When I entered the festooned gates of JMC on the morning of 23rd February, I found the atmosphere inside ridden with confusion, with some palpable heat and anxiety flowing around. Reason? The Women Studies and Development Center, my alter ego while I was still in college, was waiting to launch one of their most prideworthy initiatives of the year in the august presence of the Mayor of Delhi, Ms. Rajni Abbi. Quite obviously, my juniors, who now hold the reigns of WSDC, were facing essential bouts of pre-event jitters.It is not everyday that the Mayor of Delhi herself agrees to walk in through the gates of your college to give to your endeavours her blessings and encouragement. However, that is precisely what Ms. Abbi consented to do- to be with a bunch of enthusiastic young scribes wanting to make their quill their sword of revolution- and the kind of person she is, we were easily stunned and mesmerized by her.

"Still I Rise"- this is the name of  a recently launched monthly newsletter by WSDC, JMC, which seeks to address bold topics relating to gender issues- the concerns and the celebration. It is a unique and unprecedented initiative, at least as far as the history of JMC is concerned. If the first issue of this journal is anything to go by, I am more than sure that the forthcoming issues will only get better and more interesting, and will carry lots of informative and entertaining content which will definitely appeal to the sensibilities of the young, the concerned and the daring. You can know more about this newsletter by clicking here. This link directs you to the blog of this still nascent product of young imaginations, trying hard to mark its presence among people who take interest in issues relating to women empowerment, gender parity, inter alia. 

A simple half hour rendezvous with Rajni ma'am ensured us that their could not have been a better icon of female strength and achievement whom WSDC could have invited to launch the first issue of Still I Rise. The fact that they invited me, their ex-President alongside her is something that makes me swell with pride. Tantamount to pride also lingers the humbling feeling of gratitude. Rajni ma'am had a personality that makes one instantly like her. She is a teacher by profession, a teacher at heart, and somehow, I always believed that teachers make for excellent leaders. They already know how to shape futures, mold young minds into mature ideals, and be inspirations without having to try too hard. 

Professor Rajni Abbi heads one of the three municipal corporations of Delhi, namely the MCD. The designation of a Mayor has a lot of pomp associated with it. So while we were expecting a VIP to enter our college at 11:30, Prof. Abbi nonchalantly walked into our campus at 11:25, not as a VIP, but like a humble leader who belongs to the masses. Her punctuality and humility were immediately noticeable, but what was even better was her keen understanding of a student's life and an urge to cooperate with us. She was friendly, and gave us helpful sermons which we ought to remember for our own benefit. No moment spent with her lacked the dynamism she effortlessly exuded. It was the first time I met her, and though I have no idea of what her accomplishments are, I still felt like sharing the first impression she left on me. Political ideologies, I have none. But an addiction to recording the best of experiences in life I certainly do. This was one of them.

My best wishes to the WSDC team. Make sure each step you all now take only takes your forward. What you have began should not end with college. Your passions should accompany you everywhere you go. You all make me proud, for all the right reasons.

PS- Sometimes, its just a smile you need. A smile that you carry, a smile that you can lend. I think some of you reading this will understand what I am referring to :)

With Ms. Rajni Abbi and a copy of Still I Rise in my hand

"Death is caused by swallowing small amounts of saliva over a long period of time".

Don't read much into it. I just wanted to start with something catchy. And this line more than fitted the bill. Two days of lecturing an unfortunate score of eager debaters on filibustering, and here I am, doing precisely that. However, this filibustering conveys what I dedicatedly follow in life. Each moment we grow, each step we take ahead, we are inevitably heading towards a dead end. Where we arrive, when we arrive, is irrelevant. How we travel is what is important. I like to travel savoring each experience as unique, and not having too many of one kind so as to keep them special. One recent experience which has raced to the top of my favorite moments from college life transpired on 11th and 12th February this year. To relate a little about that is why I hold the quill in my hand today. (Yes yes, I am tapping away on the keyboard, but, you know, this is called setting the mood)

Just so you know, I am not late in writing about an event that occurred almost 10 days ago. Yes, blogs are a lot about prompt display of thoughts, but I intended only to write when the memories in my mind had crystallized. Now, they have.

The Delhi Technological University, on 11th and 12th February, as reported earlier on Nascent Emissions, hosted a two day, multicommittee MUN, called the Deltech MUN'12. As a first, they simulated a double delegation, non MUN committee under the same event, namely, the G20 Summit. Amid an Executive Board with tonnes of experience, and participating delegates with mad and enviable MUN resumes, I felt a little lost. The amazing hospitality of the organizers did put me at ease, but it was not till I met Sakshi Aggarwal, the hastily deputed, charming Director of G20 that I could finally locate my comfort zone. In her, I rightly saw an amazing support for the two days I was supposed to spend at DTU.

The first few moments were spent in anxiety. 'Will we have a good participation' was the only persistent thought on our minds- mine, Sakshi's and Vrinda's, Vrinda being our sweet rapporteur. Little by little, beginning with a warm up session, things get into motion. Rest is indescribable in words. I am not a regular MUN person, only about attending one or two in a year. I resolved last year to never attend- participate or chair- a similar conference ever in life. And I am only glad that that turned out to be a hollow resolve.

We, as a committee, debated two very contemporary, dynamic, sensitive, pertinent, but dry topics over the two day session. Thanks to my well read committee member, the debate was anything but dry. I can safely mention now that Canada, China, UK and USA were my favorites to be the winners at the end of two days. A demure but determined Indian delegation made a strong case for itself by the end of second day, and ensured a High Commendation for itself. As countries, I might forget them, but as individuals, I promise, if you are reading this, I will always remember and recognize you if at all we meet again in future.

Amrita and Anmol- They were my favorites. Clean favorites. Charming and composed, both of them formed an effective pair to keep up with the pace of debating in the committee. (The Laurel and Hardy)
Priyakanksha and Hisham- They were the smartest and most confident speakers in my committee, whose confidence dripped from their faces. They were clearly more experienced than myself, but the respect with which they treated me was overwhelming and precious. (Rangeen Jodi- Runner's Up)
Kirithiga and Pranav- An adorable duo, where Pranav dominated with his eloquent speeches but Kirithiga matched up with her grace and composure, and a very amiable personality. (Rangeen Jodi- Winners)
Bhavya and Akshay- As I said, demure, composed and focused. Whenever my committee went crazy shouting and being uselessly animated, they were the only sources of solace I resigned my attention to. (Hope of Diplomacy)
Anup and Prashant- The youngest bravehearts of my committee, willing to take over those whom I was scared of debating with. These were two precocious school students who effortlessly contested, paralleled and even dominated the other committee members at times. Got into trouble, but got out of it soon enough. (The U-Turners)
Saumya and Siddharth- They were the next best on our list, just missing out on the awards. A little late to pick up, but their NSIT connect ensured they get enough attention from me!

The exemplary deliberations, debating and negotiations were accompanied by a lot of fun moments in the council. Discovering an unnamed rose under my placard was one of them. Breaking into long lectures about reading habits, concept of diplomacy, nuances of public speaking, and a little gyan on life in general was another. I had my tiffs only with the IP, but they too, were so fantastic at what they did that retrospectively, I remember them with a lot of respect. Exhausted after chasing consensus on two lengthy Declarations, a little photo session, preceded by a melodious rendition of Maeri by Pradit was only what was needed as the perfectly sumptuous icing on an already delicious cake.

I could never end this post without mentioning some more names.
Saad and Akhil- Prior to meeting them, I never realized that conference staff could be so diligent, endearing and eager to help. They displayed hospitality at its best. Water, coffee, projector, charger, chits, pens, stationary- I think we harassed them in every possible way. The only thing they gave us in return was a heart warming smile at the end of it all.
Soham- He is a school junior I am proud of. Had it not been for him, I would have suffered because of my over punctual self. Thanking him in few words is simply not possible. I can only say that the warmth, concern and respect  he loaded me with I shall never forget.
Shobhit- The sheer awesomeness he displayed at handling an event of this scale is something I could write essays upon. For now, I'd just mention that there could not have been a more perfect Sec Gen for Deltech MUN. Being invited by him was humbling and pleasing at the same time.

The best frames from then.

 

 

 

Ashutosh, from Indiblogger, flattered me with his review of my blog. Of the many sane and humbling things he wrote, one was that I should include social topics in my writings. I pondered for a while, and thought which is the immediate issue which grazes my mindscape as soon as I start thinking about social concerns. Lots of things came to mind. I've spent the past two years in college working diligently in the area of women upliftment, voicing out concerns of gender based discrimination, yet not subscribing to the conventional 'feminist' outlook. I've joined hands with Mr. Sanjeev Sachdeva and done my bit to sensitize general public about issues of accessibility. I've felt passionately about wanting to work in the field of education as soon as I find myself able enough.

However, none of the above rang a bell so strong in my head for me to feel attached with. When it comes to writing, attachment with my thoughts and expressions is an absolute necessity to churn out any decent post. I then resigned myself to the pages of my journal to feel the power of some poetic gems I had collected for myself  from various sources in the past year over my mind and soul. Many amazing poems from contemporary writers, and literary legends, in English, Hindi, Urdu, Sanksrit and Punjabi were strewn across my journal with each single one summoning a distinct event from memory right in front of my eyes. I could pick out two as my finds of the year. The first one is called Jo Beet Gayi So Baat Gayi, by Harivansh Rai Bachchan, and is already mentioned elsewhere on my blog. Its the second one which moistened my eyes yet again as I read it. For me it is the most brilliant poetic compositions of Kaifi Azmi, who is reckoned as one of the greatest shayars of the 20th century. Giving due credit to Winnie Saghan, my most interesting yet least discovered friend from college, who introduced me to this poem, I would like to share these priceless words from the great shayar with my blog readers. The poem is called 'Doosra Banwaas'. Read on to find out why.

DOOSRA BANWAAS

Ram banwaas se jab laut ke ghar mein aaye,
Yaad jangal bahut aaya jo nagar mein aaye,
Raqsse deewangee aangan mein jo dekha hoga,
6 december ko Shri Ram ne socha hoga,
Itne deewane kahan se mere ghar mein aaye?

Jagmagate the jahan Ram key qadmon ke nishaan,
Piyaar kee kahkashan leti thi angdayee jahan,
Mod nafrat ke usee rah guzar mein aaye,
Dharam kya unka hae, kya zaat hae, yeh janta kaun?
Ghar na jalta tau unhe raat mein pehchanta kaun,
Ghar jalane ko mera, log jo ghar mein aaye,
Shakahari hae mere dost tumahara khanjar.

Tumne Babar kee taraf pheke thhe saare patthar
Hae mere sar ki khata zakhm jo sar mein aaye,
Paun Sarjoo mein aabhi Ram ne dhoye bhee na thhe
Ke nazar aaye wahan khoon ke gehre dhabbe,
Paun dhoye bina Sarjoo ke kinare se uthe,
Ram yeh kehte hue aapne dwaare se uthe,
Rajdhani kee fiza aayee nahin raas mujhe,
6 December ko mila doosra banwaas mujhe.

So, this was a priceless jewel from the quill of Kaifi Azmi, written remembering 6th December 1992- the black day which cast a shameful shadow over the hypocrisy of our secularism. To be honest, I feel we have come a long way since the fundamental elements dictated the course of our day to day lives.This was evident in the calm which accompanied the Ram Janmbhoomi verdict which came out last year, almost 20 years after the ignominious incident. We were almost a generation ahead in time, and today's generation chose not to attach any uncalled for hysteria with the verdict. Good.

However, the fact that strong communal identities are on the path of dissolution is nothing but a delusion which overtly optimistic people like me foolishly want to believe in. I wanted to believe in it because if I did not, I stood the danger of losing something valuable in my life. My optimism has been replaced with mute resignation now. Banners against perpetrators of communal crimes might be flying high, but almost nothing has changed as far as common man's religious mindedness is concerned. May be our generation has moved on, but in parts we're still controlled by the one which chooses to stay where it is- in glory of its own, and in rejection and contempt of the other.

A lot of you might not associate closely or personally with what I have written above, but I have a reason for all this stifling acrimony against fatal caste/communal loyalties which exist in our society. The reason is that I  have already lost something precious because of them and their subtler manifestations in my life, or may be just in our collective psyche.

And that is all I have to say.
 

August 15th, 2011

Happy Birthday, India!

 Today was the most beautiful morning of the season to wake up to. I won't get poetic uselessly. It was not as if the air carried a whiff of freedom with itself, or that the first breathe I inhaled made me feel romantically attached to the land I was born in. It was simply a beautiful morning. I was wrapped up head to toe in my bed sheet, shivering as I woke up. A scene similar from last year greeted me. As I stepped into the wet balcony, bare-feet, the sight of a rain-washed street was the first to be registered at the back of my head. However, this time, there were add ons. I could hear the faint rhythm of drums from somewhere in the distance, making the otherwise quiet and lazy morning come alive for sometime. I was imagining, quite creatively, teenagers splashed with colors of the tricolor, dancing away to celebrate the 65th year of our freedom. My reverie was broken by the shrill voices of excited kids running right over my head, on my terrace, their attention fixated on the kites they had been flying since, I reckon, the moment the rain gods showed mercy. How did I miss it? Now that I looked up at the sky, I could not see many, but at least some kites. A celebration of our glorious Independence Day is incomplete without the ritualistic kite flying. I was happy that the rains had not spoilt the fun, and the custom. They had, rather, added to the day.

I am a die hard patriot. Having said that, I will confess to being a buffoon, and not exactly knowing what does being a patriot mean. I feel irrevocable attached to my country, and don't have notions of ever wanting to venture out. I am filled with, not violent anger, but some rage at least, when I see things going wrong and people doing wrong to my country. But do I concretely do anything about it? I am not sure. In a discussion with cynics, I always end up taking my country's side, sometimes adamantly, sometimes foolishly. But the moment I get time to reflect on what those cynics had to say, I find much truth and reason in their thoughts which can be easily labeled as 'anti-India'. I keep on my toes, doing my bit for the community, whenever I get a chance. In college, I got more than my share of chances to do good, be good, make a difference. But was that enough? And now that I am out, will I get such chances still? I'll have to work harder than just hum some patriotic tunes, and feel an intense attachment to this country I so pride upon.

I have never celebrated the Independence Day, except for a day or two in advance when I was in school and in college. Last night, however, there was a little family gathering, which, by chance, got extended to the north of 0000 hours. The first scene that I recalled as soon as the Independence Day officially began was that of a mad crowd of people outside a liquor shop in Uttam Nagar, hoarding for the Dry Day that is today. They were uncountable, and uncontrollable. I was left pondering if liquor was to be their means of celebrating our independence, or it was simply a need and a fetish they could not let go off even for a single day. Back at the family gathering, I was asked to sing. I wanted to sing something patriotic, given the time and the occasion, but the hesitance and the disapproval among the younger ones at my choice of song was more than palpable. The elders of the family intervened. Few stories were exchanged. We sang Saare Jahaan Se Achchha in a chorus. My elder relatives re-lived their college days. The nods and smiles as we fumbled on the lyrics and corrected ourselves was heart warming. This is one of the many songs we should know, must know- not for showing off, but to teach to our younger generations, to let them feel the vigor which comes with singing these songs in a chorus and absorbing the lyrics. My mother, father and many other elders have lived through the war years, the China and the Pakistan wars. A few more stories were shared. I was asked to sing again. And then, I hummed these lines-

"Thi khoon se lathpath kaya, 

Phir bhi bandook utha ke, 

Dus Dus ko ek ne mara

Phir gir gaye hosh ganva ke,

Jab ant samay aaya toh,

Keh gaye ke ab marte hain,

Khush rehna desh ke pyaaron,

Ab hum toh safar karte hain"

An epochal composition, this song resides in all of our hearts. No matter how many times I sing it over, it can never sound mundane to me. It mesmerizes me. However, the lines which echoed in my head on my way home, with cool breeze lashing against my face, as my car sped on a deserted road were these-

रहबर राहे मौहब्बत रह न जाना राह में

लज्जत-ऐ-सेहरा नवर्दी दूरिये-मंजिल में है

ऐ शहीदे-मुल्को-मिल्लत मैं तेरे ऊपर निसार

अब तेरी हिम्मत का चर्चा ग़ैर की महफिल में है

खींच कर लाई है सब को कत्ल होने की उम्मींद,

आशिकों का जमघट आज कूंचे-ऐ-कातिल में है ।

These are three of my favorite verses from perhaps the best patriotic poem ever written. I've recited these at the conclusion of numerous Independence Day functions in school and college. They induce a vigor which lurks in my heart till much longer. Right now, they make me want to fight towards a freedom, which rids the society of prejudices, antiquated traditions, opportunism, hypocrisy and corruption. Yes, corruption too. I do not know if I will go and be physically present to lend my support to the movement which our generation is fortunate for being a testimony to. It is not merely a chance for us to be a part of something good, but the most favorable opportunity to raise our voice against the hydra headed monster hell bent upon sucking the last of resources from our economy, and for once take responsibility on our own shoulders for heralding a change. I do not know if I will at all be able to lend visible support to the movement. But the lights of my home will remain off, at least in a show of mute solidarity to the cause. This is my country being debated about. And if today I cannot show that I belong to it, I do not know when will another chance come my way. 

Jai Hind!

 




 

"As dead dreams fall heavy on her  

she staggers out in tatters 

bruised breasts smell of raw flesh 

the soul weeps in the ashes 

of burnt apparels of dignity"

           -Dr. Rita Malhotra, Poet-Mathematician 

Life is laced with irony. Isn't it? What I till yesterday was touting as perhaps the best day of my life in JMC turned out the be the tragic last day of life of Radhika Tanwar, the now-much-hyped Ram Lal Anand student, killed by her own college mate. It was the International Women's Day yesterday, and being the flag bearer of as society which pledges to work for the rights and dignity of women in the college and society at large, I was celebrating it in gay abandon in the grandest auditorium one can come across in the University, isolated from the world. As the show moved on, I received a request on the stage to make an announcement cautioning the girls against moving to Satya Niketan, for some sort of a murder had taken place there. Having admonished the audience, I moved ahead with the programme, hell bent upon making it the best Women's Day Celebration JMC had seen ever. And so it became. And then, I got to know what a heinous crime had been committed less than a kilometer away from my college.

Let me get it straight here. I am NOT blogging because I feel threatened living in a city as 'unsafe' as Delhi. I have lived through my fair share of eve teasing incidents. Honestly put, they were gross, disturbing. I remember this rain washed day, I was walking down a road, short of money, walking in stead of taking a riskshaw, drenched head to toe. A black Santro stopped near me, and some veritably ruffian faces invited me to be seated with them in the car lest I fall ill because of the downpour. I was scared, but I reacted quick. Sought help from the nearest human I could spot, and fled in no time. Till date I wonder, if not for that man who helped me escape the place, what would have happened to me.

So, I started observing caution. Basic safety rules acquired paramount importance. Buses preferred to autos when during dusky hours, no opulent clothing when in bare view of public, moving with the crowd as much as possible, avoiding lonely spots, learning to trust no one. In simple language, I stopped trusting the public machinery for my safety, and this I say despite the fact that in the contemporary scenario of venom being spit on the government from all conceivable directions, I remain a believer in the state machinery. It is a convenient way of living. I hold trust in the state for protecting me, and I put in place all precautionary measures to protect myself.

Another, very clear and succinct reason behind this attitude of mine is a realization of the fact that if we really, truly want to bring about a change, any type of change, small or big, momentous or otherwise, we can do it much better by infiltrating the system, rather than standing up in arms against it. Our nationalist leaders recognized it during the freedom struggle. They called it 'wreck from within', I call it 'resurrect from within'. It is not idealistic, trust me. It is perhaps as pragmatic as it can get. Hurdles galore, I know and realize that, but historically, a path unto greatness has never been found which has not been laced with obstacles mammoth in size. Make a resolve today, and chase it unto the horizon, chase it till you win. If protests are your way of dealing with it, I support you with my wishes, not so much by my actions; but if protests are really your way of doing it, make sure you turn it into a Jessica Lall success(with a slightly twisted objective), and not one of those numerous Jantar Mantar protests which die down even before they are heard.

Am I allowed to give a very idealistic solution to this whole security mess that has been created? The practicability if this solution is nearly zero, but it's my blog, I am allowed even to be insane if it is my calling. There is a certain DCP Chhaya Sharma (refer article pasted below), who has turned one of the most crime prone zones in Delhi into a very safe and secure area, especially for females. I have had the good fortune of having shared a room with this firebrand woman IPS, the vanguard of the very successful models of safety employed in Delhi- the metropolis with the most shameful reputation with respect to civilian security. She looks purposeful, almost invariably, almost always. If possible, however bleak or miniscule this possibility, please get her to the South Delhi Campus, and give her a chance to set up a model for our campus, which is home to five of the best girls' colleges, and yet, has a very justified ignominious reputation as far as law and order is concerned.

I don't know how this sounds, but losing hope, is not my way. India is a country of great paradoxes. While we rant on about how the rural poor live in conditions of abject destitution, there is model I always like to keep in mind as I advance ahead with my bureaucratic ambitions. It is the model of a village called Hivre Bazar, which was almost on the brink of a collapse, with massive penury and resource scarcity leading to an exodus of locals into nearby villages. Today, that same village is home to 54 millionaires, with an infrastructure which can put even towns to shame, and all this change is the result of the efforts of a few enterprising young individuals, who sought the Constitutional path to revolutionize a society for which 'hope' was too far fetched a word. They were visionaries, the question is, how many of us can pursue a cause with as much dedication as they did. They took advantage of only two amendments to the Constitution, the 73rd and 74th, but more than anything else, it was their conscientiousness, pragmatic dynamism, and their WILL which caused the change. How many of us have that fire within us?

Our country is a great country, but it is in dire need of able, empowered and, as earlier stated, conscientious young people to cultivate an irrevocable feeling of belonging towards it. Doing something for the country should not be an onerous duty, but a sweet responsibility. I cannot live without hope. Yesterday, a candle was extinguished. Tomorrow we'll light a million more. And yes, while I do insinuate towards the candle light vigil organized tomorrow at Satya Niketan at one thirty, to which all of you are, of course, invited, what I actually mean is that if we actually, genuinely feel disturbed by the hideous crime committed, the flame should be lit within us, so that darker anti social elements, who come from among us are banished forever. Demanding security is a primary right, but try and do this without allowing Radhika Tanwar, a beloved daughter to now grieving parents, to be come a media doll used for lambasting aimlessly at the state mechanisms. As I said earlier, try and not wreck, but resurrect.

(Even before you start reading, I request you to jump to the last paragraph and visit the link once. Please)

It still is a fantastic feeling, Ecstasy, disbelief may be. It does not happen often that you get to meet  your God figure in person. I met mine, today.

While I was still nascent, and hunting for avenues to carve out my career in, Journalism appeared to be the most natural, appealing and pragmatic choice that I  could have made. But then, doubts over the credibility of media and stability of this profession, coupled with the overtly protective (read: suffocating) atmosphere I enjoy at home drowned all my ambitions for pursuing my dream profession.

Nevertheless, this blog post is not to fret over lost dreams; dreams which I do not consider totally lost even now.  This post is to express angst which I derive out of perhaps the most overwhelming and memorable experience in life. Yes, it is ironical, and this irony, at a level, pains me. A small happening, but a higher point on the learning curve definitely.

 Journalism, while it still cast that charm on me, was synonymous with a few names- Rajdeep Sardesai, Barkha Dutt and of course, the person who rules my mind right now, Vikram Chandra. I remember having cried for about four hours when I had lost a remote opportunity to see Barkha Dutt, not even interact, but see her in person. I remember having seen Rajdeep Sardesai in my most prized dreams as a co-anchor to a show we hosted. And, as for Mr. Vikram Chandra, I only remember staring at him intently on the TV screen, with no fancy thoughts on my mind, but only a keep urge to observe and learn. By his diction, poise, ease, intelligence and presentation, he always simply bowled me over. Continuously following The Big Fight on NDTV instated him as my God figure ( though, admittedly in moments I was not already enraptured by the audacious Devil's Advocate, Karan Thapar)

So a few days back, when I was informed that HE is going to visit our campus to do a talk on Careers in Media and Broadcast Journalism, I just knew I HAD to organize this event, obviously in pursuit of pure selfish interest. I did. I remember, and I will always remember standing at the podium as Mr. Chandra entered the event venue and took his seat, taking my time to recover from his aura and then, summoning all the traces of confidence still left in my body to utter on the microphone- "Wasting no time, and with all my palpable enthusiasm, I introduce you to Mr. Vikram Chandra, a person who definitely needs no introductions". Even while uttering these lines, I was in disbelief over the fact that I am getting to act as the compere (for however little time) in the esteemed presence of Mr. Chandra.

Anyway, so the day went well. Predictably, we got a huge crowd. More than two fifty girls in the hall, and innumerable turned away because of space constraints. While addressing all of us on the need to get famous celebrities to endorse causes with social welfare, Mr. Chandra hit a particular sensitive nerve in my heart. It was then that I experience that angst mentioned earlier in this article. Through whatever he said Mr. Chandra made it evidently simple to realize even if you are to go ahead with the most noble motive aimed at the welfare of someone in need, you need to have in place strategies for selling the 'cause' effectively. And yesterday, when I set on to do something good, I ignored this aspect. I am regretful still.

It was yesterday that I undertook perhaps the most meaningful activity in all three years of my college life. An alumnus of our college, Sanjana Sahni, is diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, more commonly known as blood cancer. After having undergone extensive therapies and experiencing relative respite from the heinous disease, Sanjana's cancer relapsed some time back. Now, she is virtually without hope. She needs a stem cell donor urgently because her life span is being cut short at an enormous pace. Upon request from an NGO working to create awareness about the Stem Cell therapies, and who have adopted Sanjana's case as their poster cause, we decided to run a Stem Cell Donor Registration Drive in our campus, preceded by talk entailing everything that a donor of stem cells needs to know.

I feel shameful to admit that the initial number of girls from my own college who showed interest to attend the workshop voluntarily was only about 16. Upon much coaxing, I could manage to take that number up to 52, and subsequently 73. As an organizer, I just cannot disappoint my guests. Giving them an audience becomes my responsibility. But really, I felt embarrassed that girls in my college have such busy lives that they could not spare fifteen minutes to attend this presentation and become a part of something good. Leave alone any flowery expectation, but our girls could not even come ahead to held someone in dire need, and found is okay to give me all sorts of ludicrous reasons as to why they need to leave the presentation midway. Basic courtesies are hard to find, I know, but basic human instincts? Have they become rare too?

Mr. Sanjeev Kulshreshtha, the person giving the presentation, mentioned somewhere a dichotomy between the West and India as far as compassion to unknown persons is concerned. Out of some 16 million registered stem cells donor in the world, only 5000 are Indians. And this after we rant on about the massive human capital potential which will change the face of India. While we ape the West, something we've been consistently accused of the the self-proclaimed-saintly generation preceding us, somehow we totally ignore imbibing the better parts which characterize a Westerner. The concept of family bonding still remains strong in our nation, but a feeling of belongingness to the community at large is fast dissipating. We do not feel we have a responsibility which is social in character, until the cause in question is something we're affected by closely back home. Out of the girls who willingly volunteered to be a part of this programme, a sizable number had some case of a terminal illness affected person at the back of their mind when they came to join us. Not surprising at all. Again, I feel pathetic while admitting, that the rest had merely been forced to sit there.

I can go on and on about what I am feeling, but having conducted the talk, now I am all pepped up about the Donor Registration Drive, scheduled to take place on 8th of March, 2011, in our campus. Through a non invasive procedure, sample of stem cells will be taken and analysed to see if they match Sanjana's need. It costs about $50 to conduct tests on stem cells of one person. Sanjivni and Dhatri Foundation, conducting this drive in our college, have agreed to bear the burden of this monetary obligation. But they, like many more organizations wanting to make a difference in someone's life battle a severe resource crunch.

It won't take much time. Anyone of you who manage to read my article till this point, please visit the website once. Read what Sanjana has to say about herself. It might move you. I am not urging you to proactively start supporting Sanjana's cause, but being lost in the economic riddles of the material existence we all lead, we do sometimes leave our goodness somewhere behind. It is always good to reclaim that goodness back. A story like that of Sanjana's might help you reclaim that goodness, and with luck, may be a conscience too.

http://savesanjana.org/aboutSanjana.html

By the way, did I mention, Sanjana is blessed with two beautiful twins?

"A gun is a reasonably good way of settling an argument but, unfortunately for his assassins, the posthumous Gandhi turned out to be as dangerous as the living one." -Ashish Nandy

I have never been an admirer of the much hailed Father of Our Nation, Mahatma Gandhi. It was my ignorance. I have always been more in touch with people who seek pleasure in denouncing the personality that Gandhi was, and who glorify his misgivings much above his contribution towards making India which we are proud of today. Of the many good things I derive out of my recently acquired habit of reading newspapers with a pious, unwavering dedication is feeding on knowledge which is dynamic in essence. I always knew that the Martyrs Day was celebrated on 30th of January, the day when the hand of the Mahatma which blessed our land with a sort of filial love was robbed of us, forever. However, it never happened that I understood the importance of this day. For that matter, many a 30th Januaries came and went- little did I even realize them passing by. Not for once did I stop to pay a brief homage to the soul of this great benefactor of India, whose ideals, though largely an anachronism for many around me, still haunt that part of my mind which is blindly patriotic- and proudly so.


I regret it. I regret never having understood Gandhi. Never having devoted time to it. It is quite riveting to read the venerable journalist, Karan Thapar insinuate towards the not so admirable facets of Gandhi's idealism through his column in one of India's leading daily. It is equally riveting to read a reply to Mr. Thapar's article in the same newspaper by Gandhi's grandson- Rajmohan Gandhi- a prolific scholar, a human rights activist, noted political figure, and the winner of the prestigious Biennial Award from the Indian History Congress in 2007 for his book A True Story of A Man, His People and An Empire, Gandhi's biography. And what was most fantastic while reading the two articles was a conspicuous realization of the fact that there was so much of history of my own land which I failed to connect to, despite having harbored loud ambitions of one day serving the country to the best of my capacities. Knowledge in this context is certainly not irrelevant, in fact, it is most imperative. The present system of education (encompassing the preparations for most governance related competitive examinations) invariably makes us a slave to facts; not for once endeavoring to give us enough time and space for understanding and developing ideologies and principles which we may regard as our own, and which remain a part of our system through every stage of life. A cornucopia of facts can only baffle us, while a cognizance and identification of the ideological path which we seek to tread on can certainly elevate us above our puerile self; aiding in the process of decision making and lending us that coveted mental clarity, without which, any discernment is hollow.


It was in an article in one of the many newspapers I follow that I came across information pertaining to a Fast Unto Death being organized at Jantar Mantar to register loud, but non violent protests against the high degree of corruption pervading our country, by the veterans of an organization called the Gandhian Satyagraha Brigade. This news piece stirred a now dormant part of my memory. A little more than a month ago, I had had the good fortune of meeting up with the vanguard of this long enduring movement against corruption and the honorary General Secretary of the GSB. It was a tryst by chance- but one, that continued to haunt me for long. And I promised myself that I would write about it, a promise that was submerged under a deluge of assignments, examinations and then placement stresses. So 'today' I feel is the perfect day for me race back to that day, and recapitulate, and record in words everything that is worth remembering from then.


Mr. Shambhu Dutt. A nonagenarian. A freedom fighter. A really young and energetic old man. An invitation to meet him came my way through Colonel Dharmadhikary, who works for Transparency International, the very same organization which has ranked India 87 on an index of corruption, in the derisive company of states like Iran. Colonel was a dapper old man, who made me want to listen to him once he started speaking. He requested me to take out time and visit the office of GSB, to meet a 95 year old young man, fighting against the most ugly form of contemporary social evils- Corruption- much in the Gandhian spirit. Colonel said that a dialogue with the young, concerned blood of the nation will infuse a lot of courage and enthusiasm in the heart of this freedom fighter. It was not an invitation I could deny. And so, on a cold winter morning, I set out with my friend Namit, to honor my commitment of meeting Mr. Shambhu Dutt, not knowing what to expect, and pondering even if it was worth undertaking the effort.


It was not a meeting. It was an experience. This I realized the moment I sat down across the table from this affable person in his late nineties, who gave me a very comprehensive peek into the post independence history of corruption in our nation. The medium of our conversation was the Colonial language- English- and the way he spoke his long monologues, I could only feel like a buffoon for sitting there, taking down notes under the table on his linguistics, rather than the content of his speech. He was an austere man, firmly dedicated to the vision of one day living in an India totally free of the hydra headed monster of corruption. Besides explaining to me their three demands from the government, viz., appointment of an effective Lokpal, confiscation of illegally acquired property and disqualification of candidates seeking to contest election who have a pending criminal case against them, he laced his talks with a lot of inspiring opinions and interesting anecdotes. He expressed his angst on the way the common man today has accepted corruption as way of life, and explained to me and Namit the top-down approach at combating corruption which their organization endorses. He stressed the need for the higher echelons of governance to be transparent, because corruption breeds from higher to lower levels. He gave us a lecture on the recalcitrant attitude of the government to go ahead with any concrete step that would help retard the monster of corruption which has already devoured much of the resources of our economy. He told us several other things which have, unfortunately slipped off my mind.


A lot of times while he was speaking, I could feel several miniscule tremors at various parts on my body, which, I later realized were very visible goosebumps. At other times while he spoke, I felt acute derision for myself when I contrasted my often bleak visions of my own future with this nonagenarian's bright, zealous and enthusiastic hopes from tomorrow. A flippant remark on the impossibility of him being able to celebrate his next birthday made my heart sink a little, but my heart sank a lot more when I could witness in documents the callousness of the Indian administration at administering its own subjects. 


Mr. Shambhu Dutt was a true Gandhian who went on reiterating that it was not possible to ever be a true Gandhian. His earlier name was Shambhu Dutt Sharma, but he renounced his surname in opposition to the caste based atrocities which are rampant in our country. I had never in my dreams imagined that I would ever hear from a freedom fighter himself what having fought in the famous Quit India Movement would have been like. He resigned from administrative services under the British Raj a day after Gandhiji was jailed in QIM. Quite promptly, he too was imprisoned. "Now when I reflect back on it Colonel, I feel it was a very wise thing to do. I would never have been entitled to my freedom fighter's pension had I not gone to jail- the only thing I ever did and was tagged a freedom fighter!"- he gently jests while looking at Colonel who was still accompanying us, in the concluding moments of our rendezvous. 


I smiled at myself, finished my tea, collected a daintily prepared envelope which was given to me as a souvenir from this meeting. While Namit gathered most of the attention because of his composed outlook when the monologues were still going on, I was happy I could make a lot of notes which surely added a great deal to the pool of knowledge I was desiring to create for myself. Colonel thanked us for taking out time and keeping our word. We thanked him back for giving us this experience. It was nothing formal- we both meant every word of gratitude we expressed. 


Upon returning, I sank back in my bed, and started rummaging through the contents of the envelop given to me. It had a lot of documents- letters, publications etc. At the beginning of one of the articles were mentioned the three basics which the Satyagrahis of the GSB swore by-

1. There is no room for untruth or violence in a Satyagraha.
2. In Satyagraha there is no enemy.
3. A Satyagrahi knows no defeat.

The last one sounded like a cool thing to inculcate in myself. So did the second, and may be the first too. 

Suddenly, Gandhi no longer seemed distant, or anachronistic. That night, upon reflecting, I could become a little more perceptive of his influence on the modern polity. The Gandhigiri propounded by Raj Kumar Hirani, no longer seemed only a cinematic concept, or at best, a gimmick. I am still to understand Gandhi, but so far, what I have heard of him sounds good. It sounds good enough to intrigue me into reading a lot more about him. For today, I tried reading about the Gandhian Satyagrahi Brigade on their official website. Along with the above mentioned three basics of a Satyagrahi, a quote by Gandhi adorned the first page of the website. I find it worth sharing.

Corruption will be out one day, however much one may try to conceal it, and the public can, as its right and duty, in every case of justifiable suspicion, call its servants to strict account, dismiss them, sue them in a law court or appoint an arbitrator or inspector to scrutinize their conduct, as it likes.

- Mahatma Gandhi

 (If you feel like, you can read more about this organization run by some really dynamic and young-at-heart concerned citizens of our society-http://gandhiansatyagrahabrigade.org/)

3rd December, 2010
0730 hours
Temperature: many degrees below normal


On this day, at that time and temperature, my ritualistic walk down the Jose de San Martin Marg was made a bit different. Mist was thin, not as blinding as it is at present. Breathing in the tender vapors floating around in the fog, I started walking. The sand bag bunker had always been there on the footpath- may be since the time Obama came to stay in a hotel right on the parallel road, or since the time of the glorious Commonwealth Games- I had never cared to as much as cast a second glance at it. With the concerns of VIP security eased, the bunker now sat as a perfunctory accessory on the footpath; someone had also taken away the upper few layers of sand bags. I did ponder for sometime what use stealing sand might serve. Still, it stood there as a vandalized, inutile accessory. Not quite. Someone was using it today. 


Cold is my nemesis. Yet, I like playing with it. That day, I was wearing four layers of clothes, including my dad's favorite sweater (I had fought for it in the morning), and my mother's overcoat. I had my hair open, pulled to cover my ears adequately, topped by a thick muffler, muffling my sense of smell and sound- it covered nearly three quarters of my face. My juniors, sometimes, fancifully tag me as a 'polar bear' because of my attire. Yet, a peculiarity was, I was wearing slippers. Only slippers, sans any socks. It was my style statement. I shiver and shudder in cold, my teeth clatter, and I scare people with my convulsive behavior. Yet, I don't wear socks. I hate wearing them. It defies all logic. My body is sensitive to cold in extreme amounts, and yet, i refuse to protect the most cold-sensitive part of my body. Ma says, half (or more) of my quivering would cease if I cover my feet adequately. But, there are certain things/practices, which one is senselessly, obdurately a follower of. 'Bad habits' we call them. Not wearing socks is not as bad a habit as picking one's nose, but in Delhi's torturous chill, subjecting my feet to that amount of chill, because of which they turn dry, and almost white with cold rashes, is definitely criminal.


Feeling the prickly chill attack my almost bare feet, I quickened my steps, only to be slowed down at the sight of that bunker. Very astonishingly, a human form manifested inside it. A huddled human form. It was a male. I could only see his back; his face was pressed between his knees. What I saw, made my heart sink for a moment. The only thing covering, or trying to cover his body was a plastic sheet. More appropriately, it was an assembly of see-through polythene bags, the ones now banned by our State Government, quite resourcefully tied together to cover some parts of his upper torso. Most of his lower back was bare- thats how far I could see. His form was shivering. I was shivering too, not of cold though. My effectively protected face might not have been able to feel the blowing winds; part of me had till now been enjoying them. He, definitely could not escape the agony inflicted by those very winds- the polythene bags waged a futile battle against them.


I slowed down, but I did not stop. My gaze fixed on that form, I moved past it. The last vision I have of him did not help. It would have been okay to remember having seen his back, to have remembered him as a faceless memory. If only he would have crouched a little longer, I would have been a lot more peaceful today. But he looked up, looked around. He looked scared. Or may be his expression only depicted his hapless and helpless state against the winter. I am not good with other descriptions, but I did have a brief eye contact with him. A very normal set of eyes. A slightly watery set of eyes. A needy set of eyes. 


I averted my gaze and walked on. I was trying to revive my numb mind. Honestly, I felt dumb. My human instinct told me, I should help. My mind questioned, 'how?'. Am I silly? How? I was wearing a burdensome weight of winter clothing, and I did not know 'how' to help? I stopped some twenty steps ahead. I thought again- what can I give him? I searched for newspapers in my bag-dunno for what reason- but I had none, no piece of stationary in fact.


I knew both my pieces of winter clothing were very expensive- prized by my mother and father. Were they more expensive than his well being? I could not answer. I did not know what to answer at home; how to answer at home. And so, on that lazy, sleepy winter morning, I walked ahead, with little tears in my eyes. Never have I been more annoyed with my tears- because today they did not depict helplessness. Today they projected uselessness, and shamelessness.


Throughout my first lecture at college, I kept praying for someone to help him out. Honestly, did I even have a right to pray? Or what chance did my prayer stand of being answered when I had acted so dumb? We cannot just shirk our responsibilities as a member of the society, or the planet to say the least, and then hope that God will take care of all.


Next day, along with a group of IEEE volunteers, I had to go to the UN house to give a presentation on Millennium Development Goals. I was supposed to speak on the first MDG- eradication of hunger and poverty. More specifically, 'reducing by half the proportion of people living below the global poverty line and suffering from hunger'. We gave a mighty good presentation. I was cherubic, and interactive and convincing in what I said there. 


But, when I came back home, I felt a tad hollow. That was because, in the morning, the footpath had been cleared of that bunker, which had just found a new purpose for existing there. The swiftness of it's removal was fantastic. I like to believe that the man hiding within it was relocated to one of the many shelters that the Delhi government has built for the destitutes. That does seem logical enough. The people who came to remove him could not have simply driven the barely clad man away. No way. He would have been safely moved to a shelter, given a blanket, some morsels to eat, and would have slept soundly. Or, would it have been otherwise? Would it have been the way I feared?


That spectacle still haunts me. Rightly so. At least in future I would know how to be quicker and more austere in my decision making. 


One more thing I wish for. When we look at the state of affairs around us, we , the moral ascetics, are dejected, often frustrated, ask questions, demand solutions. I wish, that really soon in life, I find myself in a position to crossover to the other side, and be the provider of 'answers'-an appreciator of good questions, but capable of providing better solutions.


Amen


PS- I have started wearing socks. It is amazing. I shiver less. I am able to enjoy the winter more now.

The Conference at UN House on 4th December, 2010, to mark the International Volunteer day.
Seen in the picture above is a team of IEEE volunteers giving a presentation on UN MDGs.

Today, after a tiring, and grueling session of some serious studies, I picked up my newspapers, desperately seeking some respite from my monstrous text books. In one of the leading dailies, I came across a survey, which made me really angry, and really frustrated so much so that the frustration caused by my text books seemed paltry. It was a survey conducted in, of all the places, Canada (Toronto), which went onto proclaim that more than half of domestically abused females were positive of their male partners. The survey established that women who are physically abused by their husbands, stick by their husband, and desire to remain in that marriage, because they find their husbands protective and affectionate. Many, who live with chronic psychological abuse, still see positive traits in their abusers- such as dependability.



Personally, I have nothing to say on this. May be I have less of exposure on these matters, but I am still recuperating from the after effects of an honor killing case that took place in Naya Gaon, Haryana, about which I studied in a national level seminar, conducted by the Women Studies Development Cell, DU. Two lovers were mercilessly killed by their own family elders because of the sin of having wanted to marry in the same gotra. ( Gotra is a group that traces its descent from the same ancestor-it is forbidden to marry within the same gotra) This case is somewhat similar to the case being reported from Kurukshetra, splashed on the front pages of most of the leading newspapers of India, that of a Khap Panchayat versus the Karnal High Court; but what I remember to be distinctly prominent in the case reported from Naya Gaon was the sequence of events that took place after the killings. None of the accused was convicted in that case, and the killings were gloriously given the name of ‘moral executions’, with overwhelming support from the village community. Also, in due course of time, the family of the boy and the girl met for talks, and unanimously declared the female to be ‘characterless’ (charitraheen), because she denigrated herself by shamelessly asserting her preferences publicly, where as the male, innocent, merely “fell prey to her charms”.

Now where does the story go from here, I have no idea. What I do know is, this is a perfect, and grotesque example of the sort of gender bias that pervades the whole of Indian society. We may very subtly shift out focus out of the rural domains to the urban areas, our habitats, and not find much difference if what we observe.

Gender bias is a story told many a times in India. Ever since we were infants, we have in some way or the other, encountered an ideology that categorizes males as the superior section of the society. Since ages, our Indian society has been plagued with practices which violate the very rights of existence of our womenfolk, be it the archaic ‘Sati’, or the present day selective sex abortions. A clear manifestation of discriminatory practices against females is seen in the rural areas of India, where, despite ages spent on women empowerment, the status of women has elevated only little to keep pace with fast progressing times. However, more curious is the fact that even the so called civilized and progressive urban areas have not yet fully adapted the concept of empowering our womenfolk with equal rights of sustenance in the society.

Based on this fact, I, the Vice President (and hopefully, soon to be President) of the Women Studies Development Cell of Jesus and Mary College, along with my team members, undertook a study to ascertain the extent of gender bias that exists in the urban areas of India. . It is very clear and evident to figure out cases in rural areas when we want to study discrimination against the fairer sex; but, it is not very easy to point out similar instances when we tilt our story towards the city life.

To collect data for our project, we prepared a questionnaire, consisting of questions looking to extract maximum honest opinions from the respondents. Though not prepared with professional expertise, this project, based on first hand data collected by us, looked, at least, to provide a glimpse into the sort of bias against women that exists in our present day urban habitats.

We began this project to delve into the details of urban gender bias, at each point, asking ourselves questions if it really existed. The dismal, but rather unambiguous answer we have arrived at is, yes, in some form or the other, the urban areas do practice discrimination against the fairer sex. Be it family or work place, a woman has to strive doubly hard if she is to establish herself as an independent entity in the society, because, given the advancement in our society, our women are still by far considered to be ‘dependent’ on their male counterparts. From a very early stage in life, a girl is made to realize she is a girl, and hence must adhere to a particular code of ethics, sans which, she is bound to be scorned at. In every other sphere of life, we have adopted the policy of ‘look west’, but, when it comes to our women; we refuse to abandon the decayed ideals on which our age old civilizations were based. Women idols are worshipped, yet women disregarded. There are exceptions to this inference at which we have arrived, and in good numbers, yet, when we interviewed the people who fall within the periphery of our immediate existence, we met with disheartening responses, with almost all the females we interviewed having faced some or the other form of prejudice against them at some point in life. Another promiscuous fact that stared us in our face while recorded responses for our project was the underlying current of hypocrisy that has always characterized our Indian society. Given anonymous conditions, a lot more of our respondents opened up a lot more to quote personal instances justifying their stance, but when recorded on paper, most people gave responses that were either very ‘forward’. ‘idealistic’, or ‘diplomatic’. Even if a family was very progressive about the status of its females, they still are expected the perfect the ‘balancing act’, where as no such thing is expected from the males belonging to the same society.

Whatever the case is, we did feel at the end of our effort that despite all efforts at sensitizing the society about gender related issues, and putting policy measures in place for greater empowerment of women, the goal of living in a social that is totally free of gender related prejudices is a far fetched dream for us. I might even say it with personal experience, being a woman, was, is, and for some time to come, will remain a tough job.