Young Indian

“I'd rather die my way than live yours.”  Lauren Oliver, Delirium

                                                                                                                                                                     Manoj Keer is a young Indian adult, so inconspicuous that he can easily be missed out in mob. This average single built man visits us once in 2-3 months on a motorbike. His signature attire is a dark coloured terelyne trouser with once-a-white shirt; either lines or checks. The worn out socks are hidden beneath old and mended shoes. The bag-pack has a water-bottle and many sets of rope bundles in it.  

In the first visit I was about to shoo him away considering him as one of the MBA- Marketing students from a third-grade college mushroomed in the city . Many times I had fallen prey to their educational needs.

‘I am not here to sell anything. Rather, I am here to make you part of my entrepreneurship.’

His sophisticated and clear communication made an instant impression. And so did his pearly white teeth against the dusky complexion.  

Manoj is an arts graduate and resident of Raisen district. He collects, rather buys, old newspapers, books, notebooks, magazines and make envelops out of them. He along with 3 more friends have identified groups of women in slums.  The raw material is supplied to them to make envelopes for ½ and 1 kg quantity. The women are paid per 100 envelopes made.  

‘I am earning more than any job that a person with my education will get. Moreover, I am independent. The biggest satisfaction is I am providing livelihood to many others. As a citizen I am also able to work towards environment conservation.’ He is professional-satisfaction and self-pride personified.  

During our chat he revealed that recently he got a huge order from a Pune based company. Motivated by this, he is now thinking of making envelopes of other sizes including paper shopping bags. He is also exploring diversifying  into collection of e-waste .

In a recent address on Start-up India , PM Modi had aptly said ‘Government should stop interfering and the Indian youth will do fabulously well.’

Tippy tap

My work takes me to various places across Madhya Pradesh and sometimes to other states. Every visit makes me learn something, how people adjust to life in a relentless environment, a basic act may have a specific connotation. It helps me to understand humanity and empathise while being connected to the roots. A recent such visit to few villages surprised me pleasantly, rethink over the intricate social fabric and also devour the nature in its purest form. 

8 km of rocky stretch to reach  forest village Mathar. We met a group of villagers at the start of road. They reached the village when we were travelling back after half-an-hour. They carried groceries, vegetables on the head and were busy in chatting with each other. The dense forest is abode of tiger, but the life goes on 

The discrimination is interwoven in our lives. Sometimes it is so much part of it that we do not even notice the subtle hints. The data can tell us how much discrimination is percolated in the society.  In two Anganwadis, the growth chart tattled on gender discrimination.  In the growth chart weight of children upto 5 years is plotted every month to prevent the child’s slippage in malnutrition. Girls’ weight is plotted on pink portion while the blue is for boys’ weight recording. Thanks to the British!       

In a peri urban area, there re lesser girls than boys. Girls are more malnourished than boys as more girls are either just on the border of normal zone , many have already slipped in the malnutrition zone and girls are in danger zone 3 times more than the boys. When are we going to bridge this?

The tribal and forest village Mathaar shows far less gender discrimination. It is evident from the more number of girls as compared to boys. There is hardly any difference in the weight distribution amongst boys and girls. 

Things are not bleak everywhere , all the time. There are few pleasant surprises which lightens your day and the mood. The Anganwadi was a model one with neat , clean and child friendly structure. There was an amphitheater for children to do stage performances. The most interesting thing was the Tippy tap!

It’s a low cost innovation to teach children handwashing

in a playful way

The child operates the wooden fulcrum which  sills water from the can. It prevents water wastage as well

Blind race

DB mall at 8.30 am was very deserted . Gradually the place started swelling up with people. Occasion was that of a special car rally where route navigator will be a visually challenged person. It is organized by an organization called Arushi which works for children with special needs. The money collected would be go to the organization as charity.   

This year I decided to participate in this  decade old annual event. Thanks to Rohini who volunteered to take care of my registration procedure.  Excitement overpowered sense of charity. At the start-off venue there were various types of cars. Some were vintage treasured only for such special events, jazzy cars like Porsche flaunted its existence, special Bhopali jeeps with exotic makeover, luxury cars, medium to expensive range of 8-seaters, but the regular category cars being in majority. Car owners were of matching personalities fully dressed for the event. A mini bus pulled in at the venue and all the eager eyes turned towards it . This vehicle brought in our navigators. A coordinator facilitated them to get out of the bus and made them sit on the steps. Soon they were flocked around by the drivers to get connected with their own navigator.

The Police band started playing a melodious tune. It was an indication that the rally was soon to start as the chief guest was on his way for the flag-off. Being a novice I was trying to understand rule of the game. Each car is provided with the speed regulation rules and a route map at the time of flag-off, all –in- braille. The navigator will first explain you how much to speed for which sector. Then gradually s/he will read the route map. Driver has to concentrate on speed limit and the route as sometimes landmarks are symbolically described along with.

My navigator was a young boy from Gorakhpur. He was studying in std XI with Political science, Geography and economics as his subjects. It was a full time school in Bhopal. Ashish aspires to do a course in Masters of Social work. I was amazed to see his ease in operating a cell phone, many of them are expert in using touch screen also.

It was a unique experience being instructed by a visually challenged person. We got lost at few occasions, circled and circled at one place initially due to poor coordination, went on the correct path and felt motivated. But we enjoyed our complementarity thoroughly. Along the way we chatted and came to know about each other, thrilled over our correct routes and consoling each other on a wrong move. Towards the end we were so comfortable with each other that we have decided to be the winning  pair next year .

In recent years the facility of audio books has negatively affected capability to read braille. However, the facilities offered to the specially challenged population are very less in comparison to the liveliness of these human beings who make it their own responsibility to live life to the fullest. I realized that we pity them as they are unable to see the world from our standards , but they see the world in a more meaningful way. For them the world is really nirgun, nirakar  which is the centre of Vedic philosophy.  

Aboli

January 2016

Tanuj

It was a pleasant morning. Warm interiors of the hotel restaurant was bustling with breakfast activity. Soft clutter of cutlery, whispers and low tone laughs were indicative of polished and sophisticated gentry within. Along with my colleagues, I was stopping over in this hotel while enroute to a tribal district in western Madhya Pradesh.

As its name, Hotel Lemon Tree had a citrus ambience. The waiting staff in the restaurant was dressed up in lemon coloured uniform. The room was filled with gastronomical smell emerging from variety of food mixed with faint fruity odour. We settled down at a table placed in a sunny corner of the room. Deep in our discussion on the tribals, government policies on social inclusion, mainstreaming of the marginalized population etc. , we were analyzing the policies with a social lens; how the seem-to-be-straight-and-implementable policy has bearing on the society to make an informed choice. The young waiting staff was efficiently moving around the room taking orders, placing needed things on the table, clearing the plates. Everything was happening in perfect unison without giving anybody a chance to wait for any demand.

My colleague reckoned a staff as he wanted an extra sachet of sugar. A young, handsome boy with left ear pierce with a diamond stud immediately attended us with a pleasant smile stuck on his face. His lapel plate announced him to be Tanuj. He indicated to a tag around his neck which said:

I am dumb and deaf, please point out the article you need from the list here.

The list contained food items, consumables, cutlery, which was exhaustive in all probabilities.

For a second we all were puzzled and started looking around for a ‘normal’ help. Tanuj stood there confident, smiling and expecting us to place our order, holding the neck tag list close to our faces for our convenience. My colleague put a finger on the item which said sugar sachet. Within minutes extra sugar sachets were delivered at our table. We had the lower jaw dropped in amazement, to which Tanuj was oblivious and carried out errands in perfect composure.

Coming out of our table-talk, I studied the surroundings. I could spot three staff with the similar tags around their necks. Without conscious attention, it was difficult to spot these young fellows who were carrying out their responsibility with equal professionalism as others. We were amazed, surprised but extremely satisfied to see such beautiful mainstreaming in a corporate setting. Sometimes in social development sector equity and social inclusion terms are used very loosely befitting to the society’s convenience. But here I witnessed a perfect example of  it .

Day -starters

It was another usual day where everyone was busy getting ready for work. I was running a bit behind the schedule, which was showing in my temper. It had rained heavily last night and the surroundings were immersed in water. I was waiting for the maid to come and do her routine task so that I can leave with a sense of neat and clean house. She was trying to cope up with the flood situation in her house and busy to rescue the limited belongings that she possessed. ‘Damn!! I will be late’ was the thought when I took charge of the steering wheel. The traffic was chaotic on the road. Everybody trying to overtake from whichever side. The underway beneath the railway bridge gets waterlogged; I have to take a longer route now. A car went full speed splashing the dirty water. My hair and sleeve of the dress got drenched. “Owner of this luxury car is supposed to be educated and well-groomed, why can’t they show some sense?” I was imagining myself entering the office as the dirty character of ‘washing- powder- Nirma-ad’.

Anyway, I have to concentrate on the round-about ahead. On a smaller one usually there is no traffic-signal. The Traffic police are posted but in a hurry you tend to miss him standing on one side of the road under a shady tree. Traffic police on the road is a recent scene for me. The city I grew up had no concept of ‘road sense’. Foot walkers, cyclists, scooterists and motorists (who were very rare) used to share the road with equal pride. In mornings and evenings the pride was further shared by buffaloes, cows and goats. ‘Keep left’ was a slogan mugged in school but hardly practiced. My memory of a Traffic-police was a man clad in white uniform; recently changed to blue and white. Another information I had was they commonly suffer from varicose veins which is an occupational hazard. In this city I come across Traffic police profoundly during the helmet-pehno-seatbelt-bandho-drive  or licence-check-karoa-drive  or pandrah-agast-chhabbis-janvari-explosive-checking-drive. I have changed the nomenclature to Terriffic police.

I was following the car in front of me, making a mental note that the motorbike should not be allowed to cross or I would have to wait till the huge caravan of vehicles pass off. I was alarmed by the shrill tone of whistle and a white-blue person emerging in front of me. He was signaling me to stop and waving the caravan of the opposite side to pass by. Suddenly in a deft gesture he turned right-angle, clapped heels together and started signaling to the other caravan. The whistle was blowing in a rhythmic fashion as if talking to the vehicles and instructing the drivers what to do. His face was fresh and friendly and his eyes observant, efficiently taking a note of where the traffic is clogging. While his moves were professional, his decisions were empathetic. It was rare scene and I was enjoying it. Suddenly I felt a sense of peace coming down on the drivers. Shrieking of horns subsided and the vehicles were attentive to take orders like disciplined rows of children in the assembly ground. He was in total command of the situation. No yelling, no honking, the vehicles were gliding by as if in a trans. He was acting as an antidote to subside the overflow of peptic juices. I shall be late today but cheerful.

I signaled a thumbs-up sign while passing by and he acknowledged it with a subtle smile.   

Human Touch

Inside the glass door it was a different world all together. Cool quiet and plush interior was oblivious to the heat and dust outside. Technology has reduced opportunities of actual human interface in general. ATM, net banking, customer care services, shopping apps on mobile are at your disposal round the clock.

I remembered the days when you have to stand in queue to get the passbook updated. Clerical staff at the window seemed to be your buddy in this monthly ritual. The window clerk was our mentor for the beginners in banking rituals.

-          Abhi MT (money transfer) hua nahi hai

-           Arre… savings accounbt ke liye gulabi slip bhariye

-          Ye toh deposit slip hai…..withdrawal karna hai naa…

It had been years that I actually entered a bank. Either money withdrawal from ATM or talking to a faceless voice solved maximum of my problems. Last month I had to visit a bank for two reasons….. one- my debit card had expired and  two- my  passbook needed updated entry. With heavy heart I decided to visit the bank before going to work. I cautioned my office of reporting a little late on work as I was sure that both the things will be time consuming.

I was met with a straight-faced woman at the counter. She handed over a form for reissue of debit card.

“When should I come back to collect the card?”

“Wait for 5 minutes”

 She checked form details, noted down the information in a register, took out a card and sealed PIN number and handed over to me. “It will be activated within 48 hours, remember to withdraw some amount day after tomorrow”. I was flabbergasted with the speed of service!!Still trying to get out of the jet-trance I slid my passbook and stammered ccann yoouu updddate it ppleasse….

GET IT DONE AT THE KIOSK OUTSIDE…….She verbally slapped me for my ignorance. I felt behind the time to know that the banks are operating on a mechanized mode. Security guard at the entrance took pride in teaching me how to get the passbook updated in the machine. Its very simple madam…. See its done…

 While profusely thanking him I noticed to my horror that the amount is not fully updated as per my knowledge. I sheepishly told this to the woman at the counter. She looked at me for a second and instructed her junior to update the amount manually.

Within those 20 minutes I had mixed feelings. The country is galloping towards development with mechanization …. still the mechanical precision needs the human touch.

Bubbly bubble where do you fly….

The huge black iron gate had kept hope and joy at bay. The premises looked like a routine government set-up with yellow painted old building and an uneven approach way. At the entrance we were met with a group of officials who were responsible to manage and run this shelter home for destitute women. Their briefing about the place created a hope that ‘all is well’. Being my first visit to a shelter home, my imagination canvas was painted with images derived from the perception of such places. The films depicted these as hub of crime, oppressed rights, hatred and despair. My expectation of an old dilapidated structure with a gloomy and dark atmosphere was confirmed by an inmate emerging out of the building. She was looking at an imaginary spot in the air, aloof of our presence. Her salt-and-pepper hair were cut too short which indicated more of the caretaker’s comfort than being a style statement. My heart missed a beat for a fear of visualizing a herd of mentally challenged women in dirty clothes, body odour announcing their being.

The caretaker took us to a side courtyard. It was recently cleaned with a colourful carpet –rug spread in the centre. Few plastic chairs placed along stated that we were superior beings than the inmates we were about to meet. The word ‘inmate’ sounds like a branding for curtailed freedom of the subject where they are dependent upon benevolence of others.

Suddenly the gloomy screensaver melted into thousands of colours; like a stream of chirpy children flowed from entrance of a nursery school. 10-15 young girls clad in simple but clean clothes gathered in the courtyard.  They were all between 16-20 years. Their eyes twinkled with enthusiasm and the face glowed with confidence. Few elder girls had a small child tagged to them. They seemed a little dull and intrigued by their role as a single, unsupported mother. Almost all the girls had a thick sindoor line   in the parting. They were decked up fashionable in the most possible way in the limited resources available with them. Three of them adorned stylish hairstyle which only a professional hairstylist could have done.

Our discussions started with small talks on their name, village, since when they are here.  Most were the victims of marrying against the family’s wishes. Parents submitted birth certificates (sometime fake) showing the girl to be a minor. The boy was alleged for alluring a minor girl and sent to jail. Some girls were unfortunate (or fortunate) to be caught before the marriage could take place. As the girl had stepped out of the parental home and not accepted in the boy’s family, she had no place to go. The court sent her to the shelter home till she becomes a major and has a place to go. This arrangement seems to be very effective and optimistic. But the trend depicts a grave scenario that these girls may stay in the shelter home for months, years, sometime almost whole life. How and when they would get out? They don’t know when their ‘husband’ is released, whether he and his family will still accept her? What if the marriage is labelled as illegal?  

These girls have taken a decision against all odds, which confirms that they are brave and confident. But the 24 hours are spent only in gossips. Who is preparing them to face the outside world? There is no way of building their vocational skills, helping them in getting a schooling/ degree. Their youth is getting waste in uncertainty costing on the confidence level. A group of chirping young girls are soon to turn into acrid human beings. Who takes its onus? These are bubbly bubbles who are doomed to burst against the hard, uneven wall of the premises.

December 2015