Representing the Invisible: A Travelogue Merging Identities And Borders

Representing the Invisible

‘Women’s National Identity across Borders’,

where Nation and Border are as perceived by women

A travelogue merging identities and borders

By Chanda Asani

Distributed by Smashwords

Copyright Chanda Asani 2015

Dedication

To my grandmothers Smt Nonibala Dasgupta and Smt Gayatridebi Sengupta, my mother Smt. Basanti Dasgupta and my mother-in-law Smt. Sulochanda Asani

Preface

I received my renewed Passport after my divorce addressed to Ms. Chanda Asani, Daughter of Shri Ajit Dasgupta. I was past fifty then and my father was dead in 1987.

Passport is a national identity.

Since I was no longer someone’s wife I had to be someone’s daughter.

Chanda Asani

2015

Acknowledgements

My sincere thanks to all the women, who gave me, a stranger, their time sharing their lives’ experiences, faiths and doubts at short notice. Also thanks to the people, acquaintances, strangers, relatives and friends, who housed me and cared for me, so that I could stay in homes through the traveling. The debt of gratitude to these nameless people I wish to carry with me to make it a way of life for others to follow.

Encouragement throughout my roaming and writing from Ba, my eighty years friend in Mumbai and Bhageerath Jijaji, a writer from Alwar, will stay life-long even though they are no longer alive. Ba also advised me and reassured me of women’s intelligence that does not get carried away with a bit of complexion. Parul and Shivani are young nieces from different spheres, the former journalist the latter teaching computers. Their inputs and enthusiasm have been enriching. It was at Arundhati Dasgupta’s insistence, an author herself that I managed the introductory chapter. Shubhra added a few points I had missed out from the chapter Chattarpur. Heather, an American student of English major was deeply interested in Indian spirituality which was reflected in her reading and regrets for not being able to give enough time for editing matter completely foreign to her. Dolly Kikon, a human rights lawyer from Nagaland doing doctorate was kind to make time from her own research to read the introduction. Sanjoy Barbora, a human rights activist from Gawuhati boosted my spirits when I doubted myself to go ahead. Thanks to Kavita Kunte, my niece, a business woman, on whose suggestions I rewrote some of my personal experience in third person. Prof. Bhaskar Dasgupta was gracefully kind to ask me to get the manuscript professionally edited!

Swati a dear friend whom I trusted with my documents took responsibility of reading the complete document at one go and sharing her perspective at regular intervals inspite her busy schedules, teaching job, making house in a different city, shifting, activism and changes in her own life. She also provided the only book I have quoted. Interactions with Anni, a journalist by choice, have cleared many issues for me. Louise and Anjali had a lot of faith in me. Uzma Saeed, a human rights lawyer from Pakistan was to do the same research in Pakistan and we coordinated together till we saw that it was not feasible. She interacted with me throughout the research and writing. I am sharing few quotes from all my well wishers.

Ba Modi

If you had not left the man you married you would not have been able to do this.

Shri Bhageerath Bhargava

Your expressions are alive with feeling.

Swati Vaidya

North East has come alive from your chapters and I will never be same again as a result!

Parul Abrol

If u r tryin to pick up a point through this, then we may include it.

n also, u may like ur thesis to be subjective..thats ur perspective n its really important that ur thesis should reflect wot u want to pass on.

Shivani Bhargava

it was extremely mind nourishing to go through your work.

I aggressively believe that behind your forcefulness and strong will power its absolutely your ma.

as u r an atheist n thats definitely your choice nothing wrong at all in that.. but to tell u while going through your book.. i felt strongly that it was your tremendous will power (first of course) n the invisible power-god that helped you all through in pursuing what u wanna do.. n that also kept making ways for u in all respect from food to lodging to your safety to your visiting kamakhya temple n meeting all your far n near relatives along with the different women.

Arundhati Dasgupta

Make a short summary of what u want to say!

Anni Thomas

It has a warm conversational tone - quite appealing.

Louise Lamington

You undermine yourself unnecessarily.

Anjali Manou

It is simple and easy to understand.

Dolly Kikon

As for my suggestions to your questions, the introduction read well and what was amazing was the honesty and your passion that came out. I was really touched to read the piece and would be wonderful to actually have the first para or more in the blurb.

Sanjay Barbora gave me the courage to go ahead when I was getting cold feet about showing the complete work to my guide.

Uzma Saeed

Get it edited if you feel like, but see that your perspective is not tampered with.

Thanks to the love and warmth I have got in abundance in my family from grandparents, Uncles, Aunts, both paternal and maternal, parents, brothers and sisters, brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law, nieces and nephews, both sides of the marriage, that has kept me going at points of breaking. My sister Dr. Neela Mukherjee is responsible for my initiation into formal studies. A special thanks to my friends for tolerating my disappearances and sickness! I thank my son Ashwin and daughter-in-law Samantha for accepting me in their family intermittently and listening to my changing spheres of interests depending on what I was involved then. The pleasure I got with my granddaughters Noyonika Petra and Eliza Lolita, seeing them outgrow infanthood has been a healing time for me. I take my elder son Rahul Asani for granted for financially taking care of me, but I sincerely appreciate him doing it without raising doubts and thank him for funding my research study without questioning.

This complete book is an acknowledgement to women who do not know how to read, and those who know to read and write but have no time, or inclination. And to those men and women, who share knowledge and wisdom knowingly and unknowingly by silences, words and action.

INTRODUCTION

I started this – ah - research study, to find answers to my being Indian and landed up with more questions. That pause was there even before I started and remains even when it is completed. The only reason why I refer to this as a research study is because of the respect I have for my guide Dr. Uma Chakravarti from Delhi, and Ms. Nighat Saeed Khan from Lahore, who initiated this process and has remained with me ever since, being my co-guide at all levels. Neither of them are bound by the limits of space, time and if I am permitted to say even gender! I barely get to meet either of them but since they accept me as student they are my guides. This work is a research study even though it does not have a formal structure nor is it registered. We had thought of doing this in India and Pakistan but thanks to the overflowing love between the two nations and my unpredictable health, the process got stuck to one landscape, the Indian subcontinent, which allowed me to travel without a visa mostly! It is not just nationality which is being scrutinized, it is also womanhood, individuality and borders. Women are not isolated beings in an island but everything under the sky, their pleasures, pains, economics, their children and the men in their lives make their complete identity. As I went around the country speaking to women from different backgrounds, laying bare their lives in matter of hours, the similarities and differences, nationality and borders merged into collective faith of humanity but no answers ….

Marginalized

I have used fictitious names for the women I spoke with but I am hoping that the subject of what is shared will overpower the need for individual introduction. Moreover, I believe that it represents the collective in the nameless inspite of retaining individuality in it. I did suggest to my guide that I could connect with women from different parts of India/South Asia and ask them to give me feedback. I am happy that she did not agree. I would not want to exchange directly meeting women from different places, for anything. Even in subjectivity there had to be a constant, I was to be the scapegoat but I too buckled. I am searching for objectivity of representing the marginalized in the ‘change is constant’ diverse landscape. Marginalized, not just by being women, or by gender, but also class, caste, religion, geographical situation, distance from center, by State and the Nation understanding, all patriarchal time tested tools. For me, everything in this world comes under women’s perspective.

‘Marginalize’ has no synonym either in the Dictionary or in the Thesaurus of Microsoft Word programming – maybe limitation does not exist in the process. People go through it without knowing the word or the meaning! Even if the meaning of ‘marginalize’ is taken as ‘driven to the margins’ then the question comes ‘margins of what’?

When I would be treated royally, for whatever reasons, doubts would come to the authenticity of receiving the truth even though subjective. Not that the thought did not try to get situated in my understanding more than a couple of times, but friends and well wishers straightened me. Since I consider myself privileged I am not presenting the marginalization of that class neither do I make any effort to bring out even a semblance of objectivity in the subjective narration. I leave it to the readers to draw their own subjective objectivity.

I think and write subjectively with bias in favour of women. I am not aware when I became this way. I am conscious of person-being except when made aware by the civilized society! Giving birth to children at a young age did nothing to change my ‘person-being’. This has been a process and it kept on strengthening rather than a momentous happening. I feel we all go through this conflict, when we start questioning the inequalities in the system. This study is part of that stage which comes soon after the realization of the injustice in the system that goaded me to attempt towards bringing a semblance of equal existence – one lifetime is not sufficient to bring change. Awareness of different levels of living being enforced in the name of various tools of an exploitative system enables also to start with bringing this awareness into public domain. Why women, is one question I tend to forget!

Women’s National Identity across Borders, where ‘nation’ and ‘borders’ are as perceived by women. I thought this sentence clear enough still I go into explanation I am not sure of making. I was born in a city in India and attended a school where we sang the Indian national anthem. Oh yes, I also hold a ration card and a valid Indian passport. Does that justify my being Indian – I wonder. I am a staunch Indian at one level, not because of the reasons I have given earlier but I hate anyone speaking bad about India! But then I hate anyone speaking bad about Pakistan, does that make me a lesser Indian? In actuality I hate anyone speaking bad about anyone or anything. Are those my borders then? This book is not about me, my being an Indian or my borders, but people becoming citizens of a country and where and how do women see themselves in this scenario. This is a small study of a vast scope and I am still struggling with it.

I am in conflict all the time if I should speak about the issues I came to know as being part of a family. I speak with guilt of breaking confidentiality only to break the constructed images we receive of one place through limited media coverage and constructed knowledge perspectives. Families are families everywhere but we get to know very little about the people. It was not enough for the family that they had me, they had to share me with their extended family and friends, so I visited three houses in the neighbourhood, had tea at one place and dinner at another, chatted with friends at the STD phone shop but came home to sleep. I a Hindu born strange atheist woman got accepted in a Muslim home, because I came with a reference of the daughter of the family who hardly knew me a few days ago.

I am trying to do a research study, a non-funded, non-registered, non-structured work. It is a small study, just scratching the surface of a huge changing canvas. I have covered whole of India relatively! India is too vast to reach so I have visited all states; minimum of a city and a village in a small state, and couple or four cities in a big-bigger state, mostly by unreserved travel, or by bus - cheapest transport available, mostly during the day. In the process I have tried to gather marginalized understanding at different levels. Even though my work does not cover all spheres I have attempted to give visibility to the tiers of knowledge making and also that which is pushed under the carpet. The women I met were unplanned and my rationality defies me when I say that I was pre-destined to meet them.

Many whom I have not been able to represent are not intentional but my limitation. In 2007 I met a badge wearing woman collie at Nagpur station who was working for past seven years and regret not having been able to talk to her at length. I meet a woman rag-picker in front of my home in Kalina, Mumbai and cannot interact with her due to my language drawback.

The possibilities of this research took birth in Lahore, Pakistan in 2000 March as part and parcel of collective experience of women from ten countries including me having to justify the study in Lahore and becoming tied to Lahore for good. Being an Indian and going to Pakistan was another ball-game. I have a special bond with Pakistan, parents from East (now Bangladesh) and in-laws from West, to top this being a woman able to do just what I think right! The study with women’s perception with intention of getting the marginalized into foreground, is a political issue. As there is no PhD in Women’s Studies in India, and as per my doubts I could not keep any structure of research, I did not register it. I was not sure and I am sure even my guide has doubts the scope of this being completed. I have broken down number of times physically with the conflicts of relative identities during the span of travel and writing. I was able to leave for fieldwork by 2001 August and completed it by 2004. The ratio, of time for going round all of India and writing about it, is coming to a 50-50 one with writing time exceeding the former! How can the women, who entrusted their lives to me within a span of couple of hours, be samples? I have been able to speak to only one woman at length.

From Jan 20th to March 20th 2003 I covered Madhya Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh, Bihar, Uttaranchal, Himachal Pradesh, Jammu & Kashmir, Punjab, Haryana, and Delhi. 22nd March to 8th April Assam and Tripura was part of a fact finding. I went to Orissa and Nagpur in May 2003 unexpectedly, when I felt like visiting my aunt as uncle had expired, representing her paternal family all by myself. I had already been to the seven states in NE India, Tripura, Mizoram, Manipur, Nagaland, Arunachal Pradesh, Assam, and Meghalaya, in September-October 2001, Rajasthan in March 2002, Karnataka, Tamilnadu, Kerala, Andhra Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, and Jharkhand in November-December 2002, Gujarat a month after the carnage, which raised doubts about Indian tolerance.

The order of my writing is not synchronized with the order of my visits. I have started with Jabalpur mainly it being my birthplace gives a glimpse of my family and my background. I was unable to make the writing in any form other than travelogue. North East has been difficult to document even though it was my first place of visit. I still have the pain submerging me to oblivion by the frustration of inability of doing anything concrete. I was caught unawares by the beauty of the place and the people and what various factions are doing to mess it up. Five times I have started writing and fallen ill! Not that people are less beautiful elsewhere and the conflicts are any lesser, but then I was prepared. Therefore I documented Kashmir soon after visiting the place without giving myself a chance to simmer and thus started my documentation even though it kept gnawing at me why I had not gone there two decades earlier.

As I clarify what I am doing I succeed in getting more confused but that does not stop me from trying. Maybe after the compilation as a cohesive whole, this will make sense. I consider this as my privilege getting to know the political economy of the world from underprivileged perspective. I have shared what I have been told, losing some of it due to my inabilities. Raising questions of identity, keeping myself from commenting or analyzing, laid my subjective understanding bare too for scrutiny.

One of the limitations has been the form of documenting. I took notes, there have been times I would be so engrossed in listening that I would forget to write. Also I heard in one language and recorded in English. There have been times I have not written the same night and missed out. I have mentioned wherever I am making assumptions. I have been told to carry recorder, but when I am not comfortable with gadgets I would probably make a bigger mess than missing out things. I do take responsibility of writing even when I am relating what others have said.

JANUARY-MARCH 2003

In any society, and in the nation as society, democracy is not guaranteed but is possible as a matter of principle. Page.xv, Rada Ivekovic’, ‘Captive Gender, Ethnic stereotypes and Cultural Boundaries’, Women Unlimited 2005

Jabalpur, Jabli, My First Love

It was Jan 2003. I had a reserved ticket to Jabalpur. Jabli, that is what we sisters and cousins (I am compelled to use this term even though we do not have this concept, they too are sisters and brothers) call Jabalpur with love, my birthplace. My mother lived till 2005 alone in a home she had sold to my Maharashtrian rakhi brother living next door because he insisted that his children got at least a semblance of childhood he got. We all know such wishes were futile, his father was a struggling engineer and mother a housewife while he and his wife were established doctors. He studied in a government school with hardly any fees and his children study in English medium school with almost ten times monthly fees. Can there be a parity of living for children to have same childhood?! Maybe the physical space could give desired affects.

Just because my Ma stayed there I made regular trips to see her. Even being a physical liability due to my ill health I loved to see her and did not want her engrossed in the material world trying to get their tentacles on her, against her nature. She read, cooked, listened to music, but did not write about herself. I have this dear maternal Uncle, Monimesho has told me each time I have made my stop over at Calcutta to see him, that I am dumb to go around the country to find women, I should write about my mother and mashis (mother’s sisters). Jabli and my mother distract way beyond the requirement of this study.

In the morning at Harda a Sindhi family boarded the train. Two young women, one old; all with covered head, three elderly men, three children, one intelligent boy with hearing and speaking disability and two little girls. Got speaking with them, they wanted to share their children’s progress, one woman was mother to the boy and a girl in Lower Kg, the other woman had one girl in Upper Kg. The girls were isolating the boy!

The women were decked in ornaments, dangling earrings, necklaces, rings on fingers and toes, and bangles, all gold, going to a marriage in their sister-in-law’s (husband’s sister’s) family. In Narsinghpur, the next station one son-in-law came to see them with hot and crisp jalebis. They kept offering me all they ate. One of the women wanted to read Adhi Zameen (Half land), a Hindi magazine brought out by All India Progressive Women’s Association (AIPWA). The children, as children are, took all the time and I could barely speak to the women. They got down at the next station.

In 2005 a young activist friend in Bangalore said that Sindhis and Marwaris are same! I got bugged with her because from her I did not expect this response. But she said simply we do not know just like in North all South Indians are referred as Madrasis. It is true but I wanted her to know the difference even if most people did not know it!

Soon Jabalpur came. Jabalpur for the past decade has seen advent of auto rickshaws. Even though Union of cycle rickshaws gave a tough fight, they had to bow down to more powerful lobbies. I had problem boarding cycle rickshaws before I stepped into my adulthood, but as a child it was fun. I have seen the same enjoyment in my son when he was small and my sister’s daughter, they were from two different origins having a generation in between. My five years niece when asked when going back to America, ten years ago, what she would like to take with her she asked only for a rickshaw and the rickshaw man!

I consciously took cycle rickshaw for my personal search of 'work' and 'human centred understanding'. I had to learn to settle the price in advance, a little to respect the trade, a little in fear of my Ma who said we spoil them! I have never been scared of any parent or anyone, but do not like contradicting my Ma, even when she is wrong, but later do clear it with her. I have not only taught myself to love and respect her, but also tried to give back her youth and beauty abandoned since she married. I do find her genuinely younger than me and appreciate her endlessly for tolerating me as her daughter.

I explained to her why I could not take a job to earn money currently. It has been convenient for me that my elder son has been taking care of my expenditure, research travel included, but she needed more reason than that – ‘One has to earn one’s living’! I not only agreed with her but also believe one should make work provision so that others can earn too. It took convincing that even though I did not have robust health quite a few people depended on me for their earnings and living – these are two different things. Since I was doing the research study, a need of the hour, I had to write that. She gave in on my health and rest of the crap she tolerated because I am her daughter.

Three months from Feb to April 2004, she cooked morning evening fresh food, as that was the only thing I was able to comfortably eat, and we had all these discussions, some from her past and some from my future over cups of tea!

There was a pre-wedding function we were going to the next day. My mother arranged the parents’ marriage and the woman is another of Ma’s daughters whom she did not give birth to. There was this Uncle who used to stay in the row houses behind ours, when we stayed in MP Electricity Board quarters, even when we made our houses. Jethu, father’s elder brother in Bengali which he was not but such relations are just as valid. Every year for Puja festival Jethu arranged for programmes and we sisters and other children from neighbourhood participated. I was probably in my eighth, when there was some major commotion relating to Jethu’s house. He was married to a woman other than his wife, their daughter had come and she was missing. She was some how found and I think it was said or unsaid that Ma would be taking her responsibility.

She became our loving Didi (elder sister) was put in the great Home Science college of Jabalpur, and every Saturday I got her home from hostel on cycle. Obviously when Ma saw a decent groom she duly suggested for Didi. A guy from good family much elder to her, I do not remember the age difference, we call him Kaku, father’s younger brother, another of those relations, whose wife had died. Ma guaranteed the guy’s character, and same boddi - ‘clan’ is closest I can get to, even when it is not. My father no longer alive could have explained what this is, a group practicing medicine had rights to read five Vedas, only men please, and if my father was anything to go by and even my mother to certain extent, which rarely gets seen, think no end of themselves!

That was it and the marriage was done with Didi disgusted with the marriage night, I getting endless marriage proposals for wearing a sari, and we generally having fun. I was in eleventh class then. Soon Ma encouraged her to study for job centred exams and told Jethu to let her take a job in MPEB. Didi had two sons, whom she left at Ma’s place when young, paid Ma and cared for her more than all her daughters could do. She made a decent enough marriage. She and her husband learned to drive a car against the husband’s wishes, as he was scared, she made house and took care of her widowed mother, and her in-laws. We were going to her son’s marriage functions, he was marrying a Punjabi girl, and obviously the credit went to Didi for everything happening smoothly.

I remember my mother accepting and approving Jethu’s second marriage, as he took his responsibilities seriously for both families. I had these unsaid questions even then but there were no doubts about Didi being whole-heartedly accepted or in any way challenging our love and respect for Jethu. These issues came to my mind, as in April 2004 I had to convince my mother to visit my ex-husband’s home and socialize with his wife and kids. Kids she accepted as she saw pictures of my grandchildren with them as they all stay in Bangalore.

For lunch we went to my friend’s place, a Bengali from Jabalpur, living nearby in Bangalore. I was meeting Bula after thirty years. She was the only one in her family I had affinity with. I admire Ma’s magnanimity to forgive after having been accused of stealing money from their house during Bula's marriage. We knew Bula's mother was jealous as her husband preferred to converse with Ma! Well, Ma kept friendship with the lady who accused her. It was Ma who found Bula's number and asked me to call her.

We were thrilled at the outcome and so was Ma. Bula came to visit me at my son’s place and we chatted non-stop. She was the same warm simple beautiful person I remembered. She was happily married with two girl children, the elder one had done commerce, worked for two years and had taken a break to appear for entrance for Business Management. The younger one was in first year and was learning Odissi. I saw wonder in Bula’s eyes as if she could not believe a child of hers could dance so well. This year her daughter could not go to the yearly dawn to dusk festival that takes place in April, 40 Kms. from Shimoga (overnight from Bangalore) on the banks of a river, because of her exams. The highest Guru Kelucharan Mohapatra of Odissi dance died recently so her daughter cried as if someone her own had died. Bula's husband was working in a mining company and she was working voluntarily in a Not for Profit Organisation for handicapped children for the past four years.

Bula went into her childhood and reflected that she was such an obedient child and she generously included me even though I could nicely rebel, but I did not want to stop her flow of thoughts. She said she was good in Science but her father told her to switch to Home Science. He did not want her to take Medicine, as it would mean working odd hours with boys! She took Home Science, even though she did not know even 'H' of Home Science. It was my father who had told her to apply for scholarship. Her father’s salary was more than the fee waiver slab but that did not matter, as she got scholarship on merit for three years. The younger sister was the brilliant one but she did not get merit scholarship. As soon as Bula finished her graduation her father fixed her marriage on phone through a common friend of both families.

When Bula went for results, the Principal was worried about her further studies; her friend told him that Bula was getting married. Bula could only tell the Principal that the man she was marrying was engineer, but not in what, where he was placed, and how much salary he got. The boy’s parents were in a hurry to get him married before he left for Zambia as they feared he would marry someone ‘black’ out there. She went back home and searched the map to find out where he was working in a mine and where he was going from there.

They made a good marriage; people still asked how come they married without horoscope. After marriage she went to Zambia, got pregnant but did not know a thing, jumped from trees and cars without inhibitions, so had to be hospitalized, the baby was trying to come out in the third month itself, she started praying to God, while her husband stood outside the temple.

In Zambia they were first class citizens and the blacks (locals) were second-class citizens. They got good salary, good servants, they were in the best of times. Only copper was there, rest everything imported, things have deteriorated since then. In Bangalore also, the people from North, she included herself in that category; especially the IT group had messed up the earlier local life. They settled here when they came to India because her elder daughter was studying here from 91-94, even though her in-laws stayed in Raipur and her mother had shifted to Nagpur selling the house in Jabalpur Bula had paid for.

After her father's demise her younger sister refused the transfer of the house in Bula's name. Bula had brought her up like a child, spent two and half lacs for her marriage; but her mother said, so what! Later the younger sister along with her mother-in-law bought a house in Mumbai but never mentioned anything about returning the money. Father had put restrictions on her – wearing jeans, driving moped, coming home late; but her sister broke all the rules yet he never said anything to her. Bula's in-laws were fond of her. She made regular trips to Raipur and Nagpur but did not go to Mumbai for a long time.

Bula's elder daughter lost faith in God when their dog died inspite of her praying. There is one Infant Jesus Church in Bangalore where people from all religions go as God is jaagrit there (the only way I can translate this is ‘alive’, which would mean that people's prayers are answered there). Bula went too.

After her voluntary work she did not get time. It was a rural based work. The community workers were not allowed to make rural visits, but she went twice. One handicapped child came with marks of beating, so they went to the mother to ask. The mother said, ‘you know nothing about my state, Madam. I work all day as head loader. I have other children to look after, who have normal needs, healthy appetites, my husband wants me at night for his appetite and everyone curses me for having this deformed baby. My anger comes out on this child and I beat him as he does not say anything.’

This handicap problem was more in South, maybe due to in-house (within caste) marriages. But women suffer not just in poor houses. One pregnant engineer girl had come to stay with her parents because in her in-law’s place she could not sit in front of others, and had to eat last, and generally by that time enough food would not remain. The issue of dowry was also prevalent. One of Bula's friends said that her brother got 65 lacs as dowry - few acres of land, two different mills, gold and silver! And after all this, these men womanize!! She finds it difficult to even imagine such things.

I was telling about the marriage function in Jabalpur and diverted to Bangalore! My Ma had her pattern of functioning, so we would go by auto and tell the auto person to come at certain time, which they did on the dot. We went for functions at home, not for the reception at a hotel. In between I went to see Gungun, a friend of mine at the station. She too had married immediately after school like me, and was still happily married. I had liked her daughter a lot and was planning to suggest marriage with my son but learnt that she had found a partner for herself; even that made me happy.

The previous year Chhutkaku (my youngest uncle) took me to meet her. I met Gungun too after thirty years. She was extremely upset at that time with the pending divorce case of her daughter, who had given in to a highly educated rich Sindhi guy out of sheer desperation as he had been after her. On the wedding night itself she realized that the guy was interested in only sexually owning her and she had to become a doormat in the house. The man had agreed earlier that she could continue with her career. She somehow managed to stay nine months with him, without having a child, and came back. When Gungun told me this I laughed and said that her daughter was sensible; what she decided in nine months took me nine years and two kids, whom I am happy with, but Gungun should be very proud of her daughter.

She was stuck on the idea of the divorce itself, how would people take it and what would they say? She herself could not get over misgivings and ill feelings associated with 'divorce'. I told her – ‘look at me! Do I look like falling to ground or anyone can oppress me or do you find me feeling any less about myself?’ I told her that if she did not get done with brewing about her reservations, people would pester her. She had to believe that her daughter had done the only correct thing that could be done in the circumstances.

She insisted that I have lunch with her. I told her unless she be happy with what her daughter had done, I would not eat, and she gently smiled! Her husband was thankful to me to get that smile back on her face, as she had not smiled for a long time. We then enjoyed the lovely lunch of fish curry and rice. It was nice to see them all happy together going for shopping for another marriage. I enjoyed being part of that, even for moments. During our school days Gungun had given me one of her tunics, when acid had accidentally fallen on mine in the laboratory and saved me the torment of asking my mother for another one as we were going through hard times.

That night there was a lovely music programme at the marriage house, one of my uncles played excellent guitar, and someone sang. This uncle said that anyone who is fond of music and flowers could never sin! He not only sang songs, he sang the interludes as well.

Next morning, my Marathi brother’s mother Aai called me for breakfast as his father wanted me to come. When I went to Ma, I dislike going anywhere. We have lots of relatives, whom I am close to, but I like to eat food cooked by Ma, so going anywhere meant that I had to forgo that. All these major issues! Oh well, those days I did not eat anything in the morning. We respect Aai as our own mother, so saying no did not arise. I am given lots of leeway as I am considered a bit off the bend!

Somehow I was curious to know why I was called, as I sensed a purpose behind this. I excused myself from eating, but sat to chat. My brother started by telling me about all the good that RSS was doing in Kutch after earthquake, and only RSS was working other than Army. About their forest development and educational schemes! And then his father, who has been in my good books since childhood for treating his wife with utmost care, giving ample time to his children and to my younger sisters too; showed a face of vengeance, I could never imagine him to have.

He was relating of the time when Gandhi was killed, RSS members’ homes were ransacked and kerosene was thrown on their yearly grain stock. Even though I told my brother peacefully, that the RSS systematically stopped others from entering that area, and were not allowing people to work for Muslims; one has to think about their ideology also, if there was five litres of milk with a drop of poison in it would he give it to anyone, forget even tasting it. But I had no answers for his father, who I never imagined could live with ill feeling for anyone. As a result, I found myself condemning that wrong done in the past.

We went during the day to the marriage house, but I went to eat at my eldest pishi’s place. I call her Boro(big)pishi. I could not imagine if she would have food for us or not, we just ate at her place. Boropishi always had big fights with my father, which was part of their love, he forgave only her discrepancies amongst all his siblings. She used to get inside the bathroom she would stay inside and he would stay outside, and they would be fighting away to glory. But the moment he asked for food, most of her anger would evaporate and yet she would be fuming even while giving food to him.

I had an inclination of her being mad with me, as I did not call people when I came to Jabalpur, but then her reasoning is that she is not 'people'. That time she had pestered everyone, as my soft-spoken Boropishai (her husband) told me, whatever I did I must call her first thing next time. She was on her winged-horse and her daughter was getting hassled with her mother's choicest stings that we had become big and did not care for her feelings. I asked my sister to wait for a few minutes and then told Boropishi that I had come to eat there. Immediately her tune changed, she said she was wondering why she was cooking extra rice.

She remembered she had to get angry, so again she changed her tune, why you are supposed to be eating at the marriage house, I coolly told her you know my stomach! She got into another track, your mother teaches you to not come to my place! I loved her change colours. All I needed to say I am hungry, when will you give me food and she forgot all her tracks, got down to action and I needed endless effort to check the quantity she put in my plate, she could kill feeding people. When younger, her two daughters and I went to her Railway office to eat and she could get away with stuffing me, her darling brother’s eldest daughter, but that was another time another period!

I love this simple aunt of mine. Much later, I learnt that she had married her first cousin on maternal side, allowed as per gotra in Hindus but still a sacrilege to marry a brother, that is what first, second, third cousins are; so my grandmother cut all relations with her. Only my father had the guts to defy my grandmother’s orders and kept the relationship flowering! I should not even start on my aunts, they are so much part of my existence that they keep coming out of the blue, and there is no question of consideration!

I had a chat with an army man’s wife Titir, who had made her home on the first floor of her mother's in Jabalpur. After she had seen CAVOW’s (Committee Against Violence On Women) North East India’s fact finding report, ‘Army violence against women’, Titir angrily asked if we ask any army person’s wife how she lived through the days and nights when it is not even known where the man is posted. The army guy’s mother who willingly sends her son in army to take care of the country, does not know when she will get to hear, that her son is no more? She remains without shedding tears being proud of her son’s sacrifice for the country, but what does she do with her pain?!

When she calmed down a little, I asked Titir about the time when her husband was posted in NE (North East). She had taken the kids to meet their father in the interiors of the region. She boarded a vegetable truck sleeping on the vegetables when the truck was stopped in the middle of nowhere by some armed people. When they asked her who she was she told them that she was a teacher. They picked up her son but God was with them and they just let them pass. They reached the area where only few were posted without families.

They mostly stayed indoors in the makeshift arrangement. They went in groups to get water but there was no guarantee that they would come back alive. They went at odd hours and while returning one such group was ambushed while washing up at a village. Gunfire from a hut nearby killed the whole group of forty. Obviously the village harboured the terrorists. They lived in constant fear just to keep the family together for some time!

The CRPF and the Army are different disciplines. You have not had to send men from your family to fight for the country. People from Nagaland, Kashmir and other such areas think that they are not part of India. Should they be left to fend for themselves? But these ARE parts of India. The security personnel live away from family working unquestioningly under extreme odds, no benefits, threat of bullets, and fear of court martial for crimes citizens go scot-free.

It is man’s nature to woo women and in NE beheti gangaa mein kaun nahi haath dhoyega (a proverb saying, ‘who will not wash their hands in flowing Ganges,’ meaning that men use women, when women are available)! One has to get into the psyche of the people of that area. The men in those areas do not work, are not potent enough for the women. The women try to hook men of the plains, irrespective of their marriage status. Their desire is to get the man to transfer their possessions to the hills. Women cannot be raped unless there is some acceptance of the act. Sexual relations are not a blot on the character in that area. Young girls want boys sometimes just to buy chips and drinks and move around to show off.

By then I had a severe headache and so was she suffering. I left arguing on the issue for another time, which never did come.

I was carrying and distributing Azaadi bachao’s (Save Freedom, a struggle group campaigning against privatization and globalisation) pamphlets for the country’s visit. They were starting from Kerala, where a struggle was raging against Pepsi as locals were not getting water due to MNC’s water mining. In the pamphlet there was mention of a group near Itarsi with a woman’s name against it. I cut down my stay in Bhopal to make a visit. I confirmed that I could spend a night. Ma as usual came to drop me at the station. I took a general ticket and boarded the women’s compartment at 12.30 noon.

Lalita boarded the same compartment for Sridham, station after Jabalpur. She was an ICDS (Integrated Child Development Scheme) supervisor responsible for 21 villages, covered six-seven walking and 12-13 by vehicle, which waited at the office near the station. She always took this train. She was originally from Bhopal, married twenty two years ago, had late children, the twins were in 9th class in Laxmibai school, a well known government girls’ school in Wright Town, Jabalpur. I told her my sisters had studied from there and what they were then, my second sister a Doctorate in Physics teaching in a Business College in Jaipur, the third one an Engineer at a senior post in Abu Dabi and the youngest an M. Sc in Mathematics, Assistant Vice President in Citicorp Delaware, USA at that time.

Lalita's youngest child was in 5th Standard in a School in Rampur, where she stayed quite far from the station. She had taken that job because they had not had children early and she was getting bored. She no way seemed to regret having only girls. Did not think much of traveling from her home to Sridham and come back the same night by a passenger train, as express trains did not stop at that station. She complained though, that being working parents they did not have control on children’s TV watching, and TV shows were not good at all. She found Bhopal and Jabalpur different and I agreed with her, she naturally preferred Bhopal. I could see her transporting herself to her childhood space.

Suddenly she said that I should dye my hair, she dyed too, but I had to tell her that I was quite happy with the only expression of my age, which actually was not sufficient. How the forty minutes to her station passed I did not come to know in which she shared a part of her life with me. We conversed in Hindi that being a Hindi-speaking belt. Except for a few houses with khaprael (tiled) roofs, most of the land till Sridham was agricultural land. Young girls were wearing salwar kurtas, a recent trend all over India slowly permeating in the past two decades, a dress helping girls to be mobile keeping the body covered. I ate food that my mother had given and went to sleep soon after.

Fish Lover’s Paradise Kesla

Women are less anguished than men about inner boundaries and bodily limits, and not particularly obsessed by any boundaries unless under attack; this bears on women’s socially gentler attitude to external or political borders. p.9 ibid

Reached Itarsi around four in the evening, learnt about share jeeps at regular interval to Kesla where the Centre was situated about twenty Km from the place where I would get the vehicle, walking distance from station. Nothing was walking distance for me any longer if I am carrying stuff – I could carry only my body and that too I was grateful to the body after the mistreatment I had given it through the ages! I went by a cycle rickshaw and sat in one of the jeeps standing at the gate. With arthritis of knees, I sometimes wonder at my urge to reach out to women in different corners of India, but only sometimes as I know I travel by my head. The saying in Hindi is sir ke bal! I need leg space and as it is not expected of women to take space I sit in one side to keep my legs out, cover my head, and hope it helps people to ignore my sneakers, another attachment of my arthritic living.

A sharp looking girl made friends with me asking endless questions, where I was coming from and where I had to go, giving her mother impetus to speak. Rajni’s mother, a common pattern of address around the area, I try to break it but in the limited time and in my tiredness I did not make any attempts. I doubt if anyone ever thought of finding Rajni’s mother name, or will ever try. When I addressed a woman double my age when I was thirty with her name, she had tears in her eyes. It was ages she said that anyone had called her by her name, and never failed to tell with bright eyes to anyone who was ready to listen ‘this chit of a girl calls me by my name, says I cannot be anyone’s aunty/sister, I can be only me’! Rajni’s mother was going to leave me at the door of the Centre, but we met the Centre’s vehicle on the way. She got me through a short cut, telling everyone in the village who I was, where I was going, again a normal practice in that area.

Let me see how much I can recollect of my first impressions of the Centre but from my dubious memory. There were no women! There was a huge gate to a walled space, with building structures on two sides and parked vehicles in the space between. A cooperative formed as a result of struggle by fisher folks in the area banned to do fishing, as a dam was being built on Tawa River. The cooperative was named after the river, Tawa Matsya (fish) Sangh (organization/cooperative/ group) -TMS. It is tribal area, so the struggle was also by tribal people.

I requested if someone could tell me about the struggles preferably a woman. I have this basic perspective no struggles can exist without women. I learnt a little about the working of the cooperative over tea while someone tried to contact the person whose name was on the campaign pamphlet. All fisher folks who registered gave their daily catch; they sold here to the highest bidder and have been making profit after giving the due cost to the fisher folks. The person who was speaking about the work was proud of the work; I love this attitude, nothing else matters, just work. I was so engrossed that I forgot to write.

The person was – I cannot even remember what post he held, there were three four people sitting in the fading light of days getting shorter, 25th Jan. They doubled up for work, one was driver, an accountant, a supervisor and there was another person who did odd jobs, there was no electricity and we seemed to be waiting for someone to come. They told me that women had left for some meeting, so they had requested someone to come. I was shown the place where fish was kept in ice, the huge weighing scale and also reports, which I saved for another day – people are more important.

An important looking person by bearing, who also knew he was important, came. I was in awe of the whole struggle, it is not easy to struggle against the structure, which they had done. I needed to write and we had the emergency light, which I think the others had saved for this time. Bhanusingh was Block member, People’s representative and Director of TMS and Member of Kisaan (farmer) Adivaasi (tribal) Sanghathan (group) since 1985. It is registering now as I write this person was a big shot but at that time I was speaking with an activist participant in the local struggle and that was more important to me than these titles, so I wrote them without registering.

He had come as a labourer for Poonaasa baandh (dam), some villagers were displaced, people took him to a public meeting where an old man grieved that 25 goats had drowned, which made him angry. He married in 1989, had a daughter in ’91 in sixth then and a son in fourth then. If he had known earlier he would not have married or married a woman actively participating in the struggle. He requested me to tell his wife. I wondered if such things would be told to a male person even though these musings are irrelevant!

In 1993/94 he went to Bhopal with Narmada Bachao Andolan. Had never seen cities, never sat in vehicles, forgot shouting, just enjoyed. They won then but things were not clear to him, so they were scared. Slowly they started understanding police, forest department, state oppression, all these and so much more. Support of activists from Universities who had settled here gave him strength. Thirty years ago Tawa Baandh displaced 44 villages, 95% adivasi; 17 ‘forest villages’, Rs.500.00 was given as compensation; bomb testing displaced 26 villages and Ordinance Factory 9 villages, rehabilitation as good/bad as none. For 25 acres Rs1500/- was given!

State should have made roads, schools and hospitals and people were not even told about this. People of Ram Manohar Lohia’s thinking came here, one of them died in a road accident in 1990, a few people kept coming, a few days of inactivity, one person’s wife used to say lets leave but people from here would not let them go, in 1995 the struggle became violent, 9th Dec they did chaka jam (road block) with one Samata Dal, some political leaders were there George Fernandez and Kishan Patnaik, but it was not a political fight.

They had started understanding that this was their fight for right they had to do it. Even though they did not understand administrative and political perspective they stuck to their issues: Bori range first forest range – tiger project; people used canal water, Rs75/- tax should be forgone; Fishing and land rights to be given to people; Pond land tax be lifted and given for people. From 8 in the morning to 4 in the evening chaka jam no one came to listen from the government. BJP ruling local MLA came to tell police was being sent, so leave. They refused, police did laathi charge without warning on 250 people, hit Bijoy the photographer, and entered homes. Women were also participating.

Digvijay Singh (Congress) was the Chief Minister, they kept fighting, and nine people were jailed for three days. Bijoy was put in another jail and they were not told. The Government accepted few of their demands: The people with place were given land rights (patta), also agreed to give others and not remove people from the 17 forest village; fishing rights were given to only few villages; another village Dhoop kheti was not taken into consideration for five years but sixth year it would be; Lift irrigation government agreed for three villages Silvani/Barda/Kanti and sanctioned 1 crore, 76 lacs and 40 lacs respectively for the three villages; Silvani was getting ready. They won it on their own so the party supported.

TMS has 38 societies 95-98% adivasis, earlier thekedaar (contractor) used to take away the profit, now the government wanted the share, got them divided between castes. They were challenging globalization at least in MP, when they took charge against all odds they had support of activists. In one year, government made 6 lacs they made 40! Government gave 6 lacs from Aadim Jaati Kalyaan Vibhaag (Ministry of Tribal Welfare) with 5 years’ agreement; TMS would do marketing for Tawa. The Government took royalty Rs6/- per one Kg of fish, 3 lacs had been returned.

Fisher folk got Rs1500/1600 labour; TMS did the work for fish seeds, which women do. Member villages benefit from the water of the dam. MP government used to sell big fish for Rs3/- and small for Rs2/- TMS sells for Rs16/- and Rs10/- per Kg. They do not give free fish to anyone. They send TMS fish to local Kesla market and also upto Calcutta but government had problems instead of appreciation.

They worked against oppression, people from Samaajwadi Jan Parishad (a political party) stood as MLA in 1998, the government wanted to throw them out for good. Went to National level Convention in 2000, went to all places. In 2002 Digvijay Singh sent letter that they wanted to put him down by saying all bad things, they wanted to take TMS away. They told the government that it was being naksali (I was too tired to check his comments, not that I would have otherwise but I try to make people use words which are relevant), from itself it took Rs2/- from them it took Rs.6/-. 100 days if anyone did not fish membership was cancelled, only those who fish were members. MP government decided other membership and consultants.

In audited statements the government tried to find faults, they did not have experience. Fishermen finalized the cost of fish. The actions of government were always against the people, 30 acres of land given to Pepsi, crores of money being spent on Tiger Project, all this made him so angry that he felt like taking up arms but they did not want to put a blot on the struggle. It was amazing to him that, those who have mothers how they could rape? The oppression of women was due to patriarchal society and the capitalist used that too. They had some women coming up in different areas but they were very few.

The person responsible for food called out to us otherwise we probably would have continued. We went into a room where cooking was done in one corner and sitting arrangement was made on the floor on one side. Excellent fish curry and rice was made, Bhanusingh also sat and ate with us. Some people lived in the Centre. After dinner he left. We sat out for sometime around a log of burnt wood, as it was very cold. The activity started early morning as it was first-come first serve and I told them not to worry on my account. I was given a separate room to sleep. When I got up the activities of fish selling was over and they were preparing for flag hoisting, as it was 26th Jan. I kept all my conflicts aside about the Nation State and stood with the workers to give them the respect due while they had their function and also sang the National anthem. Sweets were distributed to schoolchildren.

One of the persons dropped me in the vehicle to the woman’s home whose name was written on the campaign pamphlet. It was like any other house in the village made of mud, lots of books were exception, the woman was not well but the person who could not be contacted