Living in the Vanishing lands of Sundarbans: Women and Children face the Rage of the rising Rivers

Every morning thirteen year old Rabiya Khatoon living on the edge of the Muri Gonga (a distributary of the Hoogly river) in Ghoramara islands wake up to run to the banks and check the level of water. The high tides have been frequently washing away her mud and hay stacked hut more frequently than ever before. Rabiya goes to the local school but checks the timing of the tide before leaving for school. Of late the pucca building of the centrally located “Hathkhola Pratham Prathamik Bidyalaya, the only primary school in the island has served more like a shelter home than an education Center. People are used to running out of their homes to escape the high tides that washes their homes in the middle of the night and taking shelter in the first floor of the school building. “Rabiya lives in extreme fear. Each year the river gets closer and closer to my house. The water frequently washes away the huts. The mud embankment that we have built gets washed away too. And we again build our house a little far away in the fields”, says Rabiul Islam Saha, Rabiya’s father with tears in his eyes. A small time rice grower in the village has to shift his house by a few meters every year for fear of being washed away. His house couple of years back had stood on the banks where the palm trees and the mud embankment stood. Now a bamboo fence all across the island has been built by the villagers so that it can withstand the cyclonic winds somewhat and give them time to take shelter in the school.

The iota of fear rises each day! Rabiul’s house near Kheya Ghat at the Ghoramara islands is half bend by the flash wave of water that broke the embankment a few weeks ago. “We do not have any money. People who are migrating are the ones who could afford to buy land or have place to stay. Our relatives went away. I cannot because we have nowhere to go” shyly Rabia speaks up. At thirteen her school is closed most of the time of the year because either teachers cannot commute regularly to the village school or the school turns as temporary shelter for the climate immigrants. “There is just one ferry that goes to and fro during the day to Sagar islands. We go and buy our stuff from there. But during low tide or high tide these ferries cannot sail and we are left stranded here”, explains Mohan Maji a seventy year old woman who’s earns a living out of buffing the mud houses with cow dung. She is paid rupees five for a three hour job in somewhat better homes in the island.“The river was never like this before. It appears to be in rage. Ganga is very angry because we have polluted her’.

The women in the island have not heard about ‘Climate Change’ but they know the sea level is rising rapidly. “Our homes will be gulped. We will have to move, just as we had moved from Lohachura islands to Ghoramara two decades ago. There cannot be permanent homes in these islands. These lands will vanish soon. We are living like guests here”, explains Sushmita Pramanik, the wife of the Khashimara gram panchayat member Arun Pramanik. “If this be the situation gradually one day the sea will take away all the land of the world”, she adds.

The Pramaniks are wealthy in the small island. They have a pucca house where people take shelter during the flash floods at high tide times. But previously in the early nineties Arun Pramanik grew up in a nearby island Lohachura that has completely gone inside the water. They were amongst the first refugees of the rising sea. The then state government facilitated their rehabilitation in Ghoramara the nearby island spread over ten square kilometers for the new settlements to be made. The Pramanik sons now study in the city and the father, the panchayat member holds regular public meetings to apprise the people of the growing risk of living in the sinking land.

Ten thousand people were relocated from Lohachura to Ghoramara in 1995. Lohachura went completely under the sea in the year 2000, another island Supar bhangaha  also gradually gone within the water “due to sea level rise”.In the last three decades Ghoramara islands lost 7.6 square kilometers of land and its population of forty thousand people shrunk to now just 4000 people living in the land in the sea. “The islands have always been in danger since the rise in global warming. With the Ganga bed getting flooding as never before rivers are rising and it is true that in the last decade the erosion is faster than ever. We just have to understand the complexities and the challenge that needs to be addressed fast” explains Professor Sugata Hazra, noted oceanographer of Jadavpur University studying the sea level and disappearing islands of Sundarban delta. Professor Hazra explains that more than 80 square kilometers nearly half the size of Kolkata city has been submerged in the past three decades in the Sundarbans delta. The island at a distance of about 8.9 kilometers from Kakdwip, the nearby land point takes about an hour of ferry ride to reach. There are no hospitals and the sick, the old and pregnant women either have to be ferried to the nearest mainland or Sagar islands for any medical support. A few locally trained ASHA workers help child births at homes in the island.

Women and children seem to bear the burnt the most.Men flock to mainland to find jobs and explore possibilities of settling down while women and children remain back home to build homes after the aftermath of floods. Fifteen year old Sheikh Firoz a class eight drop out helps his mother clear the fallen coconut trees to make handmade mats (leafy mats)) touse them at home and also fix it as shades to combat the gush of water. Ashmina and Alima Khatoon both school drops outs have just learnt the art of making ‘huts’ for living.

Firoz says his only memory is to run at night if there is water. “I have known it since childhood. Every night I dream of being washed away so am always ready to run to the safest place at school.” Firoz’s father moved to the nearby island in Sagar to work as daily wage laborer. “When he finds home for us then we will shift”, he says.

Women with no homes, no livelihood and large scale fear of being washed away any day have learnt the art of hut building. They stack the hay, swab the floor polish the dry mud walls

and know perfectly how to raise the floor in case of the water gushing in.The prawn seed farming is no longer available due to the rise and fall of sea level in the scanty populated islands. Women now actively grow a few saline resistant variety of rice in the little paddy fields that is left for them. A flash flood can easily wash that away. The day to day needs are met ferrying in the only public launch that comes to pick up commuters.

The villagers have little possessions. They know there is nothing to accumulate. Some are waiting for new homes, some for the men who have migrated to come back and take them away.

Ghoramara has too little to offer. And it is time that the rest of country takes note of “India’s own set of Climate Refugees” waiting for homes.   

Love, Jihad, Faith and Conversion: All that continues to burn

Naima, a twenty four year old mother of two, is my neighbor in my hometown in Purnia, Bihar. Naima was Naina until five years ago when she ran away with Nasim the son of a neighborhood fruit vendor. They happen to live with their sons in sleepy vicinity in Maulvitola, primarily a Muslim dominated area encircled by other caste lined community ghettoes.
I vaguely remember, my father sharing in this story of the daughter of a rich ‘Marwari Seth’ of Gulabbagh in Purnia, running away with her Muslim boyfriend one fine night a few years back. This had led to communal tensions in the area otherwise known for its peaceful cohabitation and interdependence between communities.
He was a fruit vendor of the area and she the girl next door.
Naima and Nasim had met at eighteen. She on her way to the school and he while selling fruits for his father. She was in the final year at school and he a drop-out from Madarsa Husannia in Kadru in Ranchi, Jharkhand.
First Nasim’s story:
Nasim’s mother had a real midnight dream. She recalled one night a ‘Buzurg (Holy man) appeared in her dreams and advised her to give away one of the four sons for ‘Deeni Taalim (Religious study). “That way all her woes will be taken care off by Allah”, he had advised. Fighting poverty and illness and no stable source of income from her elder sons she chose the then six year old Nasim who fetch her happiness.
Nasim was sent to Madarsa Hussania in Ranchi to tread ‘Allah’s’ path so that his family recovers the business losses and his mother her ‘good days’. Two days later he ran away from the Madarsa hostel after being brutally beaten up by the head Maulana for not mugging up his lessons. He just ran and ran far to spend the whole night on the streets until the next day when his local guardians could trace him and send him back home.
But this did not deter his mother. She was adamant. She knew he was to be ‘sacrificed’ for the good of the family. He had to study and study ‘Deen’ (religion). He was sent back to Madrasa Arabia Islamia Juhapur in Ahmedabad, far away from home so that he cannot return. But just when he was picking up studies he decided to leave the Madarsa. This time he left hostel forever to work in Mumbai hotels. He had fought with his classmates for his anti-Islamic love for life, rugged jeans and Hindi films. He never went back to school and his mother’s woes never ended after that.

Naima who was Naina
Naina was the daughter of a rich businessman in Purnia. Her father was not simply oversized but wore outfits with oversized pockets so that he can fill it up with bundles of money he made everyday at the wholesale business hub. She went to a local school in Purnia and saw very little of her father. Her mother was a kitchen woman who got into the kitchen before Naina woke up in the morning and came out only when she was fast asleep.
Naina loved Hindi films and aspired to look like Hindi film heroines. So she ate less, wore bright clothes and sported deeply outlined eyelids but kept all her dreams hidden deep in her chest.
Nasim and Naina
Naina describes, “We met, first our eyes, then our hearts and finally our souls”. Before anyone knew they had left home for each other’s company far away to Guwahati via Katihar, Kolkata, Bhubaneshwar after wandering around for weeks in fear and the newly found freedom.
“At that point, I could have jumped the train, had he wanted me to do so. I just loved him”, admits the love smitten twenty four years old, married for five years and mother of two now. “He loves me too very dearly even today”, “when I had no one he accepted me”, she shyly admits.
It’s been five years and Naina is Naima now, living with her fruit seller husband.
“We just ran away from everyone we knew. No one would have given us a chance”, Nasim adds.
“I had called up from Kolkata, to tell my parents that I was fine. They did not want me back’. They hated me and wanted me dead. I had nowhere to go”, says Naima.
“Had we returned they would have killed us. So was everyone I spoke to were threatening. Everyone I met had suggestions that we retreat. Our relationship will never be acceptable. It is no joke, we at that point were even considering dying together”.
The Conversion and Explanation: Naima’s story
“I read the first Kalma (The Holy verse from Quran) that he said out loud and I repeated. He had written it in Hindi. La ilaha illal La hoo Mohammadur Rasool Ullahe. This is in Arabic. It means there is none worthy of worship except Allah and Muhammad is His Messenger. I did not know that made me a Muslim. The young Maulvi (Qazi) of a local mosque in Guwahati declared us man and wife. He did not even know us but he still agreed”.
“That was the easiest thing to do then when everyone is running after your life”. Had I not married him I could not have stayed with him. Legally! Also he was not big enough to marry me in the court”, Naima explains.
“My father had called the police. They wanted to get us arrested. His father and brother were picked up on charges of kidnapping me. They spent three months in jail.”
“I tried hard to mediate. But no one would listen. My parents thought I was a kid, but they were arranging my marriage to someone else. They called me names. The whole community, neighbors were ready to testify against us. He would have ended in jail forever. Can you guess if I had returned then what would have happened? This is the fate of a girl’, she adds philosophically.
‘My father does not talk to me even today but my mother has adjusted. She would call sometime and I meet her in the market place secretively. She is concerned and now also likes my husband as well. But she still does not want me to come home for fear of being ostracized by the community”, Naima says. “That’s because I had gone against their wishes and had brought them shame”.
Naima had to testify in the court against her parents declaring herself a Muslim who wanted to live with her husband. It was only then that her in laws were granted bail by the district court.
“I am the girl who shamed the community”. “But I want to know why only girls are made to choose between people they love”. “Thank God I have sons”.
“I do not have home of my own. I share his family home. They have given me shelter and are family now. It is either father’s home or husband’s girls have to adjust accordingly”.
“I would not get any help from my father. Being a woman I do not have any right to my father’s wealth, property or name”.
“Gradually, I have learnt to cook non vegetarian food but am still a strict vegetarian. My sons know Hanuman Chalisa by heart. You know, woman happen to be more religious and children learn from their mother. I sing to them every night. That’s by habit”.
“Yes, this is also true that my name has changed but I have not. What is in name?” “Had I not changed home, family, relatives, friends I would not have had to change my name either”, “Had my parents, society, community, accepted me as I was. Alas!”
How true! What is in name?
“Naima or Naina would have anyways added, deleted, changed her name for her husband” she says with utmost calm.

The Jihad (Struggle) for Love!

With the controversy surrounding mixed religion marriages in India these days and terming them as ´Love Jihad´ or part of a greater conspiracy, it seems it is time for me to stand up and share my story of ´my JIHAD FOR LOVE´.

After a long challenging battle for social acceptability and stability for more than fifteen years I eventually come out today as just another common Indian married woman living life in my terms. The only difference here is that I am married by my choice to a man from another religion who I met, fell in love and married.

I wonder if this is the right time to recall, tell and retell my journey of the ´jihad for love´ when all that is being propagated is the word ´Love jihad´!

Indeed, today I am comfortably married to a person of my choice only because the Indian constitution permitted me to. Or else I would have had to back out, break up the relationship and look for other options of love and marriage at a convenient place and then recall my love story as just another teenage fling. I feel deeply concerned and shamed for a society and community that forbids people to marry by choice although the existing law of the land permits it magnanimously. If there were fewer takers for it, why had the law makers thought about the minuscule minority with criminal intentions?

But before this separate discussion of ´who marries how´ it is important to share my very personal story.

I met the guy when I was in my teens, fell in love in my early twenties and married a few years later.

I come from equally traditional Muslim family that teaches vehemently the concept of ´jodis (couples) made in heaven´ and ´without a Nikah´ the marriage is not ´solemnized´; Muslim girls can marry to only ´Ahle Kitaab´ i e to the ´people of the book´. So marrying a Hindu is completely non acceptable within the community leave aside ´marrying by choice´.

The Initial Concerns! ´Our Women Their Women Syndrome´

It was as it happened that my family considering I was the woman to be taken away by another family seemed to be more concerned of ´losing out´. My father who loves me the most in this world was troubled that ´I will not be allowed to live like I was´ and ´will have to follow the diktats of the family I move in´. "That is how it is. Women move to other people´s home and just not by virtue of religious conversion but by exciting societal norms live according to the rules of the family of her husband". He had tried to show me reason. "This is how it is for all women in our society because women live not according to what they learn from the family of their birth but in accordance to the family of the MAN, be it women from the same community or otherwise".

Since my father had put in all efforts to groom me up and had never differentiated between my brother and me, the discussion at that point seemed to be the issue of his heart that feared ´losing out´ a battle, a valuable ´possession´ to someone else who did not deserve it. It wasn’t about two equal adults wanting to start a family but it was about who would gain.

My mother a pious lady regular with her five time namaaz had other concerns. "Look when a woman gets married she has to adapt to her new home, new identity. What will you start doing, change your name and start worshiping idols".

Strange times, strange issues!

Well, here I was talking about marriage and here came issues of religion, rituals, belief, future, family name and lineage.

I knew the guy through close friends. We met, I liked him, he professed, I accepted, we shared, he proposed, I desired and we decided to get married.

"Which religion your children will follow", my childhood friends were worried .

"What will happen when you die?"

"How can you follow both customs?

It is easier said than done".

"Are you going to run away?" "Your parents will never agree; "Think about your old parents!" "Your family name, your brothers, your sisters", "they do not deserve this"; "Don´t bring them shame!"

"What, how, where…..why….Can´t you, Don´t you; It isn´t fair; try and understand; how will you?" "How can you. No don´t !

Never… the lineage, the community; Don´t lose… your honor; No No…No! "You cannot be so selfish…. oh please!

"What if you are dumped? Don´t come back".

It was not easy! It was the battle. The Jihad (holy war) for LOVE!

I said "I will… because I want to, this is what I want". ´Why shouldn´t I"? Oh Allah! Save me! I am just marrying, I want him, I want just him, I want to settle down, as all others, all my friends; God! Please help me… Please, no one else, but him, I love him, can´t live without him! Is that seriously a crime I will be committing?´

"You will go to hell"? "Seventy thousand feet below" to the fire!

Okay but I will… I love him. I will not back out. Let it be, I can´t marry anyone else. Let me live in peace. I will not come back. Allah! Please help.

The Man´s World!

First the generous letter from his old father. "It does not matter. Our family has been liberal and we have accommodated people of all types". The sooner you decide the better".

"Well, but he cannot be waiting in a state of uncertainty for long!"

Then the family- "We are non - interfering people. You can go to Arya Samaj Mandir and we will arrange. It just takes a few minutes for the wedding". "This is the fastest way to get married"!

A right wing ideologue friend!

"You should do stuff right away". Don´t mind, Man! These people come with the intention of converting Hindues. Just be very cautious. It does not work smoothly always.

Oh that girl! Yes, she is a Mia´s daughter. "Muslims can marry more than one but for us Hindues, Vivah is a sanskaar and the loyal wives pray to get the same husband in seven life times".

His loyal friends!

"You are a very brave girl". We haven´t seen any from your community marry Hindu boys. Usually it is only Hindu girls getting married to Muslim boys".

"It is so nice you are so liberal. We don´t mind. This talk about religion is just useless. You must get married soon".

"Parents do not accept now but they will once when you have children". "By the way which religion will your children follow?"

"Usually it is the father´s", adds another friend. "But you will have to leave home. Your parents will never agree". "We can take you to the Arya Samaj Mandir, the process there is very easy and simple".

This way, that way, just now! "She has to agree" "Why wouldn´t she?", "If she loves you", ´Whether she will; Wont she; she should; she has to and why can’t she…… there is no option; it happens; this is how it is!

The battle goes on and on!

Paper Marriage!

We were in the hurry of getting registered as man and wife. I personally to lessen the guilt of embarrassing my parents of "losing out" their possession i e the daughter.. the ´ghar ki izzat´ who was not being ´given away´ but who decides to be ´taken over´.

Whereas he, probably in the hurry to take control of the reigns of the ongoing battle.

He had connections in right places and we managed. Three witnesses, no prior intimation to anyone concerned, and the wedding was solemnized in front of the magistrate who gave that discerning look to the girl who had shamed her community by ´losing out´ and intruding into someone else´ home.

The War Doesn´t End Here Either!

"Well it is a gain", ´welcome to the family", was the note from a dear family member of my new home. "When they have children things will settle down".

"We should not gift any valuables now. Who knows how long the relationship will last".

"Yes this is the custom. Women should be known by the names of their husbands. People add the name of their husbands because they love them", advices from a senior family member in the family.

"They are bound to have issues. It isn´t that simple" were a few other observations. "This is how we do stuff". "Now since you are a part of our family, you should learn these".

"Have you made up with your family", "Have they accepted you now".

Uhh.. The Matter of Choice!

Fifteen years and the matter did not end still. Each day I live answering, convincing, explaining, arguing, persuading that the choice made is right. To my family it is that I have not changed and that the ´others´ have not over powered me whereas to those who happen to be my new family members I keep reassuring that I am very much like them, have adapted to the new customs, culture, thought process and life.

The battle goes on and on!

And here I am standing by the choice I made, because this is what I always wanted. Here, I am also talking on behalf of the hundreds of women like me who have dared, made these choices in life, lived according to their wishes and want their families to be a part of their life. Marriage we know is a ritual that unites people… families, societies and cultures. Those who object to women´s right to choose for fear of losing the ´ghar ki i zzat´ has to start believing that women happen to be equal human beings with equal rights to choose, influence, impress and inspire.

To all those who complain that women are being ´taken over´, and influenced and cannot make the right choices, also need to understand that stopping someone else by force or by diktats forbidding them to live on their own terms is a criminal offence in the law of the land. Tying a rakhi to men of the community to save them from bad company will only make women vulnerable and captive. Give people the right to think right so that women by virtue of marriage become agents of ´integration´ and not ´division´.

WhatsApp Jokes, Facebook Posts: How real ….how “ Made Up”!

I am amazed at the resolve of my many friends to connect to me through facebook posts, whatsApp messages at all times. They are an interesting lot and we live in interesting times. The whole world has gone global and in this age of information sharing and creating, to be in company of friends constantly provides a special feeling.


I feel blessed to have been in company of friends all the time. Yes, that means connected to them through the social Oops… new media tools. Never for a second in the last couple of years has a moment crossed my mind making me feel unwanted, unattended or not connected. What an amazing time is this! You have someone there at all times updating, informing and advising at all circumstances. If not one you could easily have a substitute in a friend. It is special…. and makes you feel certainly special!

And all the more special it is to see how your friends race to be the first in sharing with you the best possible note, post, joke, or comment that can make you feel all the more at the top of world. After all they want to make you feel so wanted, attended and connected.

In that bid to return favors I look for my role. Can I be left behind? After all they are my friends and they have so many things to tell me, share with me. What do I have? I need to contribute to the pool as well. Faster, intelligently and effectively!

Yes, these are times of competition. You run, you pace and you speed up…also to be the first with the “breaking posts”. Not just to attend or connect to your friend but also to display the swiftness, the energy and your reach in the vast, vast virtual world of knowledge..ie the infinite internet!

So what if the jokes I post upsets my friends..so what if it is at the expense of someone’s reputation, so what if it is gender insensitive, so what if it denigrates another community, so what if it is false, so what if it is exaggerated, so what if it is a total deception…I did not write this…I just copied and forwarded. After all my intentions are good! We can only have a good laugh at this and nothing more.

Now here, I am not writing this to pass judgments at the creative values and understanding of many of my dear friends who have the pleasure to share with me all and everything they come across as reading material on social media circles. Neither do I have serious objections to jokes, posts and comments by others. I am just wondering about the several content that I receive every day and understand its impact on me.

I am into various whatsApp groups of different sections of my friend list and I keep wondering how come most content gets shared so fast and with so much ease. I wonder if at all the jokes I crack, the content I share on social media circles all true. Who made these jokes and why did they? What made them create the content so specific to cater to our innate demands and how and why does this amplify to this great extent so as to reach each and every corner of the country. Amazing it might appear but the content gets all over within such a short span of time. Never has information related to health, education or anything valuing human life reached people so largely and effectively.

And what if all the information I forward as posts happen to be clichéd, false and disturbing. There has been no survey on the authenticity of the information shared nor have there been any clear motive for the intrusive gender, caste, religion and nationality based write ups.

Social Media is a revolutionary tool. We are blessed that we live in revolutionary times. As a friend replied during one of these personal discourses, ‘do not take jokes as editorials. They intend to induce a raise on the corner of the lips and not the eyebrows’….agreed I say, ‘but what if they raise my eyebrows’.

I wonder when we write stuff for public consumption as for the social media what are our considerations. A friend wrote sometime back ‘Men will be Men’ and ‘Women will be Women’…. I am just trying to unravel the idea behind the statement. Is it that the writer endorses the message hidden in these words.

So is when someone posts a joke on a particular community, I wonder how jokes have targeted particular communities for ages. Jokes as my friend says are notes that will makes us laugh but when it is posted, shared and shared a million times it becomes an idea people start believing in. Opinions are bound to be framed and generations base their ideas on those opinions.

A wrong information on facebook the other day generated such a response that a young techie was brutally murdered in Pune for no fault of his. He was in no way connected to the post or the social media circuit but paid the price for living in these interesting fast paced well connected times.

If we believe it is a joke to question the “understanding of a particular community in India”, it has remained so for ages and influenced the thought process of the nation. And at times when the social media is all the more influential these posts have far reaching influence and consequences.
Read More:
http://www.ibtimes.co.uk/india-whatsapp-saves-man-trapped-10-hours-after-rock-climbing-accident-1453962

A friend sends this joke on whasapp and received 10 likes in 10 secs.
Love ur husband


when he orders you to make tea or coffee.

He wants to feel fresh

to listen your nonstop talks.....







Love him

if he looks at all the beautiful females.

he is just checking that you are still the best.



Love him

if criticise your cooking ... he is still improving

his taste.....



Love him

if snores at night and disturbs your sleep.

He is trying to prove that he is the most relaxed person after being married to you





Love him

if he forgets to

give you a gift on your birthday

he is saving money for your future.



Love him ... Because you don't have a choice and killing is a legal offence

Ladhak is the beauty with little air

Ladhak is immensely beautiful. Naked, untouched, flawless….picture perfect. Scenes that I had imagined and had seen only in photo frames stood just in front of me. “It’s so well maintained’, was what I exclaimed when I first saw it at Leh Kushok Bakula Rimpochhe Airport airport. For those traveling first time must definitely look out of the flight windows for a life time Himalayan experience.

Never before had I seen the hills and the range of mountains to be so different, varied and yet so sync picture perfect. Probably, because I have all my life lived far away from the hills in the plains, amongst the maddening hordes of people and that this place was so dissimilar. Ladhak was simply so beautiful with its barren great mountainous range all around with very little green and no trees around.

The place is special very special …because of the sun shine in the blue sky with little cumulus clouds peeping out of the mountain peaks. There is very little or no vegetation and people cannot afford to plant trees too. “This would attract clouds and subsequent rains’, had explained one of colonel of the Indian army who had willingly played host to us. “ We are on the rain shadow side of the Himalayas and so it does not have adequate vegetation leading to the low level of oxygen. Rains would wash off the sandy and muddy mountains” It was then I realized that the persistent headache that we had developed was due to low oxygen and we had to be acclimatized first to the surrounding before venturing for more unquenchable mountain views.  

“You cannot take risks. People develop blood pressure and due to this unless you get used to this weather, it is difficult to stay here”. We were there for a week as guests with friends in the Indian army who promised to take us around. “Drink lots of water for better supply of oxygen to your body. Work and walk slowly” were the advices given before we planned our trip to the most exotic sites of Ladhak.

Leh is the biggest city of Ladakh and in first glance it appears it is one of those small hilly towns that would be immensely popular for its exotic location. But it has its own identity. A huge contingent of the Indian Army deployed on the India China border is headquartered in Leh. With low sex ratio still you would find women working as daily laborers with the Border Roads Organization (BRO) that builts beautiful roads on mountains.

The trip to Khardung La ie the Kardung pass was extremely exiting. Besides the meandering roads in the snow covered mountainous range, the low availability of oxygen makes it all the more difficult. But to overcome the simple uneasiness, drowsiness and nausea is the real challenge. Sleeping through the trip increases the discomfort but amazingly the local drivers are so well versed with the turnarounds, the avalanches, the muddy village paths that the fifty kilometer trip becomes a lifetime experience. Snow filled mountains of different colors, sizes, shapes would surround you and you are lead to the K Top said to be the highest motorable road on earth. All uneasiness would vanish as you lower height through the K top to North Pullu to Nubra valley that has got the double humped camels as the star attraction in midst of the grey sandy dunes.

Besides the Thiksey and Hemis Monastery, Shey and Leh Palace, Shanti stupa what more can be explored is another trip hundred and fifty kilometers up and down to Pangong Tso Lake, the brackish water  lake in the India China Border across Changla Pass. A young twenty nine year old Major of the Indian Army confessed when I complimented him about the place he lived. “It is beautiful with no air. Good to live here for vacation but hard on duty”. The high and lows of the roads leading to the lake for the four hour drive in low air area makes you believe that ‘nothing comes easy in life’. To really enjoy the beauty of this side of the Himalayas is adventures and the difficult path makes it all the more desirable.

China stands a few kilometers away across the blue divide of the Pangong  Tso (Lake). Even with minimal vegetation it is amazing to watch snow deer, yaks, Pashmina goats, wild horses grazing around in the very low dull green pastures. That makes the trip and ultimate adventure excursion. “Do they get adequate food”, I wondered. My driver cum guide Dorji explained, ‘You adapt with what is available”. Given said that this is worth mentionable that it could be the only place in India that I have seen the free sale of Oxygen cylinders for personal use. It’s so easy and handy for tourists available at all pharma shops as small perfume bottles. Also the deal is worth noticeable that if it is not used during high point trips it can be exchanged back in the shop once when you get back.

Only had Ladakh got a little more air, a little more electricity, little more water in the snow, life would have been much easier for the tourists and also for the people who really live in hard situations. Even in those hardships monasteries are built in the highest points above fifteen thousand feet and little monks in their maroon habits keep praying in the most difficult circumstances for a better world.

 

 

Is killing the killer the answer to contain rape in India?

I personally do not endorse the idea of ‘killing the killer ‘ and considering it to be a deterrent measure against rarest of the rare cases. Because living in a civilized world and considering myself to be representing the civilized community, I cannot bring myself to justify that merely by aping the killer and making him pay back in the same coin would serve to be lessons for aspiring killers.

I really see no logic to it.  Neither do I find any logic in the sane world marching on streets demanding ‘Killers to be hanged until death’ for rape crimes. What a brutality of humankind from people who are examples of sanity and civilization. People keep on protesting, shouting giving examples of the kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Shariah Law where rape and murder convicts are killed in broad daylight so that it serves “a lesson for those daring to ever commit the crime”.

I know just imagining the thought of forgiving someone who could be as brutal as the Delhi rape case perpetrators is also beyond imagination. ‘We are not saints’ one of the girls protesting on the streets against cases of rape was heard shouting. ‘Unless criminals pay for their crimes they will not learn’.

Rape is indeed an act of severe violence that even if the victims survive they would be almost dead for their entire life. I can say this with conviction because I am a woman, with a very small daughter living in constant fear of not going out alone to certain places, living alone or even thinking of going out alone at night for the most of my life. I know and have been brought up to believe that I am a vulnerable section of the society and need to be only in safe places under constant care and support of male members of the family.

But here I am talking of something else. I am talking about criminals whether they should be paid back in the same coin or not. So first this story of a criminal I almost saw being killed.

On 14^th August 2004, teen rape convict Dhananjay Chatterjee was hanged early morning at 4:00a.m at Alipur jail amidst outcry from human rights activists against hanging the guy who had served fourteen years in jail for the crime he had committed. I as a young journalist had waited for his death along with fellow reporters outside the Alipore jail that night in August. In between cups of tea the whole media contingent waited and waited until morning to have a glimpse of the man who had pulled the noose and take shots of the man who had just been to the gallows and was gone.

I had really then wanted him to die and be punished as harshly as possible for the crime he had committed to a fourteen year old way back fourteen year ago. The victim a little younger to me would have been almost grown up to be like me had she lived.

But then I felt the eerie surrounding the death of the criminal. I was also imagining that the perpetrator would have also not been the same man after all these years. Who knows he was already a changed man? He had spent his fourteen years in a correctional home (jail).  Was it anyway civilized to do the same to him (kill him) now after he has been through this major correction process of his life.

It is true…his action deserved severest punishments and his action could not be undone. But this was also true how come we remain civilized by answering him in the same coin.

I have sincerely no sympathies for Dhanajay. He took away a precious life…just as I have one. And I strongly relate to Hetal the victim who lost her precious life only because she was a woman…weak and fragile to be killed so easily. Dhanajay remained weak, aged, fragile in the same way after so many years and the stronger civilized world of us was taking away his life.

That moment I felt it was simply the different viewpoints that altered the scene of crime. We were on the other side doing the same as what Dhanajay the powerful criminal that fatal night felt while killing Hetal.

This is not again about equating both the actions. One was the action and the other reaction. Killing a person who is in custody or already convicted of his crime is no big deal. He is weak, dependent and prisoner…what more can be taken out of him.

But now the question also arises as to how his execution can prove deterrent…Rather what appeared to me was the fact that merely Dhanajay’s prosecution led him to the gallows. Now if that be the case then criminals of his stature would now not just commit the crime but also try to evade the law. Here then there will be more chances of committing double crimes of not just the action as such but also the cover up.

Yes, rape as a crime has to be deterrent. But how is it possible in a country where one citizen (women) has restricted permits to visit places at restricted timing. I believe rape as a crime is against a sexual community with the idea to suppress, overpower and eradicate the very existence of womanhood.

This definitely cannot be stopped by punishing people who have committed violent sex crime by giving violence in return.  The need is to stop the crime first and then hunt for criminals.

We have to stop the crime and rectify the criminal and not do the opposite of rectifying the crime scene and stopping the criminal. The latter will definitely not serve to be a great lesson to be taught.

Feku versus Pappu war: Which side are you?

I am no great Rahul fan. And consciously I could never endorse Narendra Modi’s policies. Yet the ongoing debate on the Feku versus Pappu hash tags on social media has left me amused. I want to join the debate with some of the arguments like if there was indeed a choice between a Feku and a Pappu and they happen to be the only available options, who would be then considered best for my nation and which side will I be.

First the Pappu…. My husband’s pet name is Pappu. In India almost every mohalla will have someone named Pappu or else identified as Pappu. Pappu is a pet name for an innocent, sweet child who was not into any crafty business.  Pappu is a dumb kid, would be ignorant of things, can be fooled easily but he is harmless. He might not have great achievements in life but he could be reliable, consistent and devoted.

Indeed it has been true that in India people make fun of the Pappus only because they were naïve and could not make their way up by any means.

If Rahul Gandhi symbolizes the Pappus of India, he could be the one representing many young Indians who have consistently worked all their lives and got nothing much in return. So when Rahul made friends with painter Girish in a train journey to Mumbai couple of years back I can understand his willingness to befriend another Pappu of the country.

I am particularly impressed when this emerging Pappu the leader, talks about India being a bee hive. I as a young student during early school days have written essays on the bee hive and how does it depict a great world in itself. The queen bee is the mother bee, identified for laying eggs and giving birth to the progeny even as the workers take care for rearing and advancing the community. The drones that happen to be the male bees die just after fertilizing the mother bee. And the rest of the community labors hard to collect the honey for the younger community to grow and prosper. What an amazing story of life and inclusive growth.

I identify with the hundreds of the worker community who would strive and toil for development growth and life of their own world. And most of we Indians have lived like them, happen to be them. So when the Pappu who is hoping to lead the ‘Pappuland’ talks about the beehive India his dream land, I see myself in it, my role in it.

Not that I would ever want to work and strive just like another worker bee but that where is the option. It is my world and it is the way I have lived all through.

Pappu talked of me, like me. Naïve with may be no great magic wand to undo things and only hopes of a refreshed new beehive. When he says that he is not a politician and wants to work as an ordinary worker, somehow I get a feeling that he is no queen bee but the ordinary worker bee just leading the swarm of bees towards finding honey. Or even if he was the queen bee, he could do little to change the bee hive. The hive grows big with collective effort and not just by one queen bee syndrome.

Now the Feku. I have known the Feku for some years now. He talks business, I am told. With his magic wand he took away the great Tata’s Nano project from West Bengal the sick, outdated, dying state to ‘Vibrant Gujrat’. Look at the ‘Gujrat Model’ people say. Roads are great, ports have potential, people are entrepreneurs and the air has vibrancy and enthusiasm. All big investors are moving there, investing….developing.

Feku advises people of moving ahead and not looking back to the gory past. People are prosperous, happy and positive. Feku talks of ‘Gujrat ki Asmita’ and any criticism to his era of golden rule is seen as a blow to the self respect of six crore people of Gujrati self respect.

Feku gives examples of the ‘Gujrat model’ of prosperity where everyone is an entrepreneur and a business woman innovated pizza with her add on desi recipe some two decades ago beacuse of the magic of Gujrat of today. How people have moved to Gujrat leaving other places for business and livelihood! I am amused..awestruck and wonder about the dream land and dream world.  

Actually the word Feku means ‘The Exaggerator’. As kids we would listen to ‘Feku’ frien ds and tell them ‘to give away more so that we could wrap around’. (fakiye fakiye hum lapette hain). I was just wondering how our ‘Feku’ friend can give away stories with such efficacy to make the concept of dreamland look so real. 

At least he does whatever he says, says one. Don’t you know what changes he has brought in these years of his tenure in Gujrat. ‘You can’t just keep living in the past of 2002’. “He has really changed Gujrat”. Have’nt you heard the stories of development?

I have…..I have heard so many stories of prosperity, development, vibrancy, investment, enthusiasm and advancement. I have heard of the ‘Gujrat model’ and have heard tales of self proclaimed ‘Vikas Purush’, and his so called ‘hard decisions’. Oh...I have heard tales of development as to how big investors patted the government and how investors find scope of development in the developed state.

Oh I keep hearing ….I kept hearing the tales from the Feku and keep wondering if these were fairy tales. Which government has been criticized vociferously by any investor ever? Were they not bestowing accolades, when the new government came to power out staging the communist rule in Bengal after thirty five years? Investors have to look up to the government for infrastructural support and politics free governance for smooth functioning of business. And they would do the same whether in Bengal or in Gujrat.

I know Feku keeps telling that people had voted him for three consecutive term. But people had done that to so many governments before and are doing that to so many governments now.  People had voted the communists in Bengal for seven consecutive terms before voting them out. The Congress had ruled the country for five terms before the emergency. But how does just ruling consecutive terms in a state make anyone eligible to rule the country. The question is do people know that the Feku wanted to make voting mandatory in his state through a bill or else prosecute people if they did not. Underlining, if there was a scope of also prosecuting people if they did not vote the Feku or ever dared question his concept of dreamland.

Feku’s regime is known to be mastering the art of fake encounters. I wonder if that was the origin of the name ‘ Feku’.  Or were they the tales from the Fekuland that went to the making of the ‘Feku’. Nowhere in India has ever seen senior police officers of the rank of DGP facing prosecution for fake encounters. How can this be attributed as the signs of prosperity?

Let’s not forget the Nano car showcased as greatest achievement of Feku regime was because the people of Singur did not give their farmland in exchange for cars. Let’s us also not forget that Feku wants people to forget that 2002 ever happened in his kingdom but never reaffirms that it will never be repeated. He has never expressed apology for failing to save his own people who also contribute to the six crore gujrati asmita. 

Feku talks of giving reservations to women political participation at grassroots panchayats forgetting the fact that the one bill that is still pending in his state has been implemented in many other states of this country and is a successful model. Feku forgets that women are not mere mothers, wives or daughters but equal citizens of the country. Women’s reservation in politics is actually inclusive politics and mere proposals do not make an achievement story.

Feku talks of the five crore Gujrati’s self respect and how he enjoys their support. Is it true that even sixty percent of the total vote of Gujrat were actually in his favour. Feku is on Facebook, on twitter but does he actually know how many people have access to Facebook or Twitter in his own state. Does he have a count as to how many people still are in refugee camps in his state? Does he have a figure as to how many people have been prosecuted and convicted for human rights violation in his prosperous state? Does he also have a figure that how many people in his own state did not go out during the day of elections and where do they live or which community they come from? 

Feku does not include me in his vision. I don’t figure in his success story. I am not included in the self respect account of the six crore Gujratis.

Where do then I figure in his tales? If the success story of six crore (mere hearsay) people showcase the life of one twenty one crore, it is a real fake assessment. 

I will not be for Feku as his estimation to attend to 1.27 billion Indians only through what he has done for much less than even the six crore people of his state is nothing less than just an over statement.