Stand up against Polarisation

There are many issues that plague the country, but the one thing that threatens to tear the country apart is growing poliarisation. The most obvious symptom is the spurt in hate crimes, but what is most worrying is not the incidents of extreme violence, but the everyday normalisation of the otherisation. Even seemingly mature people from whom one would expect otherwise, do not think twice about referring to people different from them as “they”.

“What can you expect from them?”

“They are like that only.”

“They will always act in their own self-interest.”

Implicit in all the statements is the fundamental point which is implied though not articulated — “they cannot be trusted.”

This casual use of the word “they” is what is most frightening. “They” implicitly implies that the person or group is not “us”. That what divides us as a nation is more important that what keeps us together.

This is why the Bharat Jodo Yatra is so important. It acknowledges that hypernationlaism is tearing us apart, and tries to reverse that. It is an attempt to remind people that what keeps is together as a nation is far more important than what tears us apart. Through the Bharat Jodo Yatra, we are being reminded that we are not just members of the tiny communities we define ourselves by, we are a part of a larger whole. It is a reminder that while we may have our differences, we should not allow that to translate into hate; that what matters is that we are one nation, one people.

A century back, Jawaharlal Nehru travelled to the remotest hamlets in the country, and tried to connect with the people there. He described those encounters most eloquently in his book “The Discovery of India” -

I would ask them unexpectedly what they meant by that cry, who was this Bharat Mata, Mother India, whose victory they wanted?…

… [I would tell them that]… the mountains and the rivers of India, and the forests and the broad fields which gave us food, were all dear to us, but what counted ultimately were the people of India, people like them and me, who were spread out all over this vast land. Bharat Mata, Mother India, was essentially these millions of people, and victory to her meant victory to these people. You are parts of this Bharat Mata, I told them, you are in a manner yourself Bharat Mata, and as this idea slowly soaked into their brains, their eyes would light up as if they had made a great discovery.

It really doesn’t matter whether the Bharat Jodo Yatra translates into votes for the Congress or not. It doesn’t matter whether the party comes to power in the next General Elections or not. All that matters is that an attempt was made at de-escalating social and economic divides. All that matters is that an attempt was made to bring people together. All that matters is that people stood up against the growing polarisation and hate.

In Majrooh Sultanpuri’s words-

Main akela hi chala tha janib e manzil magar
Log saath aate gae aur karwan banta gaya.

 

How can Men stand up against Harassment?

[First published in Women’s Web]

Trigger Warning: This speaks of sexual molestation in public and may be triggering to survivors.

There is a viral video where a man is attempting to touch Dr. Sasikala Pushpa Ramaswamy, a former Member of Parliament, the Vice President of the state unit of her political party and a Mayor of Tutucorin, inappropriately at a public event. She first tries to push his hands away, but when he continues to invade her personal space, she withdraws into herself, grits her teeth and continues doing what is expected of her. Though she tries to ignore the incident, her facial expression gives her away- the situation is acutely uncomfortable for her, but she is refraining from creating a scene because she knows it is pointless to do so.

This is a situation which most women are familiar with. The hand that seemingly innocently rests close to your private parts. The solicitousness, which is actually just an excuse to touch you. The hand that is seemingly waved to catch someone else’s attention, but which comes within an inch of your nose. Which of us is not familiar with it?

Yes, it is true that in crowded spaces, people do get tousled a bit, but over time women have come to recognise which touch is inappropriate and which is not- from her expression it was perfectly clear what she thought of this.

Yet, apart from the body language and the expression, the lady remained silent.

She is woman in a position of considerable power. She knew that the cameras were capturing the entire incident. She, presumably, had nothing to fear. Yet, she remained silent.

Why?

We all know why she said and did nothing. Women have been conditioned to not create a scene- good girls grit their teeth and don’t draw attention towards themselves. Women have been taught to ignore straying hands- as if by ignoring, it will go away. Women have been made to feel vaguely guilty about being groped- as if that happened because we did something wrong. The brainwashing has been so successful that even a woman in a position of considerable power doesn’t have the vocabulary to express her disapproval.

She remained silent, because generations of women have been taught to remain silent. And that silence was used against her.

This is the first lesson that men should learn. Silence does not necessarily mean assent. Men need to be sensitive to non-verbal cues, and should correct the perpetrator when they see women who appear uncomfortable with certain behaviours.

In this case, unfortunately, Dr. Ramaswamy’s silence was used against her. People defending the perpetrator were quick to point out that she did not say anything. If the touching was unwelcome, they argued, she would have said something. That she seemingly didn’t react seemed to prove that the man did nothing wrong. That it was only the crowd that pushed him towards her.

Women saying that they recognised the set of her jaw, the turning of the body to put the man behind her, the withdrawing into herself meant nothing to those defending him. If she didn’t like his touch, she would have said something. Since she didn’t, she was okay with it

Listen to the women. This is the second lesson men should learn. Harassment is not about intent as much as it is about perception. If women say that they are uncomfortable in certain situations, men should accept it, and avoid such situations in future. More importantly, when women as a collective are calling out certain behaviours, instead of defending the intent, men should ensure that they do not perpetrate such behaviour in future. There may be a few women who are genuinely not disturbed by a particular action, but that doesn’t negate the feelings of other women. Each woman has a different boundary, and men should respect them.

She should not have taken it quietly. She should have slapped him, some men with good intentions declared. Coulda- Shoulda-Woulda are all great in principle, but in reality, it will take an extremely brave woman to slap a man who is molesting her in public. Those of us who have publicly taken on perpetrators like this one know the scenario that will play out. He will pretend to be shocked at the accusation and will vehemently state his innocence. None of the spectators will take the side of the woman, and their silence will tacitly empower the man who will be sufficiently emboldened to accuse her of attempting to tarnish his reputation. If the woman had actually slapped the man, the situation could even have turned hostile and by her act, she might have put herself in danger.

Do not expect the woman to fight back, take your cues from her, and proactively defend her. All well meaning men should internalise this lesson. By telling the woman how they expect her to act, men, in fact, subtly shift some of the blame to them. Which, under the circumstances, is entirely avoidable.

As this incident has shown, women are not safe in crowded places. They know that the probability of being called out is very low, and even if they are called out, they can use the crowd as an excuse for invading the personal space of women and/ or feeling them up. Women know there is not much they can do to prevent it, so protect themselves in the only way they know- by crossing their hands over their breasts, by wearing backpacks in front, and by using safety pins or other pointy devices to warn men about getting too close. Women shouldn’t have to do any of that to remain unmolested, and that can happen only if men are more sensitive to the issues that women face, and proactively take their cues from her and call out unacceptable behaviour.

Creating a safer world for women is possible, but only if well intentional men start standing up for women on terms dictated by women.

The forgotten women of a forgotten struggle

[This is a review of Manreet Sodhi Someshwar’s “Hyderabad (The Partition Trilogy- 2) and also a tribute to the women who risked everything to fight against caste, gender and economic oppression. Published in Women’s Web]

When one thinks of Partition, one thinks of Punjab and perhaps of Bengal. The bloodshed on both sides of the border. People unrooted from the only home they ever knew. trains pulling into station with coachloads of slaughtered people. Refugee camps crammed with bewilderment, nostalgia and a determination to start afresh.

The stories of Partition that we take about are stories enabled by Radcliff. But far away from the stories that dominate 1947, is the story of how Hyderabad came to be a part of India. A story that most Indians are not aware of- even many who live in areas that were a part of the Hyderabad State do not realise that they will officially celebrate 75 years of being a part of the Indian Union only in September 2023.

In her fictionalised historical novel, Hyderabad (The Partition Trilogy #2), Manreet Sodhi Someshwar examines the many people and forces that were in play in the months before the annexation of Hyderabad into the Indian Union. Unlike in other princely states, there were many more forces that were in play in Hyderabad, and Manreet does full justice to the many historical personages who were involved. However, where she really impresses is with her portrayal of the common people- people who were being pulled apart by forces beyond their control, but who never surrendered their agency in dealing with them.

Where are the women of the Telangana armed struggle in history records?

Women have been largely written out of the Freedom Movement, and even when we remember them, we do not think beyond a few prominent women Freedom Fighters who achieved some degree of fame.

Most of the women who have been immortalised are women who were women from privileged families; women with education who played a public role in post Independence India. There were no such women in the Telangana Armed Struggle, which was an anti-feudal and anti-caste movement against the oppressive regime of the Nizam and later of Independent India.

It was Dalit and Bahujan women who joined the Telangana Armed Struggle, and their fight was against caste oppression and for the right to own and cultivate their own land.

We know the name of Chakali Ailamma, who took up arms to fight against the structured oppression of the feudal system, and in the process also rebelled against gendered domestic expectations.

The women in Manreet Sodhi Someshwar’s book, privileged or not

There were, however, many women such as her who took up arms to fight against the system. It is the stories of these women that Manreet tells through her fictional characters.

Jaabili accompanied her mistress to her marital home, where she was expected to serve as a concubine to her master. This was not acceptable to her, so displaying immense moral and physical courage, she escaped to join the Telangana Armed Struggle which she continued to serve despite the heavy personal price she had to pay.

She was unwilling to serve her master, but had sufficient agency to take on a lover of her own. She never gave up till the end, and was willing to resort to violence to achieve her ends.

Uzma was sold into the service of the royal family. She was forced to abort an illegitimate child. Yet, instead of accepting her face, she displayed initiative and rose through the ranks to eventually become the confidant of a Princess. While she could have then lived in luxury, she chose to act as in informant for people seeking socio-economic justice for the labouring classes.

Far from being the submissive gender, she showed she was even willing to kill to further her cause.

Both Jaabili and Uzma are composite characters who represent the nameless, faceless, now forgotten women of the Telangana Armed Struggle. By breathing life into them Manreet literally entreats us to learn more about these (often unlettered) heroines who stood up valiantly for the rights of labourers, for caste justice and for gender equality.

There is one other character who glistens like the Kohinoor throughout the book. Princess Nilofeur was the exquisitely beautiful niece of the Last Caliph who, along with her cousin (the daughter of the Caliph), travelled from Nice to Hyderabad to start life as the younger daughter-in-law of the Seventh Nizam.

Nilofeur has always lived in the shadow of her equally beautiful and accomplished cousin who was married to the older son, but in this book, it is Nilofeur who dazzles. Her grace, her concern for others, her empathy and even her sense of humour. Nilofeur who sits in the royal car while her lady-in-waiting gets her Osmania biscuits and Irani chai from a café frequented by Communist sympathisers. Nilofeur, fresh as a rose, in the dank and dusty King Koti where the Nizam’s family resides. It is worth reading the book just for her interactions with her best friend Emily, and her lady-in-waiting.

The book ends with the Nizam’s forces surrendering to the Indian Army, but we know that for Jaabili and Uzma, and countless others like them, the struggle would continue for a few more years. You can draw boundaries on maps, and redraw them with blood on the ground, but the fight for freedom from oppression can only end when there is justice, equality, liberty and fraternity for all.

At a time when history is being erased one WhatsApp forward at a time, it is necessary that we read up on our history. Manreet Sodhi Someshwar’s ‘Hyderabad (The Partition Trilogy #2)’ is certainly a book that you will learn a lot from.

Author’s note: I received an ARC of the book, but the views are entirely my own. The book is categorised as historical fiction.

Book Review: My father Baliah

Baliah was a young child when, after burying his dead mother, his father left the village where they had toiled for generations and sought a job as a labourer. Had they remained in the village, their fate would have been no different from that of countless other Dalit families. However, his father got a job in the Railways, and Baliah found a mulla who was willing to teach him to read and write. Knowing his letters didn’t enable him to get a job better than that of his father, but it ignited a spark in him, and he made up his mind to educate all his children.

Simply told, the story is an inspiring one of a family that put all its trust in education. Of a boy who didn’t stop reading even though his community told him that it was a sin for a Dalit to read. The boy who when he was a father himself repeatedly said that he will skip meals if he had to, but that he will educate his children to the highest level they could learn. It is the story of Baliah who was the first in his family to learn the letters, and who despite being a manual labourer in the Railways ensured that four of his children did their post graduation and ended up teaching in colleges. It is a story that reminds of you why reservations are necessary, and how affirmative action can in the course of a few generations move traditionally oppressed families out of poverty.

The family certainly struggled. There were too many mouths to feed and never enough food. Jowar roti and toddy seems to have been their staple diet, and even babies were given toddy when there was not enough milk. However, at no stage did anyone appear to complain against it. And nobody opposed Baliah when he insisted that the children would go to school and study, even if they had to compromise on some other essential. What held the family together was the strong sense of duty towards the joint family. Each member contributed to ensure that the rest had what they couldn’t themselves have.

The book, however, is more than just the story of one family. It is also a window into the caste system. You hear of the small and big ways in which Dalits were discriminated against- not just by upper caste people but also by Shudra families whom they often had as neighbours in their Railway quarters. What strikes you is how the family accepted the inequities and didn’t attempt to fight it.

The book offers a glimpse into the life of the Dalits – their marriage rites, their customs and traditions, their food- and how it undergoes a change when they move to the city. The city offers a degree of anonymity- the women of Baliah’s family start dressing like upper caste women, and often look indistinguishable from them. By the time the author goes to college, he is able to blend in to such a degree that nobody even knew his caste till the scholarship announcements were put up on the notice board.

Also interesting was the gradual Sanskritisation of the family. Of how they gradually abandoned their traditional deities and started worshipping Brahminical gods like Saraswati, and keeping tulsi plants at home. The author was clearly not in favour of that, and it is no surprise that he eventually embraced Buddhism.

Where I was left unsatisfied was in the portraits of the women. Baliah’s wife Narasamma was no less strong than him. Whenever expenses went up, she went to the field and toiled as a labourer to supplement the income. Despite being the pampered daughter of a comparatively rich man, she accepted her husband’s infidelity, and didn’t complain when he got a second wife home. When the second wife deserted them, she even adopted her child and brought him up as her own. When Balaih got a transfer to Secunderabad, she didn’t want to go- not because she worried about leaving her familiar life behind, but because she realised she could not work in the fields in the city to earn some extra money. Spending more time on the stories of the women would have added an additional layer to the story.

As a book, it could have done with better editing. While the story was fascinating and you learnt so much, the same lines keep appearing, almost like a leitmotif, though clearly not intended to be one. At times the narration was drive- whether the lack of emotion was because the author didn’t feel much, or because he felt too much and couldn’t articulate it is hard to tell.

The essence of the book can be summed up by the story which is narrated right at the end. The author is at a conference with other college principles when on of them makes a passioned speech against reservations where he argues that education is lost on Dalits because they lack the ability to learn. The author then narrated how in just one generation his family was transformed from one where nobody had stepped into a school to one where four were teaching in colleges. What was left unsaid in that exchange was that even after all that, the only way they could find acceptance was by blending in.

A book I will certainly recommend. There is also a fabulous podcast that led me to this book- here.

Never Forget The Peak Of COVID

[Also published in Women's Web]

We think we have put those days behind us, but we have only pushed it to the far recesses of our mind. A friend stumbled upon an old WhatsApp conversation about getting an oxygen cylinder filled during the second wave of Covid, and posted a screenshot saying #NeverForget. But how can we ever forget; just seeing her post opened up a tsunami of memories. Those days were back.

Those days when the last thing you heard before dropping asleep through sheer exhaustion was the sound of ambulance sirens. And the first thing you heard when you woke up a few hours later was the sound of ambulance sirens. Every ambulance reminded you that there was a pandemic raging; every ambulance was also one patient who had been able to access scarce medical facilities.

Those days when you were simultaneously on three different devices trying to do six different things. Those days when you kept hopping from one crisis to the other. Those days when hours blended into each other- there were no boundaries- you were continuously on high alert. Those days when there was no work time and non-work time; all time was emergency time. Those days when you were simultaneously striving to create partnerships which would make the Covid response more strategic, and were keeping track of which supplier of oxygen was trustworthy and which was not. Those days when you ate lunch at 5 pm (if you remembered) and the only thing that kept you going was coffee, bad poetry and the inability to stop.

Those days when after spending hours trying to get a bed for a patient, I dropped off to sleep with just one desperate plea, "please, let the first message I see tomorrow morning not be one asking for oxygen, an ICU bed or Remdesivir". I got my wish- the first message was asking a friend asking if I knew someone who could arrange the funeral of a person who didn’t have anyone in the city to cremate his body. That was the day I broke down!

Those days when so much time and effort was going in procuring plasma donors for critically ill patients. All you reading of medical literature told you that there was absolutely no evidence that plasma therapy worked. Why then were doctors still prescribing it - didn't they keep abreast with medical news, or were they just too scared to take the risk of not prescribing it knowing they would be blamed if the patient didn’t recover?

The real tragedy of the second wave, however, was in our lack of response. The second wave hit my state about 3 weeks after it ravaged the rest of the country. In the early days, when the numbers had gradually started rising, the organization I was with had been promised 100 oxygen concentrators. For about a week, I was constantly bombarded with calls from fairly important persons asking that the hospitals they were managing be given a greater number of concentrators than allocated. The oxygen concentrators were held up in customs, and by the time they arrived, none of the government hospitals wanted them. The hospitals had managed to augment the capacity of their oxygen plants, and they had sufficient oxygen to meet their needs. The question that torments me to this day is simply this- if in a few weeks we could create sufficient capacity of oxygen, why then had we not done so when we had almost a year to prepare? Why did we have to wait for the second wave to hit us before we took it seriously?

Those days when you hesitated to ask your colleagues to use the special pass to deliver supplies to hospitals during lockdown. What if they contracted the dreaded virus? Could you live with knowing you were responsible for sending them out?

Those days when you heard of people close to you passing away due to lack of resources, but you took in the information with a detached distance. As if they happened to a stranger. The shock would settle only much later. And when it did, you would struggle to recover.

Those were the days when the deaths of strangers would hit harder than those of people you knew. The person who recovered from Covid, but contracted black fungus which claimed her. The person for whom you could procure Remdesivir from another state, but who died despite getting it.

Those were the worst of times.

But they also brought out the best in people. 

People who, at great risk to themselves, continued to serve. People who took a break from the jobs that paid them to devote all their energy in trying to connect patients to services. People who’s exams were cancelled, but who didn’t even notice it because they were so busy trying to fill the gap.

Those were days where you lost so much, but you regained the belief that human beings were good at their core.

Those were days we cannot forget. Those are days we must not forget.

#NeverForget

Women and Air Pollution

 [The United Nations has declared September 7 as the International Day of Clean Air for Blue Skies, to shine the spotlight on air pollution and its effect on human health.]

Clean air is a fundamental human right. However, according to the World Health Organization (WHO), 99.9% of India’s population lives in areas where air pollution exceeds WHO air qualify guidelines. Fourteen of the world’s 20 most polluted cities are in India, and a large proportion of people breathe air that are 5 times more polluted than the accepted norms.

What are the common sources of air pollution?

The most common sources of air pollution are factories, refineries, coal plants, stubble burning, forest fires, emissions from motor vehicles, burning of industrial and domestic waste and burning of solids for the purpose of cooking. Most of these can only be addressed at the institutional level, and will require government and industry to work together for common good.

What is not well recognises is the fact that while all these contribute to air pollution, due to both biological and socio-economic disparities, women are far more vulnerable to in terms of both type and frequency of exposure.

Why are women (particularly economically backward women) more vulnerable to air pollution?

There is sufficient medical evidence to show that women are biologically more affected by exposure to the same amount of air pollution as men. Despite this, local, national and international efforts to mitigate air pollution treat it as a generic issue which affects everybody, and do not specifically focus on women.

Apart from the biological reasons, gender dynamics, as well as socioeconomic and cultural differences make women far more vulnerable to air pollution. There are three main reasons why women are subject to greater exposure to air pollution than men-

- Cooking is seen as the prime responsibility of women, which exponentially increases their exposure to indoor air pollution from burning solid fuels.

- Women perform the roles of caregiving, child rearing and housework, which keeps them indoors in houses that are often poorly ventilated, which increases their exposure

- Women, especially poor women, are often “no choice walkers”, which increases their exposure to vehicular pollution

Most households rely on solid fuels like firewood, coal and even dry leaves for their cooking needs. These fuels release huge amount of polluting gases, which in the absence of adequate ventilation keep circulating in the house. Though there was a move to supply cooking gas to every household, the price of cooking gas is now so high it has become virtually unaffordable to the majority of women in the country, and they have been forced to revert to traditional (and polluting) fuels. The smoke keeps circulating in the houses, continuing to expose the women to the pollutants.

In India, there is gender inequality in terms mobility and access to transport. If a household has one vehicle, it is used by the (male) head of the household, and women and children are forced to either walk or take public transport. Walking on busy roads exposes women to higher levels of emissions from vehicles. For safety reasons, women prefer to walk on busy streets, rather than deserted lanes, and this further increases their exposure to air pollution.

How the inequities in exposure to air pollution be mitigated?

The government should accept that women are exposed to dangerously high levels of indoor air pollution, and provide subsidies to ensure that even the poorest households can afford cooking gas. This is imperative because if indoor air pollution is not tackled immediately, we will have a gendered medical emergency of pandemic proportions.

While not much can be done to reduce a woman’s dependence on walking and public transport, by providing subsidies on public transport, more women can be encouraged to shift from walking long distances to traveling most of the way by bus/ train. Subsidies on public transport will also empower more women to seek livelihoods beyond those in their immediate neighbourhood, and some of this income can be invested in purchasing less polluting cooking fuels.

These would, however, require governments to recognise that women are extra vulnerable to air pollution, and to have the pollical will to mitigate them.

What can we as individuals do to reduce air pollution?

Most of the sources of air pollution can only be checked with government(s) and industry acting together. Some of these mitigating measures will require high capital investment, and the government may need to provide incentives for industry to adopt cleaner technology. There should also be higher penalties for polluting industries. Sometimes, two or more governments may need to co-operate to tackle pollution- like the one that chokes Delhi/ NCR every year.

However, while we wait for government and industry to get there act together, there are things that we can do as individuals.

Emissions from motor vehicles are a major source of air pollution especially in cities. We can shift partially or completely to public transport and/ or car pool to cut down our personal emissions. Even if all households pledge not to use their cars on one specific day a week, there will be a dip in total emission.

Consuming local produce reduces the distance that the goods need to be transported, thereby bringing down the total emissions. “Buy local”, therefore, has an environmental advantage in addition to the helping local livelihoods.

Burning solid waste at landfills also contributes substantially to air pollution in cities. Adopting the 3Rs- reduce, reuse, recycle- will impact the quantum of waste that goes to landfills. Segregating our garbage, composting wet waste and ensuring that the dry waste that can be recycled is sent to recyclers will indirectly impact air quality.

Additionally, there is one simple way to mitigate the effect of pollution. There is, in George Monbiot’s words, ‘a magic machine that sucks carbon out of the air builds itself up and costs very little’. This magic machine is called a tree. Planting new trees and protecting existing trees from felling are ways we can increase carbon sequestering. Growing indoor plants, especially ones which sequester particulate matter, will improve the quality of air indoors.

Clean air is a human right. On the International Day of Clean Air for Blue Skies, let us take a pledge to–

- Reduce the use of private vehicles, and walk, cycle or take public transport when we can

- Segregate our household waste and ensure recycling

- Buy local produce, especially fruits, vegetables and groceries

- Protect the trees in our locality from felling/ pruning

Women and Climate Justice

Sunita* was in grade 6 when the well they drew water from dried up. The solitary water pump in the village was reserved for the exclusive use of the upper caste people, so the family now had to fetch water from a natural well five kilometres away. Since her mother worked as a domestic help, and her older sister was in grade 9, the burden of fetching water now fell on Sunita. Each trip took almost 2 hours. Sometimes, if she was a little late, the others would have depleted all the water, and she would have to wait till the underground spring filled the well again, before she could fill her 3 pots, and return home. Though she enjoyed going to school and was a reasonably decent student, Sunita was forced to drop out of school because fetching water took up so much time.