September 15, 2009 (Session 10)

This was to be the last session of the long workshop that had unfolded many stories of grit, determination, self-confidence and hope. The remaining photographs of the participants which had not been viewed until now, were presented. The session began with Tabassum's photographs and she was urged to talk about them. Sudharak introduced her presentation stating that she did exactly what was instructed and her photographs displayed the emotions and feelings among her family members, whose photograph she had taken during different periods of the day and week. "Both Tabassum and Heena have done excellent work with their camera and although they have both shown images of their home and family, both have different perspectives to the same topic," he said.

Tabassum said that she had the camera with her for only a single day and hence the easiest way out with her project was to to take photographs of her family. "I wanted to show what my home, my locale looks like -- how we conduct ourselves in our day-to-day lives. So i took photographs of everyone dancing suddenly when music was on and an infant who was put to sleep in a makeshift swing made of dupatta. I had some cousins visiting us and i took their photographs too," she said.

Ravi commented that the bond among her family members were evident, while according to Sudharak, Tabassum did not have to struggle a single bit to show emotions in her photographs.

Next in line was Heena, who wanted to show the interactions between her four children who were the rock to each other. "My eldest daughter almost always feeds her siblings and is already a mother figure to them. My husband had divided our house with a plank of wood and the other side of the house has been given on rent where a little girl lives. She had dressed up as Krishna's Radha for Janmasthami, but I did not have a camera with me at that time. So when I got hold of the camera, I told her mother to dress he up again and that's how I took her photograph again," Heena explained.

Next was Fatima, who was also quite determined to show her family life through her photographs. "One morning I woke up and saw that my son was sleeping with my brother. I instantly removed the camera from its case and took the photograph. I always insist my son to drink milk instead of tea, and that is when I thought that I should take his photograph, to boost him further to drink milk before he left for school. My younger sister also finishes her work early in the morning with quite a hurry because she has to reach her workplace. Mornings are quite swift at home and that is what I wanted to show through my photographs. My youngest brother is very religious and is not in much favour of photography and any media. So I had to take his photograph very discreetly," she said.

Fatima added that she always had her camera strung around her neck and that she was eagerly waiting for her other son to get home from hostel so that she could take photographs of her children playing and talking.

Sudharak remarked that all of us intended to take photographs of the outside world, but we hardly ever realised that our home by itself was one of the best grounds for getting the most beautiful photographs. "Taking family photographs is also like documenting history. You can only imagine how your son will feel when he sees the photographs of him eating pav and milk in the morning before school, when he is about 30 years old," he said.

Farhat remarked that although Ramzan was a season of observing austerity in all forms, her family was observing, although with no intention of malice, that she was indulging in much more frivolity with her camera!

The photograph of a balloon-seller was taken by Shabeena, which prompted Sudharak to rightly comment that even if the man's face is not visible, the balloons he carry are enough to spread joy. "I also wanted to show how my mohalla looks. There was a little girl who insisted that I take her photograph and she followed me till my house, just so that I oblige her. My uncle's children were visiting us and I took out my camera. My mother said that I should let them get properly dressed do that they appear neat in the photographs. I rubbished what she had to say and told her that I would take their photographs just as they were. Besides, I love to watch the TV serial 'Balika Vadhu' and hence took some snapshots from TV when the show was on," Shabeena explained.

The shy Shabeena had also taken photographs of a rusted autorickshaw which looked more a like person's face. She also took a photograph of a public bathroom which had white tiles and a white wash basin. Her rationale to take the photograph was that the whiteness of the entire situation appealed to her. Paigumberi, who was then sitting next to her, commented that she was taking photographs of just anything that she saw and that it wouldn't be a surprise if she had taken the photographs of a toilet. "If I feel the need to, then I will surely take the photograph of a toilet. What is wrong with that?" Shabeena retorted.

A shorter presentation then followed which was some photographs selected by Anuja – they included photographs of visuals seen outside and inside the house. Gazala had taken the photograph of her neighbour who was pregnant, and Sudharak told her that she should focus on the woman as her final project. He added, "All of your final photo stories will revolve around you. You can choose topics like single women running their households, women breaking traditional barriers to study and have a career, etc. These are topics that you could think of, within the available realm of your life and immediate neighbourhood. Some other topics that you could work on are poverty, illiteracy, domestic violence, health, gender, living and sanitation conditions, the purdah system, divorce, etc."

Farhat said that she was angry about the way Muslim women are perceived and she wanted to break away from those notions. "I have endured pain personally and know what it feels to emerge successful after all of it. So I am sure that we will pull this project through, positively. In the course of this workshop, all of us had a chance to see many many photographs. We also saw some photographs of Muslim women in their stereotypical attire. It is we who can break those notions through our photographs, and personally rebuild our lives by breaking away from those ideas. We have to make our own image, about ourselves and tell the world that we are just like anyone else."

Ravi concluded the session with the example of a butterfly. "A beautiful butterfly is born only from the tiny larva. The birth process is not one of ease -- the butterfly has to struggle quite a bit so to be able to finally emerge from the larva. Some scientists were once trying to ease the process of the butterfly's birth, by opening up the hole of the larva. The butterflies thus born were not as beautiful as the ones which had struggled to get out. Our lives are just like that the struggling butterfly, waiting to be born beautiful," he said.

Everyone present at that moment in the Awaz-E-Niswaan office sat together is a huge circle and played a refreshing and energising game of antakshari. Some were dinging, while some others joined in the revelry of being together and working towards one goal – of becoming independent and free of any hurt and pain, but hoping for more such fun-filled days in their lives.

Internalising violence

Heena is like most other 30-something woman -- married with children, working in a small time organisation, and trying hard to make ends meet especially with a husband who enjoys getting violent. We just knew that this was a similar pattern among the women of Awaz-E-Niswaan, the organisation that was helping Muslim women to fight back. But Heena's warm laughter about her situation putrefacted my gut.

Heena has four children -- the eldest is a 12-year-old girl and the youngest is a two-year-old toddler. Her husband has no fixed job while she works in an office to bring in the dough every evening for her children. Her husband doesn't want her. He has already divorced her. Now he wants the house -- a tiny matchbox room -- to himself. So he doesn't shy away from going to any extremes to get Heena and the children out of the house. Heena has suffered his kicks, slaps, thuds for 14 years. Her eldest daughter is already a terrified soul.

But Heena won't leave the house. "He married me, bore me four children. I wouldn't ask 'where am I to go?' because I know that me and my children have equal right to safe shelter."

Behind her high-powered lens, one cannot miss Heena's beautiful eyes. Her husbands also admits to that fact and that was the most-recent cause of their squabble, which left a deep scab below Heena's right eye. "How dare you ahev such beautiful eyes? How dare men look at your eyes directly? You must be the one who seduce them!" and thud! he banged her eye but missed it by an inch.

"I picked up the bamboo and hit him back that day -- the first time ever in the 14 years of cohabitation," says Heena, as she lets out her ferocious laughter before us. "i should have picked up the bamboo or even an iron rod many years earlier, but now, I am also always eyeing the gutter below my house. Next time he decides to pounce on me, i Know where to push him," she says confidently.

Ask the five-feet tall Heena if she could really do that, and she says that nothing would now stop her from doing so. I smile, and ask, "How tall is your marad?"

"He is bulky -- but I will kick him."

I sigh; I am left wondering; I am only praying.

I am pulled out of my moment's prayers when I see her pointing towards her thigh rather animatedly, I regain my composure, rub my hands so as not to feel my goosebumps, but her words defeat my curdling of blood -- "He once stabbed a knife into my thigh! Can you believe it?" and she laughs as though it was the best-laid practical joke. Only, it is on herself and her married life, and she has internalised the joke.

"He throws the cooked food and my friend Tabassum, who keeps a tab on my children, calls me to report this."

"What do you do then?"

"I buy andaa pav...I can afford that for sure for my children."

Heena laughs through each of her statement. I smile, not knowing that as my lips curve, she receives the impetus to go on and on to give me more examples of the way he tortures her, which she narrates rather vividly. Is she glad to be able to spill it all out? Has she already gone past those ideas of covering up? Or is she merely entertaining my evening with her gory narratives, to which I can do nothing but only feign a smile?

RED

What is the taste of red?

What is the smell of red?

The morning sun

The bright bedbug

The liquid rust in our arteries

The delicious strawberries

The velvety rose

The come, they live, they go

Brighten

Jolt

Blush

Cheer

Satiate

But lips? No, they are different

Lips utter, but they contemplate kiss

Lips kiss, but they contemplate fuck

Lips fuck, but they contemplate words

Lips sip, but they contemplate chew

– Just another soft cragged range

of our anatomy

with no mind of its own.

Why can’t they be red?

Why can’t they just be?

Red is red – for now

Red is pink – yesterday

Red is scarlet – tomorrow

But today, it rejoices being red

Why can’t lips be red – today?

To brighten

To jolt

To blush

To cheer

To satiate

And more –

Utter

Kiss, kiss

Fuck

Utter

Sip

Chew

Why can’t today – only today – be red?

Why can’t red – only today –be your lips?

Why can’t red – only today –be my lips?

Neruda's words

Pablo Neruda has intrigued many with the way he weaves through his poem through words. Words are his tools; words are his air that he breathes; words are the sand grains that he walks past; words are the rain drops that wake up the dead Earth beneath his feet, leaving them colourful.

In his memoirs, which is often touted to be his best literary work, Neruda talks about his love for words, and with love, he presents to our mind's eye the beauty whom he never ceased to love, and the way he would love to love those words. Here are Neruda's own words:

"You can say anything you want, yessir, but it's the words that sing, they soar and descend . . . I bow to them . . . I love them, I cling to them, I run them down, I bite into them, I melt them down . . . I love words so much . . . The unexpected ones . . . The ones I wait for greedily or stalk until, suddenly, they drop . . . Vowels I love . . . They glitter like colored stones, they leap like silver fish, they are foam, thread, metal, dew . . . I run after certain words . . . They are so beautiful that I want to fit them all into my poem . . . I catch them in midflight, as they buzz past, I trap them, clean them, peel them, I set myself in front of the dish, they have a crystalline texture to me, vibrant, ivory, vegetable, oily, like fruit, like algae, like agates, like olives . . . And I stir them, I shake them, I drink them, I gulp them down, I mash them, I garnish them, I let them go . . . I leave them in my poem like stalactites, like slivers of polished wood, like coals, pickings from a shipwreck, gifts from the waves . . . Everything exists in the word . . ."

Why is it then so difficult for us too to fall in love this way with words? Why are we sometimes waiting for moments when we could be possessed by a desire to do something to those words, with those words? Why do we wait for an inspiration, a revelation, a premonition, an admonition -- why do we wait for an idea to seize us so that we can seize words?

Pranhita Sen speaks....

I had received an email from Arundhati Roy about Dr Binayak Sen's deteriorating health as he languishes in Raipur jail. I knew that as I was on my way out of Mumbai Mirror, and non-independent journalism, I had the power to do my kind of stories. A few phone calls later, I learnt that Dr Sen's daughter Pranhita was studying in St Xavier's College in Mumbai. I had to interview her somehow – I didn't care much at that time whether the interview would go on print or not. However, I proposed the idea to my boss who gave me the green signal.

I had the idea of Pranhita as a very stoic and nerdy girl, what with the turbulent times she is going through. But at the end of the interview, and a free-wheeling chat over kheema pav at Kyani's, I was happy to have found another person whose wavelengths matched my own quirky ones. It is too early to say if we would be friends for life, but I know for sure that we would have a great time together whenever we would catch up in future. And yes, we have been in touch.

What went on print on the April 10, 2009 edition of Mumbai Mirror was just excerpts of the interview. However, here is the near-complete transcript of the interview. At some places, I have framed my own syntax for better flow of the copy.

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"In 2005, Salwa Judum - which in the tribal dialect Gondi means 'holy hunt' -- was kickstarted. It was for the Maoists who were in Bastar, which is highly rich in minerals like diamond bauxite and iron. Even the government wanted the villagers to move out from the area since government had signed an MoU with De Beers. So they began to call people and said they would compensate them in accommodation elsewhere, as well as secure them away from the Maoists.

Naga battalions and the BSF were called in, and SJ commenced in full swing. People in villages were brought and told to leave since they two armed forces were fighting for them against Maoists, and hence they were needed to join in the battle. Some went, some didn’t. In the name of SJ, people were being killed mercilessly. I remember, in one village, 79 people were killed by Nagas and the SJ, and the police later said that all 79 killed were Maoists, which is not true. By just donning some fatigues everyone doesn’t become a Maoists.

Children were killed, women were being raped. People were get scared of the Nagas because there were rumours that they ate people. When people were arrested they would never return. People thought Nagas would devour those arrested. After a certain point, it was decided that a human rights group should be investigating these unwarranted arrests and disappearing of people. There were 10 other organisations which began to document these incidents. I had gone along with Baba to document on camera because the appointed cameraperson at PUCL wasn't willing to join us.

It was very bad scenario in the camps. People were kept in bad conditions. They weren't allowed to go their villages where their houses and granaries were burnt, the cattle were destroyed and eaten up. The camps were small tin houses where the adults were housed while there were separate dorms for children. From girls section of the dorm, there were reports of many girls getting pregnant. It is a bad situation there.

Narayan Sanyal was arrested sometime in late 2004 or early 2005. a From the newspapers, I learnt that he is a Maoist. One day, a man called Madhav Sanyal came from Kolkata and said that he was the younger brother of Narayan. Baba told him that he never heard of Narayan having a brother named Madhav. Apparently, someone in Kolkata who was a common acquaintance of our family and Narayan Sanyal had connected Madhav to Baba since he wanted to file a habeas corpus in Bilaspur for Narayan's arrest, and needed help since he was new to Chattisgarh.

Nevertheless, Baba told Madhav that he would help him file a habeas corpus at Bilaspur. But they later found that Narayan was kept in Warangal, so they approached the Andhra Pradesh police. Madhav began to frequent Warangal and finally Narayan got bail and was released. But soon, he was arrested by the Chattisgarh police for crimes in that state.

Madhav would then come to Raipur every month. Sometime in February 2007, he sent a message to the jail authorities that he would be undergoing a bypass surgery in March 2007 and would hence he would not be able to come for the court hearing. Instead, he named my father for representing him in the court.

During one particular hearing, the lawyer told my father that he had to be paid his fee. Madhav told the lawyer over phone that he would be sending a businessman, Piyush Guha, from Kolkata with the money.

On April 30, 2007, my father was to meet Guha and collect the money. He waited for quite a while at the hotel where Guha was reportedly putting up, but Baba couldn't meet him. The hotel authorities later told Baba that Guha had checked in but then had left the hotel, and had not returned. My father was worried.

My mother, my sister and myself were in Kolkata since April 26 for a vacation, and since Baba had to complete his clinical work in the villages, he was to join us in Kolkata on May 1. On May 2, while in Kolkata, Baba received a call from Guha’s wife. She said that she got his number from Madhav, and that she hadn't heard from Guha since the day he arrived at Chattisgarh. Baba called up some people at PUCL in Chattisgarh but they too hadn't heard of any recent arrests made.

On May 5, the Chattisgarh police officially arrested Guha and termed him a 'hardcore Maoist'. The local press was abound with photos of a hooded and handcuffed Guha, and the police also said that someone who knew the topography of Raipur quite well was also wanted but was currently absconding.

By May 7, Baba had an inkling that he would be arrested. He knew that all fingers were pointing towards him. He called up a section of the press and said that the Chattisgarh police knew his contact details, and should contact him first to verify such facts. Everyone knew him as the benefactor of the Chattisgarh.

On May 9, we had confirmed information that Baba would be arrested. There was utter chaos at home with my daadi sobbing. On May 13, we went to drop him at the station to go to Bilaspur to get back on his work at the clinic, as scheduled earlier. Baba got off at Bilaspur to meet a PUCL lawyer to discuss about filing an anticipatory bail. While they were discussing the matter at her residence, a constable came and asked Baba to accompany him to the police station for a chat. Both Baba and the lawyer went to the police station. They kept him waiting for 2 hours, and then Baba called us up in Kolkata to say that he wouldn't be arrested, and that they had kept him waiting at the police station for some officers to arrive.

On that day, my mother had taken my naani to Murshidabad because naani had wanted to visit the place. Around 4 pm, my mother called me from Murshidabad to say that baba would be arrested after all. She told me to take care of daadi and my younger sister. Shortly thereafter, baba called us up and daadi just broke down. So did my younger sister. Looking at their pitiful state, I did not know what I should be talking to baba. All he told me was to continue to be the pillar of the house. As I battled to silence my own tears, I heard him tell me that I had to fight it all and take on the work forward.

Actually, we were expecting something like this to happen after he began to investigate about the many fake encounters, and especially their increasing numbers since SJ was started.

I wasn't even allowed to cry because I couldn't afford to break down before daadi and my sister. We were in a trap, as all our phones were being tapped ever since baba had arrived at Kolkata on May 1. That's how they managed to trap him from Bilaspur. He was later taken to Raipur.

After we returned to Raipur a few days later, we saw that our house was seized and sealed. A family friend from PUCL let us stay in his house. A week later, they brought home baba after a court order, and on May 22, our house was searched.

150 constables had accompanied 25 officers to search our house. The police wanted to convey that baba was indeed a Maoist. Everyone in our building had shut their windows but were trying to peep in the proceedings. We couldn't enter our own house. The police searched our house for 6-8 hours.

Since our house is lined with books at every wall and corner, the police was aghast with the thought that checking each and every book at our place would actually consume a whole year! Their searched yielded some pamphlets. They were checking each and every VCD that was stacked up. The police had also begun to proclaim my father to be a quack. They confiscated his stethoscope. They picked up any book that had words like "red" or "Naxal". They even took away my sister’s Algebra notebook because they thought that it was some code language! Now as I recollect that day, I understand that none of the officers were well-educated and hence would pick just anything that looked suspicious to them. They had even brought someone from the IB, who however, kept on rebuking the officers for laying their hands on any lame innocuous piece of document lying in our house. But the officers took away a copy of National Geographic Magazine because it had a map of Chattisgarh, marking all districts.

When baba was first arrested, we were initially convinced that he would in there for 6 months. But after they searched our house and took away any innocuous literature with them, and had concocted such a false story about him, we knew that the stay in jail would go up to a year. But it has been 23 months now. They even submitted a supplementary chargesheet with 41 witnesses. In the first chargesheet, most of the 84 witnesses were declared hostile. The police would, in fact, bring only such witnesses who would go against my father and thus declare baba a Maoist.

Since the last two months, baba had been getting angina pain, but had kept mum about it. He would tell the jailor that he needed to visit a doctor, but his pleas would fall on deaf ears. During one of the court hearings on March 27, baba angrily asserted before the judge that he needed to see a doctor because he feared that his health was deteriorating. The judge then ordered for a treatment with a Raipur-based cardiologist, Dr Ashish Malhotra.

After the medical checkup with Dr Malhotra, baba was referred to CMC Vellore, and Dr Malhotra also suspected that baba may have to undergo a bypass surgery. The doctor's report was sent to the judge. Later, when the SP of Chattisgarh learnt that baba was sent to Dr Malhotra, he scolded the jailor for doing so. But the jailor said that he it was a court order so he couldn't go against it. In the last couple of months, we have learnt it even more closely that the police is ready to disrespect the court at any given pretext.

We believe that it would still take time before baba finally undergoes any proper line of treatment. As per protocol, several documents have to be passed from the judge to the government, which will be most unwilling to help out baba.

Immediately after baba was arrested, I was living in Raipur for a few weeks. I would take a bus to the university and back, and sometimes even to go visit baba. But even I was soon targetted. I would get pamphlets with the daily newspaper that I was being closely watched upon and that I would be the next target. Our family couldn't afford to have me in there too. That's when I decided to come to Mumbai and do a film course, something that had already been playing in my mind since a long time.

Inside the jail, baba isn't treated well. We aren't allowed to talk to him for too long. We meet him just once a week for half hour and the jailor is always party to our conversations. Sometimes they try to disallow us to meet him. I have to fight and on certain occasions, have even abused them to seal their lips and show them their right place.

Nowadays, my maa travels every week to Raipur from Wardha, just to meet baba for an hour’s chat. It is sickening to see that the real Maoists are brought to court without any security, while baba is chained and there is a large security cover when they bring him to the court. The media should bring out this reality, and maybe that’s how the government could correct its steps.

After much struggle, we were allowed to take in books for baba to read. That's how he whiles away his time behind the bars. He also does a lot of writing. Baba is still very optimistic that he would get out soon. It has been long, yes; he too faces his moments of getting depressed. But being the kind of man that my father is, he bounces back to life and sheer optimism soon again.

The media in Chattisgarh has been completely bought out. With an impotent media, how could baba's unjust ordeal appear in the press? All protests marches and candlelight vigils are fine, but only if media talk about it, will people know that an innocent man is languishing in jail. People are scared to talk about it because it involves 'Maoists'. The press is well fed to keep their lips sealed. People do not want to watch real news and the ground realities of what is happening in the not-so-developed areas of the country.

In fact, very few of my friends know what I go through emotionally. But I guess I can't blame such souls who do not even know who Medha Patkar is! Such is the level of apathy and ignorance among the youth.

There have been letters of appeals sent from Amnesty International, as well as from 22 Nobel laureates, that baba should be released. We have met the Chattisgarh CM so many times, he says only says, 'Let’s see.' Many efforts have been on all this while, but I'm not informed well about it because all our phones are tapped. I speak to my mother only about each others’ well being, but we never talk about the case.

The government is too stubborn. Someone in the bureaucratic circles said that the police would try hard not to release baba because doing such a thing would go against the police morale. What kind of morale is this?

It has indeed been worthwhile for my father to have led his life in helping people. As a kid, I was angry because all kind of people -- rich or poor -- were made to lie down on my bed if they came home for treatment. But later, as I grew up, baba would explain to me the stark realities of our society and would show me the other side of India, which is rotting in poverty and pain. I began to work closely with him since the time I was 12. I am happy that whatever he did was right.

We all know that baba will get out one day; we have to be optimistic. Agar woh unko nahi nikaalenge, toh hum maarke unko nikaal laayenge. Baba has never befriended any Maoist ever. He has only been sympathetic towards the villagers who have been discriminated by caste. And that has been his premise of work since years.

As soon as I get my diploma, I am planning to make a film on my father. Beyond that, I have made no plans whatsoever. People have been staging satyagraha protests every Monday at Raipur, but after two years of ordeal, I'm beginning to wonder if the efforts will bear fruit.

I miss baba, but I am not sad about what has happened. I am proud of my father and wouldn’t swap my life with anyone else’s.