We know how to build monuments with the stones you throw at us.

Clustered in the era of violence, hatred and differences, we live in the shelter of fear, and love in the times of increasing societal norms. I have always been a socio-politically aware person and a believer of all religious faiths. Born to a communist mother and an activist father, I was always encouraged to take my own decisions and follow my own instincts. I have never experienced discrimination, casteism, and patriarchy until much recently when my way of life had to be paused due to some trolls and rumours on social media.

Having been born in an upper class Brahmin family, I never faced any stereotypes subjected toward me. I have been fasting on Shiv Ratri and Navratri since class 7. This year, I decided to keep the auspicious Roza and fast during the holy month of Ramazaan. Little did I know that I was stepping into a pool of awkward, baseless, insensitive questions and gossips. I was satirically questioned whether I was turning a Muslim any sooner or later and if I was planning to convert or if I was in love with some Muslim boy.

This amazed me! I was initially feeling awkward; but I was also somewhat used to the backlash because of my pro-minority, anti-lynching stands, my association with my political ideologies and friends circle. But today, I gulp down my regrets for being so insensitive to those comments. Until much recently, my father had been receiving messages from fake numbers, which carried the propaganda of a much hyped love story with a Hindu-Muslim angle to it. Nonetheless, the messages left no stone unturned to put forth my never committed ideas of converting and marrying. It brought me to question myself the dogma of religious masculinity and patriarchal retardation.

Last year perhaps, when UPSC topper Tina Dabi decided to marry her then boyfriend and now husband Athar, Hindu Mahasabha took an angry note of it by labelling her decision as Love Jihad and involved her father in the fiasco. They have demanded that Athar should be persuaded to undergo a Ghar Wapasi (re-converting to Hinduism) and urged her father to go against their marriage.

In a democratic, secular republic, religion and caste are sadly the most crucial stones. Forget inter-faith marriages or relationships, my friends have been denied flats on rent because they were born with a Muslim surname, my Hijjabi friends are looked upon with suspicion of being female agents of terrorism; and the favourite topic of every household is to cook up stories and beef up the rumours of cow slaughter by Muslims. No wonder India is becoming the new Lynchistan. No law or constitution can bring a reform until the reform begins in our mind.

I’m not surprised trolls and mahasabhas depend on fathers to take account of their daughters rather than expecting individual adults to take their own course of action. In a patriarchal society, we have always been taught to walk with our heads held down in front of male decision makers, be it a father or a husband. No childhood tales ever told of a queen who took the responsibility of the house or a princesses who took her own decisions.

Maybe, in such hours of unfortunate uncertainty, I can hopefully find a world for myself and remember the words of the great poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz:

“Bol, ke lab azaad hai tere:
Bol, zabaan ab tak teri hai,
Bol, ye thora waqt bahut hai,
Jism o zabaan ki maut se pahle;
Bol, ke sach zinda hai ab tak –
Bol, jo kuchh kahna hai kah-le..”

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My parents explained to me at a very young age that there is always someone less fortunate than me. I started spending time at non-governmental organizations when I was 10 years old. My parents made sure that all my birthdays were not spent in any expensive cafeteria but at NGOs. Spending time with less privileged children made me understand that I was fortunate enough to have a loving family, two square meals and a home.

In one of the television shows that I watched while growing up –  “Uttaran”, there was a time when the protagonist was shown working as a teacher in a school run by a non-governmental organization. That moment, I knew what I wanted to do in my life. I wanted to associate myself with a non-governmental organization even if it meant earning lesser money or living a less luxurious life.

I started volunteering with NGOs once I started college. The first organization I volunteered with was Child Rights and You (CRY). I wrote two articles on mid-day meals and child sexual abuse. My interaction with fellow volunteers, journalists etc. made me realize that child rights is the field for me. I wanted to work with children and fight with them for the life they deserve.

During my masters, I interned with another Save the Children. This time I worked under a Professor from Jawaharlal Nehru University and my work revolved around the right to education.

After completing my masters, I began working in a field where I had no experience but a lot of interest – child trafficking. I interacted with sex workers and their children to understand their compulsions, their circumstances and how they have no option but to accept this occupation. This made me realize how we are so wrong in judging people without knowing their story. Today, I am working as a research assistant in the same field with another non-governmental organization in Kolkata.

Working with non-governmental organizations has made me a non-judgemental person who knows how to respect everyone. Interacting with different people and knowing their stories has made me realize that life also gives you a second chance. It’s called tomorrow.

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In politics, deadlock or political stalemate refers to a situation when there is difficulty of passing laws in a legislature.

Main causes of legislative deadlocks are:

1. The votes for and against a proposed law are evenly divided
2. Two legislative houses, upper house and lower house are controlled by different political parties
3. Both ruling and opposition parties or one of them is not in the mood of healthy discussion
4. No party has a filibuster-proof majority

In the Westminster parliamentary system, such deadlocks are common. Around 74 % of the parliament’s time was wasted during the winter session of 1995 because of the uproar over a scam involving telecom minister. In 2001, 41% of the parliament’s time was wasted during the budget session as the opposition demanded setting up of a Joint Parliamentary Committee (JPC) to look into the stock market scam. On the same issue, 40 % of the parliament’s time was further wasted during the winter session of that year. The winter session of the parliament in 2004 saw only 33% of the time utilized for productive work following the boycott of tainted ministers. The winter session of 2010 is considered one of the most unproductive parliamentary sessions that witnessed only 7.62 productive hours as against available 138 hours. Even during the budget session of that year, frequent disruptions and walkouts over issues like 2G spectrum allocation, phone tapping, and IPL controversy had led to wastage of 115 working hours out of the 385 of both the houses. The government could only get six of the 27 planned bills cleared during that session.

One hour of Lok Sabha costs exchequer Rs 1.5 crore and Rajya Sabha Rs 1.1 crore. Each hour of running legislative assembly or legislative council during sessions costs exchequer Rs. 30 to 40 lakhs approximately. Legislative deadlock not only leads to the loss of public money, but also delays decision making which in turn slows down the development.

Key factor in legislative deadlock is the lack of healthy discussion between ruling and opposition parties. It leads to the lack of opportunity for both the parties to put their viewpoint/opinion on any issue before the legislative house and citizens of India. Creation of healthy environment/platform for discussion is necessary to break deadlocks in legislative houses.

Introduction of “Introductory Hour” in Legislative Proceedings:

To address this issue, an “introductory hour” can be introduced in the proceedings of Rajya Sabha, Lok Sabha, and legislative councils and assemblies. Introductory hour would not be an exact 1 hour. It is just a term and its time period will depend on the discretionary power of chairman of the house.

Introductory hour will not be a part of daily proceedings of legislative houses. Chairman of the house will have the full authority to introduce it at any day and at any time (viz. at the beginning of sitting or after question hour or after zero hour) during the sitting by analyzing the deadlock situation. Chairman will him/herself act as an proposer during the introductory hour.

Chairman of the house shall give 24-48 hours prior notice to the house highlighting the instructions of conducting the introductory hour. Chairman would ask the viewpoints/opinions/demands of ruling and opposition parties on the deadlock-issue/s in written. The viewpoints submitted to the chairman should be concise.

While conducting the introductory hour, the written viewpoints of ruling and opposition parties will be put before the house by the chairman (chairman will him/herself read the written viewpoints/opinions/demands). Introductory hour shall be introduced only when there is a situation of legislative deadlock.

Introductory hour will be helpful to make healthy environment for discussion. It will provide an equal opportunity for ruling and opposition parties to put their viewpoints before the legislative house and citizens of India. It will help to resolve deadlocks and accelerate legislative decisions.

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It is said that the future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. Growing up in a remote village of Arunachal Pradesh with an occasional access to modern comforts like electricity and internet, all I did was dream in the laps of nature. I was fortunate enough to be born into a family where women hold the power. My granny was a strong independent working woman at the time when purdah system was still pervasive. My own mother is a bold, confident and opinionated person who always instilled in me the strength and courage to dream. Yes, that is correct, one needs to have the courage to dream, especially when prevailing societal norms consider your dreams to be unconventional.

Unlike my fellow mates, especially girls, I never dreamt of having a well-settled life. I have always despised the ways of our society which celebrate,“graduation at 22, a job at 24, shaadi at 26 bacche before 30″. Eyebrows are raised when someone doesn’t seem to fit in. Growing up everyone used to call me stubborn and weird. As a regular child and a teenager that did affect my confidence because I never really realised why I was always the odd one out. At times, I did try to fit in and compromise, but sadly I went into a depression that affected my emotional and physical health.

It’s only recently that I realised that the reason I was made to feel this way by the people around me was because of my dream. I have always wanted to live life on my own terms. Now that sounds like a cliche, right? As hackneyed as it may sound but it is a herculean task to turn this dream into a reality without inviting some criticism. The moment I was mature and aware enough to realise the intricacies of our societal setup and the ever-evolving gender norms we as human beings are supposed to follow, I promised myself I am not going to give in.

I have dreamt of a future where I can carve my own niche as an independent, self-made successful woman, and presently I am striving hard to turn that dream into a reality. Like any other woman in her mid-twenties, I am also under constant scrutiny. I have always been a restless and impatient soul. I always knew that I wanted to achieve something huge, but I wasn’t very clear as to how. I have made my fair share of bad choices, and I have no regrets. I believe everything happens for a reason and in the end, it leaves you more experienced and mature. I never dreamt of becoming so and so; I imagine living my life king size while dealing with failures, setbacks, and challenges. I dream of becoming a person who can bring happiness into the lives of the distressed and downtrodden. I dream of becoming a woman that little girls can look up to. I dream of being a trendsetter and a fighter against this blatant patriarchy and stereotypes plaguing our society. I dream of becoming a bold and opinionated woman whose voice matters and has the ability to change many lives. When I envision my future, I see myself as a doting daughter, a partner shouldering equal responsibilities in a marriage, a strong mother that her children can look up to and overall a strong-minded, powerful woman.

I have started enjoying the struggles and challenges that life throws at me as I have this strong faith that these hardships are nothing but universe trying to make my dreams come true. I hustle harder each day, I fall again and again, I fail and face rejections, but I never let these things deject my spirit. I believe in turning my tears into the sweat, thus building a strong foundation for the kind of life I am aspiring towards. I dream of a future which has the ability to bring happiness into the lives of those around me.

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An Electrifying Experience

“I do exactly what SRK did in the film Swadesh.” This has been a constant answer trying to explain my work to people for the last year. The next question comes – “Where and how?”

Where?

It is hard to imagine that there are still places with no network coverage in spite of all the ‘network everywhere’ ads by telecom companies. The project location Thuamul Rampur block in Kalahandi district of Orissa being one such place. Often touted ‘Kalapani’ by some, this region in one of the most underdeveloped in the country. Tribal population being the majority, little to no employment possibility is available and agriculture, which has been the primary source of living in this area, brings in very little income owing to a rocky terrain. This is the location I am working in.

How?

After completing my studies, I applied for the SBI Youth for India fellowship in search of something different and I got selected. I joined Gram Vikas in Orissa as a part of this 13-month programme. Within this period, I was supposed to work on a project that would do good to the community and solve a local problem. Thirteen months may seem like a long time but in a place completely new and different, it is not. Language was the first barrier. The first 2-3 months were confusing except when I got more involved with the community and they accepted me. I started to see and identify problems that needed attention.

For the last few months, I have been working on a project aimed at providing 24-hour free, clean and green energy to a village named Karnibel in the aforementioned location. The project is called ‘Micro-Hydro Electricity’ (MHP). Being a hilly region and housing a number of waterfalls and water sources, this is a solution that is local to a problem that is recognized worldwide.

Harnessing the power of water from a nearby waterfall, this MHP generates enough power to keep a small village of 21 households illuminated. Originally, this project had been undertaken by an NGO named Gram Vikas back in 2010. Floods and landslides washed away most part of the project and stopped its functioning years ago. I realised a project like this can be a solution we all need. I started putting efforts to make it functional again.

Mobilizing the community to work to achieve the goals and benefits I foresaw was the toughest job of all. The next was construction in an area where transportation of raw materials is nearly impossible.

There might be a thousand ways of motivating a community, my way was to put endless effort. For months, it was all about reaching the village at sunrise and after some 30 sunrises, the community came together and we all started working. Where tractors could not reach to transport materials our shoulders and heads were used to carry loads. From formal meetings, to carrying stones on our heads, a deep relation with the community somehow grew.

I believe MHPs can be the solution we need and that can be achieved, especially in places where I come from, the North-East.

SBI Youth for India gave me a platform to utilise my education and skills in a way I will always be proud of. When you see the faces of the villagers after they realise something good is going to happen to them, it is a feeling hard to describe. The trust a community puts in you makes you work harder than you ever expected of yourself.

Featured image for representation only. Source: Maneesh Agnihotri/The India Today Group/Getty Images

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“It’s a date. It definitely is a date,” I said to myself placing my phone on my chest, breathing heavily.

Last year in July, I visited Mumbai with no plans to move to the city whatsoever.  Six months later, I had my bags packed, I was standing at the airport waiting for my flight to Mumbai. Only this time I was moving to Mumbai.

Now, I don’t know if you’d call it fate or not, but I will.

During my last trip to Mumbai, I went to Habitat with a few of my friends to watch a stand-up comedy show. That was the first time when I saw Navin, he was one of the comedians performing that night. The moment I saw his face, my heart skipped a beat and I was out of breath. Somewhere during his performance that night, I concluded that he’s the guy I wanna wake up next to every day for the rest of my life. After the show, my friends and I went drinking and I forgot about him. The next day, I came back to Ahmedabad, by that time I had almost completely forgotten about him. The reason was that I got busy with life. But, the truth was, I always felt I was not good enough for him. It’s a part of my anxiety (can’t really help it). After coming back, I started following him on most of the social media platforms but, still never texted him.

Four months went by, the thought of waking up next to Navin every day faded but it never left my head. During that time, I decided to move to Mumbai for further studies. I applied for a degree in Film Arts at Mumbai University, I cleared the entrance and interview, and in two months I was standing at the airport. Bags packed, friends and family around. I WAS MOVING TO MUMBAI.

I suffer from Anxiety disorder, and moving to Mumbai was a challenge. Especially the part where I had to meet new people and have human interactions, I dreaded all that. But I was looking forward to meeting the gay crowd in Mumbai.

A few days went by, I was sitting in my room and scrolling through Grindr and I saw his account, on the screen of my phone, lighting up my face in the dark room like a halo. Now, I know I said the thoughts had faded but, here was my chance to get what I wanted and what I wanted was him. So, I texted him saying, “Hi, Great work. Huge fan.” He replied after five hours and a conversation started, we soon moved to Instagram and then to WhatsApp. The conversations we had were rather very uncanny, we liked the same type of music (which is very fucking rare to find), movies and other things too. It all felt like a sign to me. For the first time in my life, I kept my anxiety aside, and good things were happening. After two days of chatting, we decided to meet. I’m not gonna go into the details of the date but, it was a date. We planned to go out for coffee and ended up having dinner, breakfast, and lunch with each other. The four-hour date turned into a 21-hour date and both of us were still longing for each other. So, I got back home and five hours later, I was with him again. We spent 36 hours together in two days!

After those 36 hours, he had to resume his tour and go to another city, I told him how I felt. He kept it to himself.

I took a cab back home and, as I went further away from him, I cringed at the thought of having felt so emotional. The date had actually gone pretty well, and only when he had to leave for Pune did my anxiety hit me again like a big red firetruck, leaving me hollow. I was sad and vulnerable and nervous. We parted in Dadar, walking away from each other, almost certain that we would never meet again. And as I swayed and belched on the cab home, I felt regret. What if things did not go well? What if I had expressed myself too soon?

I’m currently sitting in my room writing this blog for no reason but to let these feelings out. I don’t know if he feels the same way or not but he made me the happiest I ever was an that’s somewhere enough for me.

I believe in letting things go if they’ve come to a natural conclusion. It didn’t feel like it was over yet. I’m glad I did not let my anxiety take over and I met him.

I’m gonna abruptly end this blog here because I don’t have anything else to say. But there are only two things now. Either he’ll read the blog and feel the same way or he’ll just cringe over everything and never meet me again.

In both cases, it was my last first date. I took a chance and left my comfort zone to do something, I probably might not do it again in the future with anyone else, but him.

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By Namita Nair:

A binary classification of people’s motivation is somewhat of a misnomer. For simplicity sake, I’ll commit a deliberate aberration.

I’ve met two sets of people – while a ridiculously passionate and self-aware set of people pursue their interests consistently, the other set uses each interest as a springboard to jump to the next one, dividing, combining ideas and methods along the way.

I was the captain of the latter crowd until my first month on my first job as an Analyst at at a tech company. I did precisely what I was asked to do – nothing more or nothing less. A typical uninspired fresher! In my free time, I discretely watched funny dog videos on YouTube or checked out the latest exhibitions in the MeT (not that I had any plans, the means or the visa to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York back then). This continued until my boss caught me watching something on the Internet (most likely the video where babies laughed non-stop). He set up a 101 immediately and had a conversation – or ‘the conversation’

Deep diving into data

He explained the value of the data I had access to and the kind of civil and monetary impact I could create by making tools that would generate valuable insights. He asked me to look beyond the numbers and run with the questions those numbers posed. From then on, there was no turning back. Data became my passion.

I learned how data can be applied to improve businesses and my own life. I set up trackers for every aspect of me that I could reduce to a quantitative entity – grocery shopping, workouts, commuting time, sugar intake and even a correlation analysis for my basil. This time I didn’t want to springboard, I wanted to stay footed. Feeling inspired, I joined a Master’s programme in Information Systems. After two intense years in the academic world, I decided it was time for me to have a personal life. Marriage and an early pregnancy followed.

While I was pregnant, I did a number of courses, online and others – Python, Big Data, Tableau and Machine Learning.

I realized that one doesn’t necessarily need expensive degrees and certifications, but a passion and the skill to work with data.

Though I loved the ease with which I was able to get access to these incredible materials, the learning experience was rather lonely. I knew there must be many women out there who’re sitting in front of their systems, trying to crack a bug, looking for tutorials or wanting to share the joy of finally getting it right after hours and hours of labour.

I wanted to find these data-sisters, connect with them and be inspired by them.

Shoutout to my data sisters

A career in data science requires technical knowledge, but also creativity in terms of business development and a good understanding of the industry economics. On looking around, I found many online data science forums that generated voluminous materials on data, but the conversations lacked a sense of community and empathy.

I wanted to be a part of a space where women can share knowledge and ideas, talk about their work, collaborate on projects and give each other a much-needed group hug. That’s how my community – She Drives Data (SDD) came into being.

Data science is a fantastic and fulfilling field for women, whether for school goers looking for interesting projects to work on, women looking for a career switch or women returning to the workforce after a sabbatical. The SDD community is an attempt to bridge the gap between all these groups and create constructive conversations to benefit each of them.

What next? I created my community website and waited for my fellow data-sisters to come in thousands.

They didn’t.

During this time, I found my fairy Godmother Sairee Chahal, Founder & CEO of SHEROES on Twitter and messaged her. Within minutes she replied saying, “Love what you are building, by we’ll build something cool together”. We talked a week later, where she gave me her valuable insights. The very next day, SDD and SHEROES began their exciting journey together.

Today, my SHEROES data-sisters form a strong network of over 7K members. We bounce off ideas, create and participate in data challenges, share our knowledge and resources by the minute of the day. I’m overwhelmed by the love and support I get from my community. 

Conversations with my community members revealed that a lot of women are so data passionate that they aren’t merely looking at securing a job in this field but intend building their own products and even setting up their own companies. Supporting them in their aspirations is the way forward for me and SDD community. 

I’m also excited to be part of a community panel at the upcoming SHEROES Summit in Trivandrum on Sept 8, where I hope to connect with more and more women in analytics in person!

Like Dr Maya Angelou said, ‘When you get, you give. When you learn, you teach’.

And we hope to do just that in spades.

About Namita Nair:
A data enthusiast and a doting mom, I love to create things that make life better, be it automation tools or brownies. I founded “She Drives Data”, a community for women passionate about data analytics, and those who want to learn! Moderating this community on the SHEROES platform brought me hugely fulfilling positive responses. This is a hub for data enthusiasts and data newbies who learn via free sessions, tutorials, mentorships, community chats and conversations. You can join the “She Drives Data” community here and find support for your data dreams! 

The post Data, Not Diamonds, Are This Girl’s Best Friend! appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

Baramulla’s supergirl Iqra Rasool who fought against all odds to pursue her dreams to play professional cricket shared her inspiring journey at Youth Ki Awaaz Summit on September 1 in Dr BR Ambedkar International Center in New Delhi. In her powerful address, ‘Why women can’t play cricket?’, Rasool inspired girls to break glass ceilings and chase their dreams.

Eighteen-year-old Iqra Rasool is an Indian women cricketer who represented Jammu and Kashmir at the U-19 and U-23 level. She is currently gearing up to represent Bengal and is being trained at Kolkata’s Eden Garden’s indoor facility. She hopes to receive No Objection Certificate (NOC) from Jammu & Kashmir Cricket Association and play for the national women’s cricket team.

While speaking about her journey, Iqra shared how hard it was for her to fight patriarchy and break glass ceilings that restrict women from chasing their dreams.

“It’s challenging for girls, especially in Kashmir, to chase their dreams of becoming a sportsperson, dancer, or anything that the society doesn’t approve of. I was also so conditioned by the restrictive approach of the society that when my games teacher told me that I should play cricket, I laughed it off,” Iqra shared with the audience.

After much convincing from her games teacher, Iqra started training for the district level team. Despite facing opposition from the society and family, Iqra was unmoved and focused on becoming a professional cricketer.

“I wanted to bat, but my coach said that because of my height I’d be a good bowler. In two weeks he trained me for the upcoming match. I used to skip breakfast and lunch for the training sessions. My performance was really appreciated, and later on, I got selected by (JKCA) for under-19 team at the age of 13. Then next year I was selected for the under-23 team,” revealed Iqra.
When in 2016, an Army official called Iqra to prove herself by bowling an over to men’s cricket team she had many conflicting thoughts about it but her dream to play for Indian cricket team made her overcome all apprehensions.

“Playing with boys and among boys is something that Kashmiri girls can’t even think of. But, I had to prove myself, and I went for it. My first few deliveries were bad, and I got very nervous. Later, umpire pushed me to concentrate only on my bowling and not think of anything else. Then I clean-bowled a national-level under-23 batsman,” Iqra proudly recalls.

“Soon I got a contract from Aditya group where they offered to provide me free training, education, and stay. It was hard to convince my parents initially, but they agreed,” she added.

Iqra says that she is striving to make it to the women’s national cricket team and will not stop until that happens.

“I’m thankful to everyone who has supported me. Although I don’t have hard feelings for those who have criticised me or abused me, I will prove them wrong by becoming a national level cricketer,” she said.

Iqra ended her talk on a high note asking parents to let their children, boys and girls, to chase their dreams.

The post #YKASummit2018: Kashmir’s Supergirl Inspires Young Women To Fight Odds And Chase Their Dreams appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

Beginning with very blurry memories of 1996 when I was just five years old: Back in those years, there was an ongoing struggle led by AJSU (All Jharkhand Student Union) for a separate state of Jharkhand, which was then a part of Bihar. My father, my baba Ghanshyam Birulee, was an active member of AJSU from his college days. People who were active in the struggle were listed as “wanted”. I can still recollect, though very little, some nights in my childhood which were spent without my father, not knowing he is going underground to keep himself safe somewhere.

My baba is a great storyteller, and one such night when we were all ears listening to my father’s story, we suddenly heard the haunting siren of a police jeep. My maa rushed in and asked my father to hide himself in the “Aading”, which is a sacred room which only family members could enter. My sister and I had no idea what was happening. Soon after, we heard loud knocks on the door. My maa opened the door and I could see everything from the bedroom. There were five men in khaki with guns on them asking about my baba in a very aggressive manner. My maa responded to them in our native language which the policemen couldn’t understand properly. She warned them that they could search for him, but cannot enter our sacred room.  If they did so, it would be a serious violation of our traditional beliefs and they would be punished in the court of the village Gram Sabha. Moreover they would be charged with a fine of four black hen and a white cock. They couldn’t dare to enter our home, but for years I would get mortified by wailing sirens and policemen.

Baba was concerned with a lot of social issues, the effects of radiation from uranium mining in Jadugoda being one of them. Initially, my father worked as an apprentice in the Uranium Corporation of India Limited (UCIL). However, after learning of the consequences of their work, he chose to quit his apprenticeship. He then initiated the Jharkhandi Organization Against Radiation (JOAR) and is still working devotedly for the betterment of the affected villagers in Jadugoda. JOAR is the first organization to raise a voice against the adverse effects of uranium mining in India. For its long term contribution towards the people and the environment, JOAR was honoured with the prestigious Nuclear Free Future Award in 2004. I was a very proud son, my baba was my hero and I admired what what he was doing. So being an activist’s son, it would seem obvious for me to follow in his footsteps. However, I was never asked or expected to get involved in activism.

Ever since I was a kid, I would tag along with him to meetings with activists and other such gatherings, idling on his lap while he discussed the grave concerns and issues faced by our people which were left unacknowledged by the government. Little did I know about the living circumstances of the natives of Jadugoda, also said to be the best kept secret of India. The one thing I was aware of, was that my father is a fighter, he is fighting for the rights of the community he belongs to. One of the most important lessons I have learned from baba is of being brave, standing tall and strong for one’s rights, even if one has to stand alone.

Baba Never Taught Me How To Be An Activist; He Only Inspired Me To Become One

I was always glad to be his helping hand and with my broken English and fluency in local dialects, I was the mediator to his visitors; most of them foreign activists and photojournalists. I had the privilege of spending time with protestors and social impactors from around the world, but I was still not fully integrated into this world and well aware of the issues they dealt with. Baba let me dictate my own pace to my destiny that is still in the making.

A Coin Has Two Sides

I was sent away to study in a convent school when I was five, because baba wanted to keep me from the darkness of the cancerous radiations coming from the untreated Uranium dump in the vicinity of our village. It had already impaired and killed many natives of Jadugoda, including my own grandparents. My father had a choice to not protest, but choose to grow individually and bring us up like a normal family. However, he had a larger picture in mind for the betterment of the present and future generations to come.

I too, had a lot of situations of dilemma while choosing something which doesn’t promise or guarantee a stable life. But I have inherited a deep understanding from my baba that when your people, your land, your forest and river need you the most, you have to give up your most cherished dreams. It may be easy for me to say this because I have a supporting family, but it’s hard at the same time because I don’t have any other alternative apart from fighting for my own people’s rights. I have witnessed my own relatives and villagers dying because of radiation. Living in such a danger zone, there are possibilities that I could become the next victim of radiation.

It was in 2011 when I got my first meaningful exposure to photojournalism while working on a documentary project about the Subarnarekha river of Jharkhand. Later that year, I got to work with Mr. Hajime Kimura, a Japanese photojournalist who wanted to document Jadugoda. Since it is a highly restricted area for a foreigner to click around freely, I got the opportunity to capture some pictures wherever he could not, but unfortunately that project wasn’t completed.

A while later, a great mentor and close friend Shriprakash, a documentary filmmaker and a National Award Winner, suggested that I make a documentary on my own. Being from Jadugoda, I would be able to capture it with an emotional lens that only a dweller can perceive. What the village has gone through? How it turned from being beautiful and fulfilling to an alluring and dangerous place to live in? I also started documenting for our organization to help with data collection.

In 2013, I got the chance to exhibit my yearlong work at the International Uranium Film festival (IUFF), Ranchi. My work was appreciated and well received and was further exhibited at the Museum of Art in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil in 2013. I had even more opportunities to exhibit my photos in Canada, Japan and in different regions of India. It has always been my motive to spread more awareness in all possible ways, that whatever suffering we, the Jadugoda people are going through, shouldn’t be faced by any other communities and groups. I also know this isn’t enough, I still have a lot to experience, learn and a lot to offer to the society as an activist and a photojournalist.

I cannot forget what I’ve learnt from my baba, which is “To realize a change in society, bring the change upon you first.” We as common people tend to ignore and overlook issues until we feel like we can’t escape them, rather than standing together to fight for what we deserve. Make people aware of their rights, surroundings and their duties as a civilian; keep them alert and aware to achieve a greater participation in ongoing and future protests against anything unfair.

Last but not the least, I also learned with experience that holding on to our Adivasi culture, beliefs and our language makes us stronger and united and discourages the perpetrators from violating us.

The post What It Is Like To Be The Son Of An Activist In Jharkhand appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

Socialisation is the process by which a child evolves into a social being through various institutions. The primary source of socialisation for
a child is its family. Our values, beliefs and thoughts are thus depended upon what our family teaches us. However, as we grow older and come into contact with other sources such as technology, school or our peer group, our belief system further gets modified. Therefore, the type of ideas and thoughts that are kept in front of us as a child, become a large part of our personalities when we grow older.

Even though most agents of socialisation may claim to teach children humility and encourage them to perform acts of kindness, I have felt that we often forget to teach our kids how to treat people who are a little different from the society’s definition of ‘normal’. In India, a very few households talk about topics that are considered taboo. Therefore, most transgenders end up feeling confused and cisgenders being scared of them. For me, the term gay or lesbian meant an insult while transgenders were someone who would come to dance on happy occasions and had the power to curse or bless people. This is the perception of the LGBTQ+ community that most people in India have.

It is funny how we fail to treat a person who belongs to the ‘other community’ as a human being, but readily give them a status of someone bigger than the humankind itself! For example, the dalits were referred to as  ‘Harijans’, women are sometimes equated to the goddess ‘Lakshmi’ and a trans person as someone who has ‘magical powers’. My problem with this is that even though it may have started to ‘uplift’ these groups, however, in the process we have forgotten to treat them as human beings first. We are violent towards this community mentally, physically and make their life a living hell, if they try to express themselves.

Even those of us who are not physically or verbally violent; do not treat them at par with the rest of the community. We push them onto the peripheries and judge them not by their intellect or the type of person they are, but based on their sexual orientation or the gender they identify with. This further leads to the alienation of the group and this alienation starts at an early age. We all remember a kid from our class who always sat alone and had no friends because they seemed ‘weird’ to us. Obviously, this does not mean that the kid was from the LGBTQ community, but it is proof that from the very beginning we have isolated people who didn’t seem ‘normal’ to us.

I have met some people who are against the idea of an LGBTQ+ community. To them, I say that a sense of identity is a basic human need. Time and again the human race has formed categories and stuck with the groups that they identify with. Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Black, White, Dalit are all identities, and our actions and thoughts are a part of our identity. When we throw a category out of a particular community, we cannot stop them from making their own identity group.

My journey to sensitisation towards this community started because of my curiosity towards the group. I had questions about gender and sex, about transgenders and who they really are. With these questions, I went to the adults in my life. When I did not get any satisfactory response, I made this internet my best friend. I have been blessed to be born in the day and age where I can gather any type of information that I want to. I decided to learn about the LGBTQ+ community. I read articles, tried to study biological and psychological aspects, watched videos made for and by the community and read about the Koovagam festival in Tamil Nadu.

To all my readers, if you don’t know about Koovagam, please watch a documentary or read about it. It’s fascinating! My moment of being a supporter of the group came when I addressed a transwoman on the street as ‘Didi’. Her face lightened up just by a single word, and I knew her day was made. Her lit up face helped me to further make an effort to break my age-old beliefs and views and be more sensitive towards the LGBTQ+ community.

I agree that getting rid of ages of socialization is not easy. However, we must not stop questioning things. The day we stop questioning the system, our culture and its institutions; it will be the end of our democracy. Simple efforts make a difference. Start by using the right pronouns for the transgender. It is indeed that easy! Even if you do not understand the LGBTQ+ community, just remember that it is essential to understand that everyone has the right to express themselves the way they want to and love who they want to.

The post My Journey Of Breaking Past Misconceptions About LGBTQ Community appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

My love for K-pop, or South Korean pop music, has been one of the driving forces of my life for the past one and a half years. It’s safe to say that if my college experience were a patchwork quilt, K-pop would be this giant sea of sparkly blue, smack dab in the middle of a quilt. I am fully aware of how pathetic this is (seriously, I should be stanning like, Bashō instead), but I don’t regret my fall. K-pop gave me a beautiful world as an escape, helped me make some wonderful new friends, and introduced me to the toe-curling pleasure of being part of a fandom.

More importantly, spying and vilifying the casual misogyny and homophobia in K-pop strengthened my feminist principles, and reading K-pop slash fan-fiction made me a better ally to the queer movement. Loving K-pop reinforced my notions of how utterly messed up capitalist transactions and soft power are. I know full well how the entertainment companies manufacture emotions of love for idols amongst the fans and then exploit those feelings for monetary gain.

On the other hand, fans only love these idols conditionally, and many of them see idols only as vessels for their kinks. Despite my knowledge and a thorough condemnation of this, it’s something I am party to, as a K-pop stan. Rest assured, though, that I go down kicking and screaming the whole time.

Being a K-pop stan taught me a lot about race, and how to properly respect a foreign culture in a globalized world. Almost everyone who gets into K-pop goes through a humiliating phase in their stanning life, in which they generalize their love for the genre to an obsession with a K-pop-based, horrendously stereotypical, candy-pink, misogynist, cutesy idea of Koreanness. These fans are called Koreaboos. They are full of nothing but sickly-sweet praise for what they think are all things Korean, but they actually hold a supremely narrow and offensive notion of South Korean culture.

Various fan portals online are teeming with fans who routinely express their desire to ‘be’ Korean. The problematic nature of this very desire is but the beginning; in thier eyes, being Korean means wearing sexy schoolgirl outfits, having colourful hair, doll-like makeup, and a high cutesy voice that repeats certain Korean phrases and words like a broken record, with no knowledge of their connotations. The Koreaboo crime lies in fetishizing South Korea and its people.

My Koreaboo phase was short and mild, fortunately. It took place when I had very little knowledge of K-pop and the moral pitfalls facing an international fan of Korean pop music. There were lessons I learnt post my exit— how easy it is to fetishize, how immoral it is to fetishize, and how important it is to stop fetishizing. However, many ex-Koreaboos who are now ‘woke’ fall into the trap of singling out and criticizing South Korea as a House of Horrors for women and queer people. While it’s true that misogyny and queerphobia are deeply entrenched in the South Korean culture, these international fans conveniently write South Korea off for these reasons. They do this without considering how misogyny and queerphobia characterize almost every society on this planet, and how there is a need to censure such societies more or less uniformly.

Loving K-pop while simultaneously protesting against problems within K-pop and its fandom, thus gave me truckloads of food for thought, and made me way more sensitive to power dynamics. However, it also left me with a bunch of weird obsessions and silly anxieties, not to mention hours of lost time. In this piece, I will be introducing to you a particular labyrinth of irrational cognitions, one that stemmed from my shipping idols with each other, and reading too much K-pop slash fanfiction. I’ve christened this labyrinth as ‘Prostatantism’. A little theoretical background is necessary, however, before I get down to defining the term.

Thanks to their industry-mandated infantilization, idols, by their very name, exemplify objecthood. K-pop idols are put up on a pedestal and are meant to be emulated, but they’re little more than glorified Sims. It’s a routine to tear them down the minute their feet get too big or small for the pedestal. In K-pop culture, the entertainment companies encourage fans to fetishize idols. The companies themselves debut groups along with pre-ordained ships. As part of fanservice, idols are required to engage in “skinship” or physical affection with all other members, but especially with their ship partner—their first mate, if you will (natürlich, I saw the opportunity and carpe diem’d the shit out of it).

Ships can be either platonic or romantic, but it’s the latter that receive the greatest attention from fans, especially from fangirls. South Korea is intensely homophobic as a society, but company-mandated homoerotic displays are de rigueur for K-pop groups, girl- and boy-. The solution to this riddle lies in profit— the fans want their little kinks satisfied; one of these kinks is M/M or F/F, whatever the case may be; K-pop groups have multiple beautiful people; ergo companies shipping members within groups. While female ships from girl groups and heterosexual ships among boy- and girl groups exist, a) shipping is a cishet female bastion, for the most part, which results in male ships easily overpowering female ships in both number and popularity, for reasons which will be explored later, and b) most K-pop fans are notoriously possessive of their idols, and avoid heterosexual ships like the plague because they have a “greater chance of being real”. Can I get an H? An E? A TERONORMATIVITY?

When my fangirl self was a mere foetus, she naïvely believed that gay ships would cure her of the malaise that is pining for her biases (viz. favourite members within a group) and wanting to waterboard herself, her biases, and the female idols that shady news portals and other fans linked them with. Being utterly deprived herself, she was gleeful knowing that- no one could have ‘HIM’, except for another HIM who also had a special place in her lil heartie, and would function, almost, as a golden cage for the nation’s greatest treasures—her bias’ heart and body. This second Him would be loved as an individual, but would function more or less as a vessel for her bias-directed affections (N.B. this is the way my shipping tendencies go—all the ships I’ve had were born out of a tragic passion for one particular member, i.e. my bias. There are, of course, many people out there shipping members who are not their biases).

I have chats chock-full of hysterical voice notes to prove this feverish faith I had. What was this faith powered by? Naturally, by proof videos on Youtube and proof posts on Tumblr, by fanpages dedicated to ships, by fandom lore regarding the interactions between the ship, etc. But what really fueled my obsession with ships was slash fanfiction, i.e. fanfiction centered around a ship comprising n members, usually a couple.

So began my sad little experiments with gay ship salvation. I embarked on a grim quest to prove the facticity of my ships. For some unhinged reason, I believed that these ships being real would provide me with anchors for my fangirling. While photographic evidence should’ve clinched my belief in the truth of ships, it was actually fanfiction that insidiously did a better job of it. Reading about two names falling in love in a thousand different ways somehow convinced me that the idols, who are real individuals and not characters in a fiction, could totally be together in real life. Now believe me, I know that fanfiction is just that- Fiction. I know full well that I could replace that ship’s names with the names of any other, completely improbable ship, and the story would still work. I know that no ship is canon, to the best of our knowledge.

However, rationality eludes me at the best of times, especially if we’re dealing with something I feel as strongly for as K-pop. Disavowing the reality of these ships makes me feel like a heteronormative prick sometimes, and at other times I’m railing against people trying to prove ships because they’re fetishizing these idols. The point is, irrationally speaking, I’m always afraid that my bias might just be taken by a fellow member; someone who is so perfect for them (duh, because the fics say so) that I wouldn’t stand a smidgeon of a chance (yes, because, of course, that’s the only reason I wouldn’t stand a chance, my socio-historical location be damned).

As I define it, ‘Prostatantism’ refers to a condition that resulted from surrounding myself with exclusively gay fanfiction, written about almost exclusively one couple, of which one idol was my ultimate, or ultimate bias, in K-pop-speak. This condition manifested itself in me devaluing my female self (especially my female body) when it came to being romantically and sexually desirable. Somehow, my irrationality made me a one-man-woman for my ultimate bias, who might very well be heterosexual in real life, but totally wasn’t in all the fanfiction I read. I convinced myself that my ultimate bias could never want me, or any other girl; not with his first mate in the ship existing.

Basically, my old mind-trick of making myself believe that my ships were the realest backfired. Now, I wanted out from this new rabbit hole, but I’d convinced myself so thoroughly that the ship was canon that there could be no takesy-backsies. I was stuck in an irrational mental rut that takes the crown for irrational mental ruts—I wanted out of the false knowledge that my ship was real, but I couldn’t dismantle the monumental edifice of proof I had constructed, purely because the ship might just be real in the real world.

Why did I name this condition Prostatantism? Well, almost all of these M/M fics are written by women, who can never produce a genuine representation of gay sex. They include a lot of badly written material on the male prostate as an instrument of sexual pleasure, almost as if (shocker!) it’s a stand-in for the female clitoris. Gay sex is all wrong in the fanfics, for the most part. But in my more irrational moments, I’ve fake-sobbed “Ugh my bias will never want meeeeeeeee”, to which an exasperated friend went “ARRE why not” to which I replied, “because I don’t have a prostate”. Hence, Prostatantism.

Ahem. Yes. Does this read like a crack piece? In my mind, it’s only like 60% crack. To remind you all of my sizeable intellect in the face of this irrationality, I shall proceed to quote Chaucer: “regardez, messieurs, je suis blushing!”

I have never been into anime, and hope never to get into it for fear of falling down the mother of all rabbit holes. Thanks to my interest in M/M, though, I’ve read up on the ins and outs of yaoi. Yaoi, also called Boys’ Love (BL), is a Japanese term, signifying fiction regarding romantic or sexual relationships between/among male characters. It is defined as a genre of literature written by women, for an audience of mostly cisgender, heterosexual women. Yaoi is characterized by the seme-uke trope, which is a species of heteronormative typing. In a typical male pairing, the submissive and passive character who bottoms during sex is called the uke, while the top or the dominant figure is called the seme.

While the genre itself originated with Japanese manga, K-pop slash fanfiction between male idols is a variant of yaoi. This can be explained by how most fangirls seek to project themselves and their desires onto one of the male idols in the ship. Thanks to gender socialization, the projectee is usually the uke (the bottom, or the submissive). Often, he is written as a grossly overfeminized shell of his real personality, while the idol written as the seme is less a person and more of a grunting alpha wolf in CEO gear, with masculinity streaming from every pore, and usually a serving of mommy/daddy issues (here you see the fanfiction-roots of 50 Shades of Grey). Please note, however, that there are hundreds of thousands of breathtaking exceptions to this trope, and it’s the exceptional fics that leave me coming back to AO3 for more.

Yaoi is frequently and rightfully accused of being misogynist and heterosexist, thanks to the seme-uke trope and its notorious under-representation of women. The way women are written in yaoi is often as messed up as the way masculinist texts slot women into neat little boxes of whore/Madonna. Case in point: most of the fics that are written in the second person (the fangirling reader is the protagonist, being pursued by her handsome Oppa who won’t take no for an answer) or that have an original character (OC) who is a girl. Fanboys and transgender fans who might have romantic/sexual feelings for their idols aren’t usually represented in these fics.

Luckily, there exists a great amount of K-pop fanfiction written by female fans who have a working knowledge of feminist tenets and would prefer not to be complicit in their own dehumanization. Nonetheless, K-pop fanfiction is a species of RPF, or real-people-fiction. As such, we fans commit a morally dubious act by creating and consuming such ultimately fetishistic stories. There have been cases in K-pop of idols expressing their discomfort at having smutty fanfiction starring them and a fellow member shoved in their faces at fansign events.

The seme, or the bottom, is usually submissive in bed, bath, and beyond. He is commonly written as having conventionally feminine traits, like docility, gentleness, kindness, and weakness. Physically, the seme is typically described as being beautiful in a soft, feminine way, and is usually smaller than the uke. However, he is still a man. Therefore, these traits don’t emanate from his biology. Unlike women, who often feel chained to conventional femininity and to their submissive position in cis-het relationships, the male protagonists in yaoi enter relationships with very few a priori boxes for them to be shut in. They also have equal amounts of gendered social privilege, since they are both male.

Of course, the seme-uke formula implies an unequal division of power, but there are many works of yaoi wherein both males are equally large, equally beautiful, and have the same amount of social power. In such a context, if one male overpowers the other, the overpowering isn’t a function of sexual difference; it is, in a way, free of sexist oppression. Yaoi is often seen as a way for heterosexual women to fulfil their vicarious fantasies of inhabiting a world where one has the license to be meek as a lamb and merit the rescue of the lion, regardless of one’s sex. Boys’ Love literature could be seen as a protest against biological determinism, in the context of gender roles.

As a cishet, upper-caste Hindu woman, I’ve never experienced any sort of oppression or marginalization. I’m as privileged as women come. I’m fully aware that the kind of invisibility and loss of worth that I experienced psychologically have no material value, and were the product of willful immersion in a fiction subculture which is known to have a meager and often demeaning representation of female characters. Weird, huh? Since yaoi is defined as gay male erotica written by women for women? There’s an explanation for this stabbing-oneself-and-one’s-sisters-in-the-back phenomenon, drawn from amateur sociology.

I can personally attest to this explanation, much to my chagrin. Here it is: if I can’t have my Oppa/Daddy/babyboi, then neither can any of my compatriots in fandom. However, it behooves us to sexually and romantically objectify idols. Who can fill the gap we forcibly EXOdus-ed our fellow fans from (product placement for my ride-or-die K-pop group EXO? I don’t know what you’re talking about)? Well. It’s got to be someone realistic, but not some female idol. No, the coveted position must go to someone whom we love almost as much as our bias, someone who visibly cares for our bias. Ergo, intra-group shipping and the resultant pitfalls.

TLDR; loving K-pop caused me to dip my toes in various seedy waters. With time and experience, I’ve learnt how to deal better with my own instances of K-pop-induced irrationality. I’ve grown as a moral creature over the past few years, and so am ever on the lookout for problematic facets of my stanning mindset. Hence, I’m sure that if I come back to this article in a month, I will end up biting my own fingers off for typing such caca. Until then, dear reader(s?), stay safe and sexy. I’ll be off, because I’ve had an AO3 tab with a cowboy! AU Chanbaek fic open for like three weeks now.

The post What Misogyny And Homophobia In K-Pop Did To My Feminism As A Straight Indian Woman appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

We are the people from a small town named Jori, in the state of Jharkhand. We are struggling to enrol for a new Aadhaar card and update information in the existing ones because there is no Aadhaar enrollment centre in our town. The population of our town is approximately eight thousand and our town has a post office and a few banks, where hundreds of people interact daily and avail their services.

As we are all aware that without an Aadhaar number a person seems like he doesn’t even live in India. But holding Aadhaar means we have to link everything with our Aadhaar number. But just in case if we don’t have Aadhaar-

1. We can’t open a bank account.
2. We can’t enrol for PAN.
3. We can’t buy a SIM card etc.

In short, a common man’s life becomes more difficult life without an Aadhaar card. And it gets more inconvenient when there is no Aadhaar enrollment centre in his/her village or town. In our town, we don’t have any Aadhaar enrollment centre, and nearest enrollment centres are too far; a person has to travel 20-30 kilometres to update their Aadhaar card, and this sometimes wastes the entire day for the person. Those working on a daily wage cannot afford to waste their time.

Hence, I request UIDAI to open an Aadhaar enrollment centre either based on population or other forms of division. There should be at least one Aadhaar enrolment centre for a population of 10 thousand. Also, I would like to bring to your kind notice that some Aadhaar enrollment centres are charging wilful amount to enrol for a new Aadhaar card or make any update an existing one. I heard from some people that they are charging ₹150-250, which is unacceptable. But the maximum charge which UIDAI proposed is far less than the amount collected by the centre.

This is not only the story of our town, but an issue that every small town and village in India is facing. I wrote this article to seek your help and support to bring this issue to the attention of UIDAI, and let them know how civilians are struggling with their services. I hope and expect UIDAI will take necessary actions and make their service easily accessible to every citizen and also take strict measures against centres that are charging more than proposed fees.

The post People In Our Town Are Struggling Because of The Lack Of UIDAI Services appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

On June 02, 2018, I came all the way to New Delhi, to sit in an entrance exam for Post Graduation in Political Science, in one of the renowned institutions of India, Jamia Millia Islamia(JMI).

Way back in my nostalgic years of graduation, I had heard from my batch mates, seniors and professors about the impeccable academic achievements of  JMI. So for this reason, I was interested in applying for my post graduation considering the outstanding faculty of the varsity. I studied with a fine tooth comb of my discipline, as I knew anything could be asked in the entrance, which is also the case for other university entrance exams.

This is an established notion or the vox populi that every varsity, not only from India but all around the academic world, will also ask questions from the earlier graduation course of the particular discipline too. I was cramming for my subject in which I planned to pursue my higher education to get broader wisdom and scholarship of my discipline. When I sat for the entrance, all of us in the room were handed the question paper, and we looked at every question as it provided food for thought.

When I turned the page after going through the first fifty questions, I realised that the remaining questions were from Science, Current affairs, Geography and History mostly, and not from Political Science as they were supposed to be. My conscience deprecated at first to even have a look at these questions and attempting them did not sit right with me. But I had to bite the bullet as I could not leave these questions unattempted. When I was done, I discussed the paper with my friends from JNU, HCU, AMU and Jadavpur University, to get their views on the paper. They all objected to the exam’s structure and disparaged it.

I waited for a month to see my result and then file a Right To Information(RTI) application on it. On the 30th of that month, the results were declared, and as I was sure I will clear the exam but that did not happen. So I filed an RTI to know the reason why the concerned authority was asking questions from the diverse disciplines or subjects even at the post graduation level for a particular subject.

In the above mentioned RTI, I waited for thirty days as prescribed under the RTI Act, 2005, to dispose of the concerned query. With the forbearance of the provocation of the administration, I was flabbergasted to see my RTI application nowhere to be found (even when the relevant authority of RTI online, operated by Department of Personnel and Training, Government of India, provided me with a Registration number and a Payment reference number of my RTI), as you can see in the picture below.

It should be taken seriously that not only the JMI administration but the Central Information Commission which is working under the aegis of RTI Act, 2005, couldn’t do justice to provide the valid information to an applicant and even misplaced the RTI from the account. I was reading an article in dailyO about the disgruntled reactions to the loopholes in the entrance tests in particular and the dichotomy of the central university per se to be great in itself, failed to be good enough to be called a ‘University’.

With keeping in mind the above blunder, there is also another paradox in the so-called administration of the varsity. JMI’s entrance portal has provided the facility to the students to let them know if there is any fault in their overall entrance mechanism. It is bogus in itself. Although they have provided the mechanism, they forgot to let the students know where to address and how to address their grievances, as no further tabs open for going through with it, as you can see in the picture below.

So, when I saw all this, I was adamant to explicitly enunciate the whole event that happened to me in particular and to many more aspirants like me. There are a number of students with their testimonies, who want to naysay this established behaviour of the administration, which seems to have hibernated and do not care about even taking this into consideration. This kind of laxity will only ruin a student’s career and smash the expectation of a student who wishes to study in a good public funded university. The incumbent Vice-Chancellor Prof. Shahid Ashraf, who is at the helm of the varsity, must acknowledge with strenuous efforts to iron out these kosher issues with gravitas as they are not-so-subtle in the public domain.

Notes:

• http://rti.gov.in/rti-act.pdf
• https://www.dailyo.in/variety/jamia-millia-islamia-entrance-exam-shah-rukh-khan-jamia-alumni-exam-warriors/story/1/25953.html

The post Is Jamia Millia Islamia Incorrectly Evaluating Its Entrance Exam Candidates? appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

A few years ago, I was at the peak of my life. I was successful, happy and ambitious. But I fell ill and was diagnosed with multi-drug resistant tuberculosis (MDR TB) at the first test. Till then, TB had nothing to do with my life. I remember thinking, sitting in the doctor’s office; it is curable. It will all be over soon. But I was wrong. Over months of treatment, things got worse. X-rays revealed that my left lung was destroyed, and the other lung was slightly infected too. I was resistant to three of the four drugs in the standard 4-drug kit prescribed for MDR TB. I used to vomit bowlfuls of blood, and the doctor used to tell me- ‘it happens’. I believed him and started living in hope.

TB changed my life completely. I lacked the strength to do anything and felt helpless. Though my parents did everything they could, their efforts were often misguided, because uninformed doctors and incorrect lab reports led them in the wrong direction. Three years of incorrect medication, and it only got worse. My doctors in Pune wrote me off as an Extremely Drug Resistant case (XXDR TB), saying there was nothing more that could be done; that I was incurable. I was young and determined, and not quite ready to die yet. I came to Mumbai’s Hinduja Hospital to meet Dr. Udwadia- the country’s finest Pulmonologist.

I was so weak that I couldn’t even talk. Based on tests done at the Hinduja Hospital lab, I was told I was highly drug-resistant, which meant I was virtually incurable. I was prescribed a new set of medications, including the drug Bedaquiline, a new experimental drug, which I had managed to receive on compassionate grounds. I stopped thinking, why did this have to happen to me, and instead started focusing on getting better. By June of 2015, after six months of intensive therapy, my sputum test eventually showed a radical improvement, with just a single course of Bedaquiline.

Today, though I have completely recovered, I often ponder over how much of my lung I could have saved if I’d gotten that new drug earlier. Those three taxing years cost me a whole lung, my hearing and all of my family’s savings. I survived, in part, due to Bedaquiline and its effectiveness to convert a highly drug-resistant strain of TB to sputum-negative.

More recently, there have been speculations about this drug. More prominently, arguments have been raised about the legalities and whether it should be given to patients. While research on the drug should continue, it’s also important to ask the patients, the survivors, to understand the complete story. The recent World Health Organisation’s (WHO) directive on the inclusion of Bedaquiline in the first set of drugs to be used to cure drug-resistant strains of TB, is a testimony of the fact that the drug is indeed effective and helpful to those suffering from MDR TB. If used intelligently and responsibly, it has the potential to save thousands who currently struggle with poor treatment regimens, that do not show sufficient impact.

India has thousands of cases like me- extremely drug-resistant and virtually without hope and cure. For them, these new drugs are often the only hope of surviving and defeating TB. I have met many others like me who survived because of this new drug. The government decided to make this drug available on a conditional basis. While I applaud this effort, I strongly feel this is still not enough. Most Indians who need this drug today still lack access to it. There is a need to expand access to the drug, especially to those seeking care in the private sector. Patients should not face inordinate delay and paperwork for a drug, that can make the difference between life and death.

I remember the time I was prescribed injections three times a day. These injections were helpful, but excruciatingly painful. Is this the kind of treatment, we would want for those suffering from drug-resistant TB? And not to forget that one side effect of the injections was a loss in speech and hearing. Is that humane?

This is the closest, ground-reality based experiential understanding of the impact of a new drug that you will ever have. I am alive only because of these new drugs and the indomitable spirit of an incredible doctor who fought for this drug for me. As an XXDR survivor, it is vital I highlight that the drugs are available only through the government and not in the open market. Yet, we need improved access through this system. It’s being used as a life- saving drug not being made available to anyone and everyone. The government, even today, rations the use of such drugs, fearing misuse. What we should instead be talking about is how this drug can be made accessible to those who need it the most, easily.

Today, I am able to work full-time, live a normal life and also work as an advocate with TB patients, helping them get through treatment. I often receive queries regarding this drug- how can this drug be accessed? Who will give these drugs? There exist uncertainty and confusion among those who have been prescribed these drugs. There is an urgent need to provide hassle-free access to these new drugs if India aims to eliminate TB by 2025. Otherwise, what use will they be- if they don’t save lives and help us defeat TB?

Debshree Lokhande, is a member of Survivors Against TB and an XXDR TB survivor. 

Photo credits: Rohit Saha

The post 3 Years Of Incorrect Medication Cost Me A Lung appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

Since childhood, I have been slammed by society for my dark skin tone. Nobody wanted to be friends with me and whenever I came near them they would avoid me by saying that because I have dark skin I am a dirty girl. They would always bully me by saying that I didn’t take a bath daily, whoever comes near to me will have the disease of becoming dark like me. I would cry but nobody showed me any sympathy. If any outside activities were held they would push me to stand under the sun saying that I’m already dark, if I become a little darker nothing would happen. Everyone would say that my friends are beautiful, pretty etc. but nobody would say the same for me.

An incident took place when I think I was in class 6. I was at a wedding with my mother where we met a lady who asked my mother, “Is she your servant?” My mother was quite surprised and angry but replied in a normal tone that I’m her daughter. She again asked, “How can it be possible? You are such a beautiful lady with a good complexion, how could you give birth to a girl with such a dull complexion?” Whenever any guest would come to our house, they would often mistake me as a servant and whoever knows me would always say that if my complexion was light then I would have no problem in finding the so-called “Mr Perfect”.

Some people even make ridiculous comments like, “Is she a really Brahmin? Usually, Brahmin people have white complexion. How can she be so dark? Maybe she made some mistakes in her past life so she is suffering now.” Personally, I still can’t believe that I’m living in the 21st century. How can people be so irrational? I can’t understand what their problem is. What is the link between an individual, caste and skin colour? Why can’t they see as a human being? They check not only our skin or body, they also make sure that we should show the traits of femininity and if we show muscularity being a girl then they force us to change how we act.

These incidents haunted me and made me hate myself. I developed a feeling of jealousy towards ‘beautiful’ girls. I would always blame my mother for all these situations. I would always ask her why she did this to me. Why did she make me so ugly?

In order to become the centre of attention, I tried almost all the beauty and homemade products from a young age. I would rub my body vigorously so that I become clean and my white complexions come out. I would always pray to God and also did many fasts (though I’m an atheist now). I would limit going outside so that my skin doesn’t burn and I become beautiful. My obsession remained till class 9. However, my parents especially my brother, helped me out. My parents always encourage me to serve mankind as it is the ultimate happiness we get. My brother gave me books to read written by Bama, Jane Austen, etc. and introduced to me to my idol Simone de Beauvoir (I admire her immensely). I also read stories of Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, Michelle Obama, Leila Seth, Nivedita Menon etc. These strong persons and books inspired me to never lose confidence and fight back against all these people not only for myself but for those who also face similar situations.

I’d like to thank the people who have commented on my skin tone for making me stronger than before. For giving me the courage to revive my bitter memories and also helping me to identity my limitation. And also for showing and teaching me how you people control the girls by giving them a beauty concept and concept of “Mr Perfect” to protect us which make us the ‘weaker sex’ automatically. Because of these nonsensical concepts, girls and women were forced systematically to objectify themselves or and made to believe that without this, they would not get their soulmate or in other words, no one to protect them.

Featured image for representation only. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

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I think this is the story of millions of children who are deeply passionate about something and dream big, but the society and even their parents do not understand.

My father was an Ameen in the irrigation department in a small village near Allahabad, Uttar Pradesh. He had to cover about 20-30 km area in a day on cycle to register irrigation fees. Cycle was the only means of transport to remote villages. My father didn’t want me to ruin his precious bicycle just for fun.

I was good at drawing since my childhood, so, when I was 11 years old, my family had sent me to a painter’s shop to learn painting in Allahabad. The painter’s shop was 100 m away from Anand Bhavan (Nehru family’s residence) and just next to Anand Bhavan, there was Bal Bhavan, where kids just like ‘me’ used to learn drawing, music, science, etc. at summer workshops. I heard about Bal Bhavan and asked my parents to get me enrolled there; admission in Bal Bhavan was almost free but my parents denied. Perhaps they were afraid of the upcoming demands from me after attending the workshop.

I washed and washed the nerolac paint dipped brushes in kerosine oil and roamed around in the city with the paint bucket and brushes to help my master. While kids like me were busy learning their favorite skills from their teacher, I got nothing from my master. I failed to learn painting but I learned cycling there. Small cycles were available there on rent (1 rupee/30min), so, I took a cycle on rent and learned cycling. That time I loved the cycle more than anything else in the world.

I came back home and more time had passed. I liked all subjects, but English had always given me a headache. Arts, crafts, music, dance are not considered as a ‘subjects’ in our society, so, I was forced not to draw much as it was a wastage of paper, pencil, color and time as well. I was the only child in my school and my village, which had interest in drawing, and no one encouraged me except my teacher Majula Tripathi and my neighbour aunty ji. I didn’t need encouragement at that time, I was strong enough to practise what I liked and I did it: I used to bring comic books on rent (50 paise/day), I used to read it within 1 or 2 hours and draw superheroes rest of the time. But I was forced to stop it and often get beaten for this, as if it is a crime to draw muscular superheroes in distinct costumes; yet, I was allowed to draw figures of gods.

Yes! we had ‘art’ paper on our examination date sheet, that very day we used to do our annual purchasing of colour, brushes and आम प्लेट (plate for mixing colors in a mango shape). Cheap colors and brushes are not good on cheap paper and you have to learn to handle water or poster color from teacher, books, YouTube or other sources on the Internet. But no such things existed in my village in 1998. I did the watercolor my own way and made dozens of ‘Shaktimaan’ and other superheroes’ posters; unfortunately, I don’t have them with me.

When I was in Intermediate (+2), I took biology because my family convinced me to become a doctor. I liked biology just because of the great teaching style of my teacher Mr. VK Gothi. He also praised me for my fine drawing skills, but, things were not the same for other subjects like physics or chemistry. I was expelled from home as I refused to prepare for medical entrance exams. Later on, I agreed to do BSc.

During BSc, I was highly influenced by cinema (Hollywood and Bollywood). It was the time I was being introduced to Arnold, Jakie Chan, Bruce Lee, Brad Pitt, Russel Crow, Angelina Jolie, Enrique, Shakira, Kailash Kher, KK, Sukhwinder Singh, Lucky Ali, etc. I am a born imitator, so, I started imitating actors like Shahrukh Khan, Amitabh Bachchan, and Jagdeep. I started singing and imitating singers also; people liked me, and soon, I became a public figure in my college.

Zuckerberg had just founded Facebook that year. I wanted to learn guitar for maximum impact, so I asked my mother and she refused again. She thought learning music and guitar would ruin my ‘serious studies’. It was meaningless for me to cut open a snail and bring out its nerve or pass H2S gas in a solution and watch it turning white. So, I dropped out of college. I spent about one year doing nothing (academically) and watching movies. After one year, I was asked to join BFA course in an art school, and I was forced to choose Allahabad University, as my mother didn’t want to allow me to go to another city for studies.

I bought a BFA entrance form and found that I am above the age limit for this course. I could have joined BHU or any other faculty where age limit was higher, but my mother refused to give money for anything outside Allahabad. I left home and went to Kolkata and sold some HDFC credit cards, this experience was not good so I returned back to the village and stayed at my uncle’s house. I joined a school and taught children, I earned some money and went to Kala Bhavan, Vishva Bharti University where I appeared in an entrance test but couldn’t succeed as I was totally out of practice.

I came back home in 2007 and joined a computer course and won best short story writer award in a competition organized by the institute. I went to Dehli in 2010 and started a job in Dominos Pizza and delivered pizza in Canaught Place area and covered places like NSD, Mandi House, MAMC, LHMC, Shri Ram Art Centre, Pragati Maidan, ITO, Rashtrapati Bhavan, Bal Bhavan, etc. I found the College Of Art during a delivery and bought a form from there; I appeared in the test and failed again, the reason was obvious.

It was 2013, I returned back home and convinced my mother after ten long years to invest money in an animation diploma course and a personal computer. My mother agreed as the institute was in Allahabad. I completed my diploma in ‘3D modeling and Animation’ in 2014 and started working in the same institute as a 3D-artist and trainer. During the course, I had no internet connection at home, this means no troubleshooting at home during practice or working on projects. I was totally dependent on my teachers and friends for study material and tutorials. I was never taught film making in the institute as my course didn’t cover it.

But during a storytelling session, the director of the institute and some friends liked a story that was narrated by me and I got a chance to shoot this story and make a short film. I shot the film but no one was interested to edit my film, I didn’t know about editing software and the process (I still don’t know these things). In December 2015, I was diagnosed with spinal TB and spent my next one year bedridden. After recovering from the disease, I got an Internet connection at home and started learning basic editing and VFX on YouTube. After gaining some software knowledge, I started my projects again and somehow completed them.

The post My Parents’ Refusal To Let Me Follow My Dreams Incapacitated Me appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

Chamber of Reflection

There are some questions to which there are no answers.

Sometimes a question can lead you to a way of life.

As a dismantled individual climbing back up the same swirling stairway I fell from, hitting hard on the edges of the innumerable steps – I was all broken bones, torn skin, and bleeding emotions. Prior to being introduced to ISDM, regardless of my past ventures, there were instances which opened up new perspectives on life.

I didn’t learn much from institutions and books. I learnt more from people, places and events that occurred in my life- ones who brought me up; ones I grew up with; ones I shared my homework with; ones with whom I tried my ‘firsts’ and vowed our ‘lasts’; ones with whom I challenged my limits; ones I shared my passions with; and most importantly, the ones who tried to bring me down – I love and treasure all of them.

Now I look back at everything like a film strip rolling in the dark, and realise the value of every moment and find so much authenticity in the spontaneity itself. How could I forget my own roots?

Digging Through My Roots

My ancestors were from Nepal who settled down in India as plantation workers in Margaret’s Hope Tea Estate run by the British during colonial rule. The family tree is huge. My grandfather and his siblings made a whole football team. His parents were illiterate, but he got the opportunity to get some degree of schooling. He along with his brothers and sisters used to help out in the plantation work as well and led very difficult but simple lives.

When he finished schooling, he was forced to join the army but eventually fled and came back looking for a better life in main-town Darjeeling. He began to work in an accounting desk of a hotel for several years and was sustaining his wife and children. He then managed to get a job in one of the most elite schools in India at that time. Working in St. Paul’s School changed his life. He made himself and his family proud. It was not easy to be a part of such a reputed institution. There was something in him that reflected his personality, his values and principles.

I have primary evidence of this as I spent the early years of my childhood with him and my grandmother. I was his best friend for the first fourteen years of my life. I learnt a lot just by observing him. Irrespective of where he was, with family or at work – he was always himself, and I always felt a genuine sense of comfort whenever he was with me. I’m sure this feeling resonated with everyone who knew him in person. He made people feel appreciated and valued; he was strong and confident in carrying forward his words. Being very social in nature he helped everyone who came to him. People respected him for that.

His passing away had a strong impact on me, I began to idolise his life and still do. He is the only anchor I have whenever I tend to drift away in life.

The Question Of Authenticity

When I am asked the meaning of authenticity, I don’t really have an answer, but when I look for examples, I picture him and the life he led, the work he did, the struggle he went through, and how he contributed to the people around him as a pure specimen of the definition. This may seem idolatry but looking at the big picture, there are so many people in the past as well as today who’ve lived lives worth taking note of and learning through their way of life.

Sometimes I wish I could be like my grandfather, but I am not and can never be like him. Authenticity doesn’t mean being someone else at the cost of being yourself. Right now, I am struggling to be myself! What I mean is that there are always things that we can take away- like the core values he carried as an individual and the way he put it into action, the way he carried forward not just himself but his whole family, always reminding himself where he came from, never forgetting his roots!

In Search For Meaning

When I got my first job, I was a wreck – I was going through the darkest days of my life. Calcutta Social Project gave me an opportunity to see the light again. The children I was working with made me feel alive again. They gave me a sense of belonging and in my sixth month with them, I learnt a lot more than what they learnt from me. They tested my patience and broke me down to my emotions and gave me the most important thing in life I was devoid of – love and empathy.

Looking back now, they reiterate the meaning of the word authenticity for me. I can still see their eyes glaring at me, full of energy and intensity, filled with hope, optimism and emotions that no one can snatch away. They taught me what humility is. Initially, I was very clumsy at work, but slowly the children made me feel at home. I could not imagine myself not going to work for a single day. I was so fond of them that I used to spend time with their families on Sundays and they were always inviting me to join them in their meals.

They subconsciously imbibed in me the notion of work ethics. I loved my work and tried my level best to do what I could for them in my own capacity and limitations. I had never felt so much pain as on my last day of work. I left with a heavy heart. But I knew this was not the end of the relationship I shared with them.

The next four months got me engaged more in the office than in the groundwork. I worked for Crayons of Hope Foundation where I was involved heavily in their flagship project called Wall-O-Books which set up libraries for children. Though the areas of work were completely different, I was given a tremendous amount of space to learn new skills and also understand the processes in their work. Terms like professionalism, work ethics, teamwork, collaboration, stakeholders, were very new to me over there. I was so full of energy during that time.

The organisation was a team of nine very motivated people of all age groups, and though I was the youngest, there was never a time that I felt intimidated or felt undervalued – instead, they gave me tremendous amount of respect and valued my work. We bonded more like family than as colleagues, and it was so much fun going to work every day, sometimes we could stretch it to Sundays as well.

Present

On looking back and forth in my own instances of life, I had never realised how much I could learn from that itself. Here at ISDM, the first thing that struck me was that the practice of reflection was so effective to give clarity and also articulate my thoughts and indecisions into words. It helped me silence the babels in my head, understand them further and create meaning and influence action in everyday life. I understood how Personal Mastery is the key to becoming a genuine human being first, and then an authentic professional while discovering and developing our core values, strengths and weaknesses and paving a way of life for ourselves and for others, to an extent.

We have been exposed to a lot of things right from the Orientation week till today. From listening to people from various fields of work and experiences to sharing our own experiences; from learning the practice of reflection to creating models and mind maps; from working as an individual to working together as a group, the whole structure of the process has had a dynamic impact on our growth and progress. It has shone a light to various perspectives and ways of understanding ourselves and the development sector and how everything is interrelated and interconnected. This whole term, we have been putting together our thoughts and actions to come up with answers to the questions put forward, and there seems to be no end to this quest.

-What does Development mean to you?

-Who is an Authentic Development Professional?

-Why is there a difference in the meanings of the word Professional and Practitioner?

-Why do we use the word authentic and what does it really mean?

We have been trying to break down these words and put them back together all this while. But what I believe is that these questions are not seeking any articulated answers from us. What it is seeking is whether our understanding of these questions can test our dispositions in our way of life and how we can contribute to society as individuals and as a global community.

Nehal Raj Pradhan is a student of PGP in Development Leadership at ISDM.

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Honestly, I had no clue what I was doing when I had applied for India Fellow. My folks seemed happy that I got into “something”, but they were not excited about the whole idea of me working in a random village that could be anywhere in India. Their fears were further intensified when I told them that I was going to be placed in Kalahandi district in Odisha; and that I’ll be working there for a whole year. The time passed quickly, and the programme concluded last month.

My parents changed their perceptions about Kalahandi. They have finally understood what I’m doing here and are now comfortable with me working here even after my fellowship. They are planning a visit to Swasthya Swaraj soon.

The journey so far has definitely been a roller-coaster ride; filled with cultural shocks, meeting some really amazing people, a few messed up ones too, tried a whole lot of new dishes I had never even heard of, travelled to unknown places, been depressed for a month, discovered my hidden skills… the list goes on. To sum it up, this was one of the best decisions I have ever taken in my life.

Those who are new to this program might be wondering how to live through this fellowship. I’ll share my learning with you:

1. Patience
I think patience is one of the most important personality traits required to work in this sector. It took my mentor around 5-6 months to trust me. There were days (even weeks) when I thought I was not contributing enough and even felt that I was probably a bad pick. Yes, there was plenty of challenging situation, and at times I felt lonely. But keeping calm was the only option, and things eventually turned good for me.

2. Improvisation

This will literally save your life. When I was giving a malaria training to high school children, I had to show them a video documentary as a part of the session. Unfortunately, the power went off, the speakers didn’t work, and the entire program was jeopardized. I immediately improvised and divided the divided the children into groups. I gave each group drawing charts, sketch pens and stationary; and asked them to discuss among themselves what I had taught them. Next, I asked each group to come up and present their charts to everyone in the class. It turned out to be a huge success, and that activity was later incorporated in the malaria training module.

3. Reading

Reading was one of the best things I did during my fellowship and will continue doing it forever. Books are your mentors. In the past one year, I mainly read books on development. Fortunately, online retailers like Amazon and Flipkart deliver to Bhawanipatna, where I live.

4. Gossiping – A big NO

Just like the corporate culture, gossip is pretty much common in this sector as well. After all, people are more or less the same everywhere. The only tip is to listen and ignore. Things can get pretty ugly, and your reputation (also mental peace) is at stake here.

5. Respect the field staff

Most of the field staff, like community workers, are locals, who are relatively educated in their respective areas. Believe them to be equal and not underlings, treat them like one and they will help you with everything.

6.Using your other skills

I’m just okay when it comes to drawing. It was only after a few months that I realised how useful it could be in my organisation. I drew posters, charts and other material for Malaria, Nutrition, Maternal Health and Reproductive Health, which are still being used by the staff.

7. Village life is amazing

As someone who grew up with an urban lifestyle, the village life was filled with culture shocks. Initially, it was very overwhelming as I had issues with open defecation, taking a bath outside and washing clothes in a river which cannot be called clean, or even fresh like the ones in Ladakh. However, the best things I loved about village life were a natural beauty, isolation, and simplicity. It was a pleasure to live without any cellular network or any media entertainment, as it made me reflect on my priorities in life. I was happier by just walking and enjoying the scenic beauty. During nights, I could see the sky lit with sparkling stars, and once even spotted shooting stars. I realised how the full moon was truly spectacular, and even witnessed fireflies dancing on the trees for the first time.

I was amazed by the simplicity of villagers who never had any preconceived notions about my appearance. I go to OPDs (Out Patient Departments) wearing a t-shirt and shorts, and nobody cares!

8. What’s the problem? Ask the villagers

If you want to understand or solve any problem, don’t just assume and start giving advice. Ask the residents to define and explain what challenges they face. More often than not, there is a vast difference between what we’re doing and what they want.

9. Don’t forget to Enjoy!

Last, but not the least, enjoy this year. A year like this will never come back, and you’ll only re-live it in memories. Travel, take a chance, do crazy things and make your fellowship worthwhile. I truly enjoyed mine.

About the Author: Sandeep Praharsha, 28 years, Masters in Global Health. Practised for a year with Airport Health Organization, GOI. Works at Swasthya Swaraj, Kalahandi, Odisha supporting the overall health program of the community – both, practising as a doctor as well as capacity building of the team and community awareness initiative.

The post I Went To Kalahandi in Odisha as an India Fellow And This Is What That Journey Taught Me appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

The term ‘feminism’ has gained momentum in recent years. People are opening up their eyes to understand how the disparity between the two sexes has been so vast and yet unacknowledged for decades. Being a woman myself, I am still learning what it means to be a feminist and to put myself above the sexist norms that have been prevalent in our society. I am not here to talk about me though; I’m here to mention a person who raised me to believe that I am no less than any other man and that my talent, skills, and knowledge is what it takes to succeed in this world. This person is my friend, my mentor, my crying shoulder, my pillar of strength and just someone I am so thankful to call ‘my father.’ My father is a handsome, almost 60-year-old ex-army hunk I love showing off to my friends as the coolest dad ever. He combines wit, strength, compassion, and confidence so effortlessly that I’m still in awe of him in my 24 years of being.

Growing up, I was what most people call a complete tomboy, playing video games, watching WWE, injuring myself while playing sports. I’m not being sexist and saying girls don’t enjoy those things but in the ’90s, most of my girlfriends grew up mostly enjoying dolls and dress up more than I did. I still remember my childhood days where if I were to ever go on school picnics, my dad always made me recite his instructions, “Always stay in a group, if anyone behaves inappropriately then do not keep quiet – ALWAYS SCREAM,” he made sure it was ingrained in my mind that if any person was behaving indecently, I must yell to catch everyone’s attention. This somehow instilled a sense of confidence in me where I was never reluctant to speak up or raise my voice if I saw any wrongdoing, either with me or with anyone else.

Sharing your childhood with an elder brother is a different ballgame all together. It may sound clichéd but every brother-sister household has constant bickering, ego battles and parents being emotionally blackmailed to take sides. In the fights I had with my brother, my mother would usually tell me to keep quiet because I was younger and smarter (yeah she was tactful). It was in those times, that my knight and shining armour (aka my dad) would always explain to me that it does not make you a bigger/lesser person to take the back seat in an argument but if something was being said or done, that I would feel was morally wrong, then I must not back down. Sure, his teachings led me to be a little bit of a rebel who would say anything on her mind, but never anything that was distasteful.

My dad’s advice was the same for both the kids irrespective of our genders. If my brother could party then I could too, if my brother could drink then I could, if I brother could smoke then I could (not that he gave permission or would ever want me to), but the basic premise of what he said meant that anything a man could do should not be wrong for a woman to do. His advice was pretty black and white –  what is right is right for all genders and what is wrong is wrong for everyone. There is no ‘grey’ to it. I had an amazing school life and an even better college life because I was never barred from night outs, partying, travelling.

I understood the essence of feminism even before I knew what it meant. I was allowed to question societal norms if I did not understand them. I sure got into trouble many times for questioning traditions. Asking, why the son of the house gets to represent the family at pooja’s and not the daughters or why during my periods was I not allowed to attend religious functions or why was it a crime if I ever raised my voice at the dinner table but my brother got away with even cuss words. I know these questions are not the most comfortable for our parents to answer and the most common reply is “this is how things have always been and you can’t go around questioning everything”, but to these questions my father would reply, “You are an individual independent beliefs and if you should be empathetic to others beliefs, but question the ones that clash with yours, then you have all the right to question them in a respectful manner.” 

My father has shown me what it means to be a true feminist without being a woman. I have seen the pain and anguish in his eyes when he witness’s women not being given the opportunities that men do. Feminism is not about one gender being superior, it’s about all genders being treated equally. I have heard so many statements thrown frivolously like “Once the girl gets married she’s not technically a part of the family”, “A woman must sacrifice and comprise to keep the marriage happy”, “Women should get married before their 30’s or it’s too late” or the best one “A man can get married to a girl 20 years younger but if a woman marries a guy who’s even a year or two younger then it’s a complete mayhem”. But all that I have ever heard from my dad’s mouth was that he will be the happiest if I stayed with him forever, I can marry whoever I love, if someone was to mistreat me in a relationship/marriage I must not hesitate to walk out to save my self-respect and lastly, that whatever happens, he is always there for me no matter what.

I can go on and on writing about how my father moulded me into the confident, opinionated and strong individual I am today. I pray every daughter gets the love and support of a father who treats his daughter not as a princess but like a deserving queen who can conquer and achieve wherever she might be and pave her own way in this tangled world.

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With cups of hot tea in our hands, three of us sat on a charpai with silly grins on our faces as Gulabi bai joked about how no one would marry us if we didn’t even know our ‘gotra’. It was only a while when we were exploring the corn fields that we’d bumped into her and ended up being invited into her humble abode. This is Iswal – a place where people confidently welcome strangers into their homes, with a kind of faith that I’ve found only in villages.

Located about 17 kms from Udaipur, seemingly broken only in topography by the Udaipur-Ahmedabad highway that cuts through it, Iswal exuded a unique charm. The first image of this village that comes to my mind is of a single narrow lane lined by luscious greenery, and a middle-aged woman sitting at a distance, dressed in a black ghagra-choli, chewing gutka (tobacco). She was from Abu Road in Rajasthan and was here to attend a relative’s ‘terahvi’ (a Hindu death ritual on the 13th day of demise). We politely refused the gutka she offered us and continued to go further into the village.

Houses – big and small peeked through the foliage on either side. The hills stood silently in the backdrop. The lane then got divided into two, and we decided to take the smaller trail on the right side. With the descent, emerged a different landscape – cornfields on the left and half-built houses on the right. A family was engaged in holding up the entrance gate with ropes to begin the construction of their boundary wall.

Interestingly, a lot of cacti and dry branches formed the boundaries of fields as well as houses along the way. The trail opened up to the highway. On the other side, lay the lowlands and plains of Iswal, and in the middle was Gulabi bai’s home.

Dressed in bright pink, she opened the unlocked door and ushered us in. The house that looked tiny on the outside opened into a veranda where a calf awaited her. After quickly laying down a charpai for us, she washed her muddy hands and seated herself on the floor, eager for a conversation that otherwise rarely came along. She spoke Marwari (the regional language) which was difficult to understand, but eventually, we started to make sense of the tone and expressions involved, along with our hand movements receiving a nod of comprehension – a dumb charade of sorts.

She told us about how she had been living alone since her husband’s demise, sustaining herself and maintaining the entire household on her own. Her days began at 3 AM. She would wake up, clean the house, bathe and then milk the cows. Keeping a small amount of milk that she needed for herself, she’d travel about 15 km by bus every day to sell the rest of it at the nearby town of Badgaon. The fields, too, needed her attention. Post the milk sale; she’d return to plough the fields and pull out weeds in the hope that her crops survive this monsoon. After a few rigorous hours of backbreaking work, she’d have lunch. Before preparing herself a quick meal, the size of which depended on the energy that remained, she’d clean the entire house.

During our conversation with her, she briefly paused to pick up a tiny container kept on a broad shelf lining the wall in front of the entrance. Its contents were difficult to decipher, and while I tried to make sense of the rusty powder, she dipped her finger into it, padded it into her nostrils and took a deep, satisfying breath.

She repeated this four times before noticing the mild surprise on our faces when she decided to offer us some, but again, we politely refused. Then came the questions about where we’re from and if people did any form of ‘nasha’ back there. I think our collective ‘yes’ prodded her to speak further about her addiction to powdered tobacco.

We got to know that it’s a common practice here, for both men and women alike, to sniff powdered tobacco. The nicotine rush produces a feeling of pleasure and gives temporary relief from stress and fatigue, which is why many people become dependent on it, one of them was Gulabi bai. For her, staying awake and energetic to work round the clock, alone, every single day, was only possible through this.

Placing the lid back on her vital dose, she got up to make some ‘chaas’ (buttermilk) for all of us, with the assurance that it won’t taste of tobacco and walked away laughing to wash her powdered fingers. Chaas, in her language, turned out to be tea, and also Gulabi bai’s lunch. We slowly sipped, accompanied by stories of a proud mother telling us how both her daughters are married into families in Udaipur, living a good life; and then showed concern of an elder as to how we’d never get married with our limited knowledge of ‘gotras’ (Hindu family clans).

Gulabi bai was unique – open to conversations, humouring herself, sharing her problems, and most importantly, hosting absolute strangers with a big smile and a bigger heart. Fine lines contoured her face, looking remarkable under a sweaty sheen; her thin frame reflecting years of difficult yet self-made, minimal living; eyes that shone at the prospect of sharing her story with someone new.

The day triggered a different kind of nostalgia. This seemingly simple place, nestled amidst beautiful hills, left me with a multitude of thoughts. Thoughts, binding together new stories with the old ones, to be carried from the home I found here, to my search for another.

*Name changed to protect identity.

About the author: Arunima Pande, is an India fellow, working with SEWA Bharat in Munger, Bihar as a part of her fellowship. She is supporting the teams with financial inclusion and capacity building of Credit Cooperatives. 

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