Thursday, December 27, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
Last night was endless
It was dark
It was cold
Last night I was all alone.
The mountains appeared as pillars of hatred
Rivers gave up life
Abomination crushed the morning dews
And hopes were in disguise.
Last night my dreams were demeaned
Thoughts were killed in the womb
Aspirations were turned into ashes
And the stars refused to gleam.
It was dark
It was cold
Last night I was all alone.
The mountains appeared as pillars of hatred
Rivers gave up life
Abomination crushed the morning dews
And hopes were in disguise.
Last night my dreams were demeaned
Thoughts were killed in the womb
Aspirations were turned into ashes
And the stars refused to gleam.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Combat Trafficking. Save our Children.
Story of Ruhi........
“It has been three years since then but I could still recall every bit of that chilly wintry night. At midnight Mausi, the brothel owner gushed in my room and took me along with my ten other friends in a small dark room. There was a mirror in that room with a death trap behind. It was a hidden chamber. Mausi removed the mirror from the wall, opened the door of that chamber and we were forced to get stacked inside it, hands and legs folded. The door was locked immediately. There was absolute darkness inside. We could not move, could not breathe. It was so suffocating. Death was hovering around us. I was about to sacrifice my senses when that miracle happened. The door opened and we were rescued by the men in uniform. They saved me after four years of imprisonment in Kamathipura. But they could not save Jyoti, my friend. She was stamped inside the chamber before the police could reach.”
That was the story of Ruhi (name withheld), 15 years old who was rescued by the cops from the Kamathipura red light area in Mumbai. Ruhi was born in a small village in Maharashtra wherefrom she was trafficked at the age of 12.
Ruhi is not an exception. Every year in India thousand of women and children get trafficked. Trafficking of women and children has emerged as the third largest industry after arms and drugs trade. According to many, trafficking is a low-investment, high-profit business. Girls are bought for a little as Rs. 1000 per girl. Young girls especially between the age group of 12-18 years continue to be the main targets of traffickers. This is because the clients are more eager to have sex with virgins. Situation is same worldwide. Young boys and girls are bought and sold like cattle and they become the victims of extreme physical and sexual exploitations.
That was the story of Ruhi (name withheld), 15 years old who was rescued by the cops from the Kamathipura red light area in Mumbai. Ruhi was born in a small village in Maharashtra wherefrom she was trafficked at the age of 12.
Ruhi is not an exception. Every year in India thousand of women and children get trafficked. Trafficking of women and children has emerged as the third largest industry after arms and drugs trade. According to many, trafficking is a low-investment, high-profit business. Girls are bought for a little as Rs. 1000 per girl. Young girls especially between the age group of 12-18 years continue to be the main targets of traffickers. This is because the clients are more eager to have sex with virgins. Situation is same worldwide. Young boys and girls are bought and sold like cattle and they become the victims of extreme physical and sexual exploitations.
cont....
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Self portrait
When I was a kid, my father used to tell me that life is all about “Knowing Oneself and Respecting Others”. I grew up with this line that eventually became the cornerstone of my philosophy. This thought, along with a creative bent of mind and an undaunted spirit of doing something meaningful in life, influenced me to opt for a career in Social Communication.
My parents have always been the guiding stars in my life. Like a kite in a free flight connected to a string, I am always attached to my parents yet I had enough space to soar. As a result of that in most of the cases turning points in my life have been caused by my own actions. Pursuing the post-graduation study in Development Communication was one of them. This course academically capacitated me with the theoretical know-how to become a professional development communicator. But I believe I rediscovered the true meaning of social communication when I started practicing it as a professional. My field experience and the target populations I have worked with have been the greatest teachers in my life. Working in a country full of diversities like India, I had the privilege to come across people from cross-cutting cultures be it amidst the bustling crowds of Calcutta or the remotest rural bases in South India. At every corner there was a new experience to learn.
Being an Indian and more to it as a Bengali, my life has been laced with beautiful cultural exchanges. For similar reasons I am extremely fascinated by Bengali movies, Bengali theatre and Bengali folk music. These thought provoker often inspires me to express myself through Bengali poetries. A collage of all these interests and abilities always motivates me to become a good communicator. One who is not only appreciated as a good speaker but as a good listener as well, who gives enough space to others and facilitates discussions in a team. For me it is people who make all the difference in my life and I am fortunate to have the gift of memory that helps me to cherish all those moments spent with those unforgettable personalities that had little or big impacts on me.
My parents have always been the guiding stars in my life. Like a kite in a free flight connected to a string, I am always attached to my parents yet I had enough space to soar. As a result of that in most of the cases turning points in my life have been caused by my own actions. Pursuing the post-graduation study in Development Communication was one of them. This course academically capacitated me with the theoretical know-how to become a professional development communicator. But I believe I rediscovered the true meaning of social communication when I started practicing it as a professional. My field experience and the target populations I have worked with have been the greatest teachers in my life. Working in a country full of diversities like India, I had the privilege to come across people from cross-cutting cultures be it amidst the bustling crowds of Calcutta or the remotest rural bases in South India. At every corner there was a new experience to learn.
Being an Indian and more to it as a Bengali, my life has been laced with beautiful cultural exchanges. For similar reasons I am extremely fascinated by Bengali movies, Bengali theatre and Bengali folk music. These thought provoker often inspires me to express myself through Bengali poetries. A collage of all these interests and abilities always motivates me to become a good communicator. One who is not only appreciated as a good speaker but as a good listener as well, who gives enough space to others and facilitates discussions in a team. For me it is people who make all the difference in my life and I am fortunate to have the gift of memory that helps me to cherish all those moments spent with those unforgettable personalities that had little or big impacts on me.
So far it has been a journey of self-discovery with colors and contradictions. There is a lot to learn, experience and practice. For that I am looking forward to this international exposure that would endow me with new insights. Wisdom that I could bring back to my roots and communicate to the people of my land.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
A story between the cup and the lips
With that night her life came to a halt. That dark, cold, wintry night when her husband lost his job. Then began the story of “ Chaiwala Mashi”. A story woven with the fine threads of struggle and triumph, light and shades, dreams and reality.
Tapashi Das is one of the million faces in Kolkata for whom each day is a new beginning. Her struggle starts with the rattling of the mobbed Sealdah- Barrackpore local that takes her to the “city of joy”.
The last ten years have given her a new identity. She became “Chaiwala Mashi”. She now owns her roadside tea-stall near Gariahat main road. For the tea-lovers of the locality, Mashi’s cha is real magic.
But ten years back, things were completely different. Then, she was only a housewife. Her husband worked in a local construction company. And she looked after the household chores. Life was sailing smoothly. Suddenly, came the first jerk. Her husband lost his job and everything started messing up. She was utterly confused. She knew that she had to do something, but “what”?
The answer came from her Didi. The latter stayed in South Kolkata. She gave Tapashi the idea to open a food stall near Gariahat main road. And a new journey began in Kolkata, the land of opportunities. Initially, it was tough, though. A new face in a new city. Alone and helpless. She was floating like a silent bubble on a sea of noise. She didn’t know towards what shore.
She had to spend the whole day far away from her family and children. New duties and new commitments. Her job, her customers and her marketing strategies. Some people around were friendly and helpful. Yet, some used to make things hard for her. Many clients were satisfied, but many were not. And there were competitors too. Mashi soon realized that if she was to succeed in the long run, then she had to offer food of the finest quality. She slowly and cautiously solved the puzzles. Situations taught her the lessons of life. She started gaining confidence and finally succeeded in taking off with her own capabilities.
Her family, she admits, was her strongest support. When she was striving for a new identity and while her husband was knocking at the new doors of opportunity, there stood her elder daughter, Jyoti. She dared to take the reins of the family in her hands. Time shaped that sixteen-year old girl into a mature woman. When her parents were out, Jyoti looked after the house and her younger brother and sister. For that, she had to sacrifice her studies. Mashi claims it was a struggle for existence. The toughest challenge they had to face. And together they overcame the hurdles.
But right then came the second blow. The nightmare of “ Operation Sunshine”. Her food stall, her hard work, her struggle---everything was crushed. She was back into the no-man’s land. But this time she was not alone. Bulldozers could ruin her stall but not her confidence. By then she had learnt the ways of life. Her “mantra” was to cope with the difficulties undeterred and move on with the task at hand. Finally, she managed to open a small tea-stall on the opposite side of the road.
Now she earns five to six hundred rupees monthly. Her husband has become a van-rickshaw-driver and her younger daughter and son are studying in schools in classes twelve and ten respectively. Mashi is also searching a right match for Jyoti.
A workingwoman, a wife and a mother, she did not fail in her duties. Situations gave her the potency to challenge her own limits. Whatever the obstacle, she knows, she has to face it. She refuses to be an escapist. And she believes if one has to survive and earn the bread for her family in this city, then one has to battle for it. It is a never-ending struggle for subsistence.
There remains another facet in Mashi’s life. She is a dreamer. Now she lives in a rented house with her family at Barrackpore. Yet she dares to dream of her own house with her own money even though she knows very well there are many slips between the cup and the lips. But then, dreaming of the impossible is the first step to making it come true.
Tapashi Das is one of the million faces in Kolkata for whom each day is a new beginning. Her struggle starts with the rattling of the mobbed Sealdah- Barrackpore local that takes her to the “city of joy”.
The last ten years have given her a new identity. She became “Chaiwala Mashi”. She now owns her roadside tea-stall near Gariahat main road. For the tea-lovers of the locality, Mashi’s cha is real magic.
But ten years back, things were completely different. Then, she was only a housewife. Her husband worked in a local construction company. And she looked after the household chores. Life was sailing smoothly. Suddenly, came the first jerk. Her husband lost his job and everything started messing up. She was utterly confused. She knew that she had to do something, but “what”?
The answer came from her Didi. The latter stayed in South Kolkata. She gave Tapashi the idea to open a food stall near Gariahat main road. And a new journey began in Kolkata, the land of opportunities. Initially, it was tough, though. A new face in a new city. Alone and helpless. She was floating like a silent bubble on a sea of noise. She didn’t know towards what shore.
She had to spend the whole day far away from her family and children. New duties and new commitments. Her job, her customers and her marketing strategies. Some people around were friendly and helpful. Yet, some used to make things hard for her. Many clients were satisfied, but many were not. And there were competitors too. Mashi soon realized that if she was to succeed in the long run, then she had to offer food of the finest quality. She slowly and cautiously solved the puzzles. Situations taught her the lessons of life. She started gaining confidence and finally succeeded in taking off with her own capabilities.
Her family, she admits, was her strongest support. When she was striving for a new identity and while her husband was knocking at the new doors of opportunity, there stood her elder daughter, Jyoti. She dared to take the reins of the family in her hands. Time shaped that sixteen-year old girl into a mature woman. When her parents were out, Jyoti looked after the house and her younger brother and sister. For that, she had to sacrifice her studies. Mashi claims it was a struggle for existence. The toughest challenge they had to face. And together they overcame the hurdles.
But right then came the second blow. The nightmare of “ Operation Sunshine”. Her food stall, her hard work, her struggle---everything was crushed. She was back into the no-man’s land. But this time she was not alone. Bulldozers could ruin her stall but not her confidence. By then she had learnt the ways of life. Her “mantra” was to cope with the difficulties undeterred and move on with the task at hand. Finally, she managed to open a small tea-stall on the opposite side of the road.
Now she earns five to six hundred rupees monthly. Her husband has become a van-rickshaw-driver and her younger daughter and son are studying in schools in classes twelve and ten respectively. Mashi is also searching a right match for Jyoti.
A workingwoman, a wife and a mother, she did not fail in her duties. Situations gave her the potency to challenge her own limits. Whatever the obstacle, she knows, she has to face it. She refuses to be an escapist. And she believes if one has to survive and earn the bread for her family in this city, then one has to battle for it. It is a never-ending struggle for subsistence.
There remains another facet in Mashi’s life. She is a dreamer. Now she lives in a rented house with her family at Barrackpore. Yet she dares to dream of her own house with her own money even though she knows very well there are many slips between the cup and the lips. But then, dreaming of the impossible is the first step to making it come true.
Forest Men
Witnessing an "Adivasi Morcha" could be a lifetime experience for it could change your personality in and out. Hundreds and thousands of Adivasis from nearby villages participate in this morcha. They generally come from the nearby villages and sacrifice a day's income to fight for their living. Their ragged clothes and innocent eyes narrate the saga of their endless struggle for life. Yet they seem to have no complaint against anybody. Amidst the scorching sun or heavy rain, with the Bhakri (bread) and Chutney wrapped in an old cloth, they fearlessly march ahead with the morcha in search of a better future.
In the past, during the British Raj before Independence, the forest department was established to have timbre wood from forest. It was intended to complement the need of wood for the making of the Indian Railways. But for this the British locally called the 'Gora Sahib' effortlessly denied the Adivasi's land rights. The British policy resulted in forced eviction of Adivasis from their traditional land. Since then Adivasis in India are the consistent victims of insecurity and deprivation. Unfortunately the Forest Department of India religiously follows the colonial heritage of British administration till today. Many times they are worse than their British counter parts in corruption, bribery and torture to the Adivasis. Often the Adivasis fall prey in the hands of forest guards who suddenly attack their habitats, set ablaze their huts and take away their cattle in the name of conservation of forest.
In the state of Madhya Pradesh, the "Baiga Adivasi Community" in Mahakoshal takes optimum care for forest land conservation. So the state government declared this community as the "Rashtriya Manav". But the Baiga Mukhiya, Hiralal laments that the government has so many schemes to protect the wildlife but they do not have a single scheme to protect this state recognised traditional human race.
Since the past twelve years the Adivasis have fought with non-violence for their right to forest. Babu Adivasi, Birju Baiga and many unknown Adivasis became shahid in this battle. Finally in January 2007, the Adivasi's Right to Forest Land and Forest Resources has been passed by the Central Government in the Parliament. Then is it a time for jubilation? No, certainly not. There is no scope for jubilation over the victory. Another battle is in the offing. The battle for the implementation of the parliament's verdict. With the hullabaloo of globalisation and privatisation who would listen to these poor Adivasis? The Rajsthan Government is already keen to bring Special Economic Zone (SEZ) in South Rajsthan to give away the Adivasi land to private companies.
Therefore the struggle never ends. Innumerable Adivasis continue to march in the morcha for they know as long as there is life; there is fight for their living.
In the past, during the British Raj before Independence, the forest department was established to have timbre wood from forest. It was intended to complement the need of wood for the making of the Indian Railways. But for this the British locally called the 'Gora Sahib' effortlessly denied the Adivasi's land rights. The British policy resulted in forced eviction of Adivasis from their traditional land. Since then Adivasis in India are the consistent victims of insecurity and deprivation. Unfortunately the Forest Department of India religiously follows the colonial heritage of British administration till today. Many times they are worse than their British counter parts in corruption, bribery and torture to the Adivasis. Often the Adivasis fall prey in the hands of forest guards who suddenly attack their habitats, set ablaze their huts and take away their cattle in the name of conservation of forest.
In the state of Madhya Pradesh, the "Baiga Adivasi Community" in Mahakoshal takes optimum care for forest land conservation. So the state government declared this community as the "Rashtriya Manav". But the Baiga Mukhiya, Hiralal laments that the government has so many schemes to protect the wildlife but they do not have a single scheme to protect this state recognised traditional human race.
Since the past twelve years the Adivasis have fought with non-violence for their right to forest. Babu Adivasi, Birju Baiga and many unknown Adivasis became shahid in this battle. Finally in January 2007, the Adivasi's Right to Forest Land and Forest Resources has been passed by the Central Government in the Parliament. Then is it a time for jubilation? No, certainly not. There is no scope for jubilation over the victory. Another battle is in the offing. The battle for the implementation of the parliament's verdict. With the hullabaloo of globalisation and privatisation who would listen to these poor Adivasis? The Rajsthan Government is already keen to bring Special Economic Zone (SEZ) in South Rajsthan to give away the Adivasi land to private companies.
Therefore the struggle never ends. Innumerable Adivasis continue to march in the morcha for they know as long as there is life; there is fight for their living.
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