with Delhi’s own page 3.
For seven years we were almost mute witnesses to a mockery of justice where the entire system connived to save the killer who was a is said in today’s parlance well connected. Muscle and money power went to town and after six years or so those who had brutally ended a young life were set free for want of evidence!
Jessica was not a known person but she suddenly became the girl next door and somehow a city felt threatened. That is when civil society woke up from a long slumber to show its might. And it dis. Notwithstanding political connections or arm twisting of any kind, the existing machinery set out to redress a wrong and it did. Even the last ditch effort of a high profile lawyer who took the now jaded route of turning the victim into an accused failed miserably. The killer was found guilty. Jessica can now rest in peace.
This case has restored one’s faith in the judicial system but it has done more than that. It has shown that civil society is a force to reckon with. True that J’s case was a high profile one, that she had a spirited sister who refused to give up and give in. But this whole fight will come to naught if we as a society do not realise that our role goes beyond high profile cases. We today have the proof that we have the power to change things, to redress torts and thus to make a difference but with it comes to responsibility of reaching out to those who are invisible, and remain voiceless.
There are many unknown Jessicas who have been abused or killed. There are numerous families who hope for justice but do not know how to get it. There are many killers at large who are protected by the system. They need civil society to take on their cases and see that justice is done.
Let the Jessica Lal verdict be a verdict of hope, a verdict that makes us believe that things can change, one that rids us of our inertia and drives us to act. Then maybe the little Ghaziabad girls too will get justice they so deserve!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 18, 2006 | Uncategorized
What makes news in our land? I wonder. or let me rephrase the question: what makes lasting news.. The reason I ask this is because for the past week I have been trying in vain to get an update on the plight of the Ghaziabad girls and their abuser!
Just two tiny weeks back every form of media was full of news about their rescue, their ordeal, their plight.. today I met with deafening silence.
A support group was set up by Kaveeta, and messages of support came from the world over. The same people want to know what has happened since, as by now the remand of the abuser is over. But the little voiceless girls are not news anymore and emails remain unanswered, Google searches throw up old news and as an ordinary citizen i do not know where to go.
In the recent past much has been said about the power of civil society to fight for causes, but then i am beginning to think that it has to be a cause célèbre, otherwise you just die trying. Now only if something out of the ordinary transpires will be hear about it.
But the one thing all those who wish the girls well want is to ensure that nothing out of sync ever touches their life again. They have suffered enough and need to be allowed to live the life of children their age.
Too many questions remain unanswered, but now that the drama is over, who will raise them. The battle is far from over. For many month I use to spend sleepless moments thinking of their plight within the walls of their prison and praying for their rescue. And what made it bearable was that I knew something was happening and that even if there were delays, hope lay somewhere at the end of a long road. Release came but the anticipated peace of mind did not ensue.
As days went by and news became scarce , a sense of foreboding filled me for many reasons. One did not know where the girls were and as winter set in one wondered whether they were warm, safe and secure. When they lived in the orphanage one had access and could see them and know what was happening. But today one is once again frightened for them as one knows that they are in the care of an administration that seemed to work for their abuser.
Once again there is a battle that has to be fought, though this one will be harder because the adversary is complex and powerful, but one has take it on and show that the power of civil society is a force to contend with even if the cause is not a cause célèbre.
