So much for our socialist secular democratic republic!!!

Turn a blind eye, shove it under the carpet..keep it under wraps...Doesn't help. You cant escape this ugly reality of our fragmented society - CASTE.Caste is generally invisible from the point of view of the bourgeoisie upper castes but the more we are insensitive to this reality...with greater duress it lashes back...

The desecration of the statue of Ambedkar and the aftermath…is one of those commonplace incidents for us…. It’s a torment that subsides when we are no longer inconvenienced by it. We miss the larger social context… Our mainstream media never tires of reminding us that India is the next superpower in the making. In the midst of such euphoria, it is time we pause and reflect on – away from the glamour often almost invisible – how ordinary citizens are faring, how democratic the largest ‘democratic state’ in the world is for its ordinary, largely poor, citizens who constitute this nation.

In 1989, the Government of India passed the Prevention of Atrocities Act, which delineates specific crimes against Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes as “atrocities,” which include the systemic violence still faced by many Dalits, especially in rural areas. Such systemic violence includes forced labor, denial of access to water and other public amenities, and sexual abuse of Dalit women. This Act is a tacit acknowledgement by the government that caste relations are defined by violence, both incidental and systemic. Although it is a powerful and precise weapon on paper, in practice the Act has suffered from a near-complete failure in implementation - upper caste policemen are reluctant to file cases against fellow caste-members because of the severity of the penalties imposed by the Act (most offences are non-bailable and the minimum punishment is five years); cases are subject to delay and there are abysmal rates of conviction.

FACTS

The four persons killed in the massacre that took place recently in the village of Khairlanji in Maharashtra’s Bhandara district would have remained one cold statistic had it not been for the street protests that brought it to centrestage in the state’s political scenario.

Four members of the family of a dalit farmer, Bhaiyyalal Bhotmange -- his wife Surekha (45), his daughter Priyanka (17), his sons Roshan (21) and Sudhir (23) -- were paraded naked, then tortured and killed. The two women were raped before being killed. When the sons refused to sexually assault their mother and sister, they were castrated and then killed. Only Bhaiyyalal, who was away working in the fields at the time, escaped this horrible fate.


What was the Bhotmanges’ crime?
The village of Khairlanji has a population of about 800 people, most of whom belong to the Kunbi and Kalar castes, designated as OBC in Maharashtra. There are a few Adivasi families and only three dalit families, including the Bhotmanges. Bhaiyyalal Bhotmange moved to this village about 18 years ago and bought five and a half acres of land here, but the upper caste dominated panchayat consistently refused to enter his name in the revenue records, thereby preventing him from building a pucca house. On the two occasions that he tried to build it, the construction was forcibly demolished and he was threatened with dire consequences if he ever attempted to do so again. As a result, the Bhotmanges have always lived in a thatched hut.

In 2002, they found another reason to harass him : the upper caste families who owned land surrounding his fields wanted an approach road through his land. Bhaiyyalal’s wife’s cousin, one Siddharth Gajbhiye, a police patil of a nearby village, intervened and helped Bhaiyyalal to negotiate in the matter and avoid further tension. As a result, Bhaiyalal sacrificed half an acre and allowed a 10 feet wide road to be built on his land.

As expected, the harassment did not stop at this. The Bhotmanges were not allowed to draw water from the irrigation canal during day time. When an upper caste woman hit Surekha on the head with a sickle and she went to complain to the beat constable, he took no action. The harassment was not restricted to the Bhotmanges, but extended also to Siddarth Gajbhiye, since he was seen as the protector of the family and one who helped them in crisis situations. The most annoying aspect for the upper castes was the self-reliance of these two dalit families and the assertion of their dignity. They refused to live like supplicants of the upper castes in the village. Bhotmange’s daughter, Priyanka, was a bright student, had stood first in the village in her class X examination and had ambitions to join the army. Roshan Bhotmange was a graduate and had acquired computer skills. Sudhir was unfortunately partially visually impaired and could not continue his education.

In this background, there was repeated friction between the upper castes on one side and the Bhotmanges and Gajbhiyes on the other. On September 3, Gajbhiye was attacked by a group of people from Khairlanji while he was returning home on his motorcycle. Surekha and Priyanka were witness to this incident and bravely named the attackers to the police, hoping some action would be taken against them. But instead of taking any action, the beat constable leaked the information to the very people named by them. Between September 3rd and the day of the massacre, there were a number of incidents of threatening and assaulting Gajbhiye and his family members. In one such instance, a case was filed against some of the attackers who were summoned to court on September 29th. They got themselves bailed out promptly and gathered at the Bhotmange’s hut with sticks, axes and other such weapons. They attacked the four family members, stripped them and then paraded them naked through the village. Bhaiyyalal was working in his field at the time, but on hearing their cries he ran towards his hut and saw his family being paraded naked. He ran to Gajbhiye’s house and they reported the matter to the police station over the phone within 15 minutes. However, even though the police station is only 15 kms away from the village, the police reached the scene only at night, several hours after the incident took place. The four family members were missing but it was only Bhaiyyalal and the Gajbhiyes who went around looking for them. Only on the next day did the police inform Bhaiyyalal that Priyanka’s body had been found near the canal. The other bodies were found on October 1st.

Collusion between the police and the attackers
Several gaps have been left by the police that will hamper proper investigation procedures by destroying crucial evidence so as to weaken the case against the accused. The medical officer who conducted the post mortem appears to be equally hand in glove with the perpetrators : the mandatory procedure of taking a vaginal swab of women victims of rape has not been followed in this case, as a result of which it will be difficult to prove charges of rape. No videographic record has been maintained. It is most shocking that while the photographs of Priyanka’s body show that not an inch on her body is without marks of physical torture, they are not reflected in the post mortem report! Little wonder then that the Inspector General of Police for that area, Pankaj Gupta, has claimed that the women were not subjected to rape. Now about 44 of the attackers are in jail but no one is coming forward to speak up as a witness in the case. On the contrary, rumours are being spread that the Bhotmange family was selling liquor and into prostitution. The media too has irresponsibly reported that the family was attacked due to an illicit relationship between Surekha and Siddarth Gajbhiye. Tarnishing the reputation of women victims is an age old psychological weapon use by retrograde forces to justify their heinous crimes. And anyways, illicit relationships or selling liquor can be no justification for such a murderous attack.

Response of politicians and the state
In order to pre-empt any mass protest the Congress-NCP ruling alliance brought pressure to bear on the Dalit parliamentary leaders to ignore the issue. In fact, on October 2nd and 14th at functions to mark the Golden Jubilee of Dr. B.R. Ambedkar’s conversion to Buddhism (Dhamma Deeksha), the Khairlanji massacre was not even mentioned by the Dalit leaders who spoke on the occasion before lakhs of Dalits. With the announcement of the financial compensation and registering a case under the Prevention of Atrocities Act, the government thought it has succeeded in suppressing mass outrage at the incident.

Both the local MLA and the MP are from the BJP and the village has always been known to vote for BJP in the elections. None of the BJP leaders have visited the victims’ family to date, nor did they intervene at any point before the massacre to peacefully settle the conflict. Independent fact finding reports have pointed out that the Police delayed action on the fateful day under pressure from the BJP MLA.

A big mob of upper caste persons could commit this murder and rape in broad daylight in full public view. Where did they get this confidence that they could get away with such crimes? They knew that the state administrative machinery would act in their favour under direction from the BJP MLA and other leaders. The anti-Muslim pogroms in Gujarat and the state collusion with the perpetrators of that violence followed by the absence of any significant punishment to the guilty has gone a long way in creating this confidence.

Street protests force government to act
On its part, the state failed to respond to this issue until people took to the streets and protested in Bhandara and Nagpur. People dared lathis of the police, teargas shells, arrests. A bandh was called on 9th and 10th November in Bhandara and Nagpur cities respectively. The people, dalits in the main, organised to demand justice without the help of their established leaders. Hundreds were arrested. Rallies were banned, curfew was imposed, preventive arrests continue. The Chief Minister, the State Home Minister and the media continued to label the protests as an action by Naxalites and failed to acknowledge the public anger. A group of young dalit women staged a surprise protest inside Mantralaya in Mumbai. As a damage control exercise, the CM airdashed to Khairlanji to meet Bhhaiyalal Bhotmange and hand over an appointment letter for a job, compensation of Rs 12.5 lakhs, and an assurance of housing and land (3 acres). Bhhaiyalal rejected the offer and said that the only thing he wanted was that the guilty should be punished. Fearing continuation of mass protests in other parts of the state over the increasing number of caste atrocities and fearing loss of its dalit vote bank, the government also announced setting up of a committee to specifically look into atrocities committed against the Dalit community, a CBI probe and a fast-track court to ensure swift justice.

Compiled from fact finding reports on the incident prepared by the following organisations: report by Sanober Keshwaar, the AIDWA team of Brinda Karat and Kalindi Deshpande; the Samata Sainik Dal; the Committee Against Violence o Women (CAVOW); the Manuski Advocacy Centre, Pune and the National Campaign for Dalit Human Rights.

What hit me really hard was what one of the villagers said about Surekha : "This happened to her because she did not know how to live by the rules..."

Why do we chase everything thats elusive...

Now, I don't want to lose you
but I don't want to use you
just to have somebody by my side.
And I don't want to hate you,
I don't want to take you
but I don't want to be the one to cry.
And that don't really matter to anyone anymore.
But like a fool I keep losing my place
and I keep seeing you walk through that door.
But there's a danger in loving somebody too much,
and it's sad when you know it's your heart you can't trust.
There's a reason why people don't stay where they are.
Baby, sometimes, love just aint enough.
Now, I could never change you,I don't want to blame you.
Baby, you don't have to take the fall.

Yes, I may have hurt you, but I did not desert you.
Maybe I just want to have it all.
It makes a sound like thunder
it makes me feel like rain.
And like a fool who will never see the truth,I
keep thinking something's gonna change.
And there's no way home
when it's late at night and you're all alone.
Are there things that you wanted to say?
And do you feel me beside you in your bed,there beside you, where I used to lay?
And there's a danger in loving somebody too much,and it's sad when you know it's your heart they can't touch.
There's a reason why people don't stay who they are.
Baby, sometimes, love just ain't enough.

exams :(((((

I like too many things and get all confused and hung up running from one falling star to another till I drop. I have nothing to offer anyone except my own confusion.

I guess Jack Kerouac just voiced my sentiments...

why does everything that might appear prosaic and insipid on an ordinary day look verry verry appealing during exams...

guess anything is better than exams...

still have'nt found what im looking for

I have this habit of leaving a trace of me in everything that belongs to me…or rather I like everything that belongs to me to speak something about…gosh I sound like someone who’s so full of herself..conceited…but what im trying to say is that I like to personalize everything that im associated with.. dats y I have a caller tune J (dats apart from the fact that they are available free of cost to me for a while cos my servixce providers screwed up and theyw anna make it upto me..hehe…

Well I changed my caller tune a few days back…it is not one of those songs that have been favourites.That’s actually cos I heard it but I never really listened to it….

I have climbed the highest mountains
I have run through the fields
Only to be with you
Only to be with you
I have run I have crawled
I have scaled these city walls
Only to be with you
But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for
But I still haven't found What I'm looking for

Actually I happened to listen to it when I saw Julia Roberts runaway bride recently….its one of those usual run of the mill screwball romantic comedies..but I really liked something about it..or probably it reflected something about me… probably that fear-driven person inside me who is always in transit… It also reminded me that love can't open our hearts (corny me..loooove and hearts and all) until we stop cheating on our true selves…

I have seen this tendency in women including myself to please men ….to forget what they actually deserve…and to overlook the fact that they haven’t discovered themselves…how can anyone be in a relationship without knowing oneself…cos love is when someone fits in what you know of yourself…

I dunno why I’m so delirious in the morning and furiously typing bullshit….and what im saying now is totally unrelated ..but theres one question that keeps pestering me..where are all the sensitive and intelligent men gone…actually I guess thats a rare combination – intelligence ,sensitivity and to top it all the mail species…

PSYCHEDELIC

Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.Colors changing hue,
morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.


Dreaming teens saw me being fanatic about Vincent. Not that I am an art aficionado. Van Gogh used colour arbitrarily and symbolically to express himself forcefully. I liked that…because the post-impressionist period in the history of art and literature is one my favourites. As a kid I would identify myself with different colours at different times. It was usually green because I believed it to be the colour that pervades the world…the blood of everything that grows.

No matter what, everyone should have a happy childhood to look back upon. Growing up was phenomenal for me because Holi was an integral part of this period…. It is not only its chromatic quality that makes this occasion special for me but the memories…the lingering images of those days.

It was not just about splashing colours on one another for a few hours but the mood that built up over many days before the festival. My friends and I meticulously adhered to the myriad rituals, though picayune that constituted Holi. Some of these rituals are inherently a part of the festival whilst my childhood friends and I created most of the others. We would begin two days prior to the actual colour-spraying day, to scour the streets of our locality in order to buy powders of primary colours that would come off easily and powders mixed with other ingredients that would make “ indelible marks” on those we coloured. The former, we called “kaccha colours” and used them on people we were fond of and the latter, we called “pakka colours” and used them especially on one of the “uncles” in our building. We detested him. These pakka colours were weapons for seeking vengeance in terms of those who had wronged us. The watchman of our building, who was a telltale, was our primary target. He kept us from indulging in anything that was categorically termed as mischief by our parents. I thought it was very evil of us but then we forgave ourselves since we were not nasty enough to use oil paints. Filling water balloons used to be a walloping task ahead of us that we would achieve religiously the previous night. I would unconsciously label every feeling I had with a colour on the day of Holi. I would feel red while filling balloons…probably because it radiates vitality. We would congregate in one of our flats in the building on the false pretext of “burning midnight oil” (studying). I felt mixed emotions of trepidation over the possibility of being caught by my parents and exhilaration of sneaking up and completing a whopping task. Holi was about this emotional graph of slight fear, anticipation and exultation. On this day we shed our inhibitions in terms of our appearances…we didn’t mind looking like demons in multi-coloured disfiguration.

Bhang was as close as we could get to any form of a drug, as kids. Ghujiyas,bhang ,thandai…add music to that and we had our party… thanks to a family originally from Vrindavan, residing in our building. The best part was when we sat bhang-inebriated. A friend had to be actually pulled away from the washbasin when she didn’t stop washing her hands for over twenty minutes! We mixed different colours in our water tank…mix blue and yellow and you get green, mix red and yellow and you get orange…mix a few other colours and you have a kaleidoscope. I can trace my love for colours to Holi. It’s difficult to define the experience but it would last well into the evening. Intense and distorted perception, vivid colours and bizarre patterns characterized it. Psychedelic! That comes straight out of my psychology books!

Our celebrations of Holi started mellowing down as most of us grew up and moved out. It was a like mass migration of most of my friends residing in my building. I didn’t realize when, being doused in a rainbow of colours started being unwelcome as I walked out of my house for work. I wish I could regain the old intimacy with the festival. I feel blue as I miss enjoying holi…or yellow when I pass those scenes like a traveler. These memories are like unattainable reflections that haunt me.
The stillness of these memories is the reason why they don’t awaken desire so much as a vast sorrow. It is strange that these memories have one quality…they are completely calm but not achromatic!

In the arc of your mallet

I have this knack of hanging on to things…it could be one of the Kolhapuri silver slippers from a pair (where the other one was flicked) that I must have bought on a trip which still makes me all misty –eyed… or a wrapper of a Dairy Milk that I got out of a friend without much persistence (or with much persistence!!!), a shredded piece of cloth which once used to be an item of clothing of the first and only doll that I ever owned...photographs of people, who i loved immensely once and who really hurt me later...

Some of these things are neatly stacked somewhere and some I just chance upon while leafing through pages of some book. A penchant for the place, the time or the person I was with keeps me tied to these things..or probably it’s the link to my past..the link to what I used to be ..a trajectory that leads me to who I am now…

A poem by a Sufi poet, on a frayed piece of paper has never parted company of my softboard…and during my occasional breaks from work or while sipping my daily cuppa tea..i read it and it has never failed to bring a smile on my face. Though I’m not taken in by fake romanticism…I’m a hopeless romantic at heart.

In the arc of your mallet

Don't go anywhere without me.
Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,
or on the ground, in this world or that world,
without my being in its happening.
Vision, see nothing I don't see.
Language, say nothing.
The way the night knows itself with the moon,be that with me.
Be the rose nearest to the thorn that I am.
I want to feel myself in you when you taste food,in the arc of your mallet
when you work,when you visit friends, when you goup on the roof by yourself at night.
There's nothing worse than to walk out along the street without you.
I don't know where I'm going.
You're the road, and the knower of roads,
more than maps, more than love.

Rumi

Children of heaven

A few days back i watched this film called "Children of Heaven". I love fims...somehow i dont feel alive if i dont see a good movie for a long time.This movie is special for me firstly cos its not easily available..(its an Iranian film that won a lot of critical acclaim at the Asian film festival)...and secondly cos it has been gifted to me by one one of the most beautiful people in my life my Professor,my Boss,my friend...Sanober...(After much persuasion...im finally able adress her that way..sans Mam..Thats healthy irreverance,as she calls it!!!!).Shes a giant heart of gold...someone who loves,laughs,and does almost about everything with great gusto.Her signoff is so profound - with you in love and hope and struggle...Thats so true...nothing of value - independence of mind,an indomiatable spirit,a well-informed mind,a secular attitude -is eveer achieved except through hard and bitter struggle.All we need is omeone to end the isolation in this struggle..Sometimes jus to be who you really are can be a struggle....

Coming to the film...i highly recommend this movie to everyone...i almost felt guilty of having so much in life...Perspective and gratitude are really the two keywords...if u wanna feel lucky u jus gotta look outside and metaphorically go down ur knees after that.I wept during the movie not from sympathy due the maker's Majid Majidis keen view of human condition and the simplicity of its portrayal...its an example of how you dont require an elaborate story to make such a terric film..

It doesn't matter if you grew up in Cincinnati or Tehran, that childhood spirit proves universal...and the movie is like a small window to the Iranian culture...he actually used hidden cameras to capture the presence of real life...the cameras were also hidden from the key actors to get the natural feel.... the child actors are astonishing..i have never seen such a brilliant performance by kids...especially rendering of that poignance..thsi movie is for those who really belive that life is in the little things...

Nine-year-old Ali (Mir Farrokh Hashemian) loses his 7-year old sister Zahra's (Bahare Seddigi) only pair of shoes, and the film revolves around his efforts to recover her shoes or somehow get her a new pair; in the meantime, he devises a plan where the two alternately use his battered pair of sneakers...u gotta watch it...

Finally im here...

One of the myriad absurd promises that i occassionally make to myself prodded me to begin blogging and of course the final shove in this direction was provided kindly by Jaimit...

I hope this proves to be as cathartic as I expect it to be.....

:)))))))))))))