Messed Up Air in Delhi

The AAP government’s odd-even plan has garnered much controversy than goodwill. For those who are new to this rule, let me explain. As Delhi’s pollution is crossing permissible limits towards hazardous levels, Kejriwal decided to introduce this plan. From January 1, odd and even numbered cars will be allowed on alternative days. The government hopes this will reduce the pollution levels by at least 40 %. Well, hopes are good as long as they are backed by plans. The government has asked Delhi Transport Corporation (DTC) to add buses, which will eventually take 4-6 months. The Delhi Metro Rail Corporation (DMRC) has been asked to add extra coaches, which will also take time.

However, I am not here to discuss the pros and cons of the controversial odd-even plan...much talked about and written about! But, I would like to talk about what’s wrong with the Delhi government targeting only vehicles. Of course, vehicular pollution contributes to around 3/4th of the total pollution in Delhi. But industrial pollutants are equal culprits. While the talk of shutting down industries in certain areas has been doing the rounds, I saw a gardener burning a heap of dry leaves along with plastic bottles, cups and polythene bags on a Sunday morning. In October, there were reports of farmers burning crop residue in different parts of Delhi NCR and the pollution has increased seven fold since then. How are these people supposed to be aware of the ongoing war (though late) against air pollution in the National Capital? The alarm is ringing as Anand Vihar’s (East Delhi) pollution touched 1200, 24 times more than the permissible limit, which might cause irreversible lung damage.

Most of the people burning garbage are those who are more concerned with filling their family’s stomachs than fighting air pollution.  The lack of awareness is compensated by the government’s lack of personalised messaging. Putting up hoardings, introducing radio and television advertisements are not going to spread awareness amongst the garbage-dumping group. People are still burning trash, evidence shows! If the government is serious about fighting air pollution (before its too late), it has to spread the message, keeping in mind specific target groups. The garbage-burning group can be convinced through door-to-door messaging. I am sure they’ll think twice before setting fire to any heap of trash.

Back to the odd-even rule, other than the public transport menace, we can fight air pollution only when citizens cooperate. The government of the day cannot be expected to work alone. While some people’s concerns are genuine about the lack of public transport, some are just not ready to leave their comfort of chauffeur-driven cars. And we blame the government for the mess we’re partly responsible for. Kejriwal has promised to review the rule after 15 days of it being implemented. Well, let’s see how it goes and meanwhile, people who already travel by metros and buses, get ready for more dhakkas.

The Bookmark on the Floor

She flipped through the pages of her crimson coloured Bible. Her eyes were puffed up and her hands were weak. She couldn’t even turn the pages. She was frail from constant weeping. She couldn’t find anything to read amidst the lines highlighted in fluorescent yellow.

She was a voracious Bible reader, but only till a few months ago. She was a Sunday school teacher, an active member of her local church and someone who bore witness to Christ amongst her neighbours and friends. Her life was smooth. God granted her an admission in the college she wanted. She was delighted with the miracle. As she started to enjoy her new life, she made new friends as well. But, little did she know what was in store for her. Her college was holding its annual day celebrations and she was with her friends in a classroom. Her model friend opened her bag and took out a bottle of beer and offered her. She refused plainly and walked out of the room. Since then, the pressure around her to try at least a glass gnawed at her. Having finally succumbed, she started attending wild parties and drinking.

Months passed and here she was, wondering whether she would return to normalcy. She didn’t want to attend church anymore; her Bible was covered with dust, tucked away in a corner; no more Christian songs being played in her room; she started ignoring the daily devotionals she received in her mail inbox. She was no more the joyous Rachel everyone liked. With a straight face all the time, she started feeling awkward with people around her. She wanted to be alone. Some accused her of backsliding, while some accused her of losing her First Love - Christ. While her bad company discontinued, she started feel guilty. As accusations poured on her, she felt like a sinner. She knew God would forgive her, but allegations of being backslidden overpowered her knowledge of a forgiving God. Meanwhile, her parents noticed the change in her. What were they doing about it? They were on their knees praying for her, for they knew no amount of words would convince their daughter to come back to the Lord.

One fine day, Rachel tried reading the Bible once again, but in vain. She turned the pages of her Bible, every now and then. The doorbell rang. She rushed toward the door, thinking it might be her brother. As she walked through the corridor, she noticed a bookmark lying on the floor. She hadn’t seen it before. The bookmark had a picture of Jesus with His arms wide open. She observed it and found a smile on Jesus’ face. She did not lose focus, and lo, for the first time in so many months, she felt something unusual...warmth of a father’s hug, joy of a friend being around, peace by knowing someone is in control. The picture had no words, but she could feel the nail pierced hands welcoming her.

She grabbed the bookmark and rushed toward the door. By this time, the frequency of the ding dongs increased. She opened the door, let her brother in and ran towards her own room. Closing the door behind her, she sat down and looked at the bookmark again. Her eyes welled up, her fingers shivered and she sobbed. She looked heavenward and a divine peace swept her, peace that surpasses all understanding. She opened her Bible and her eyes caught attention of Luke 15:1-7 (https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke%2015:1-7). The parable of the lost sheep spoke of how God, the Shepherd, would leave His 99 other sheep to find that one sheep which has gone astray. She knew God had spoken to her. Despite all her efforts to come back to God, she never came across this passage. But, in God’s perfect timing, God showed her that He loves her and wants her to come back into His fold.

 In that moment of change, she spoke no words, prayed no prayer, but the realisation of God’s love made Rachel a new creation. It did not take an entire lifetime, a sermon, a preacher or a daily devotional to change her. Her desire was to come back to her First Love; her longing to be in His presence was honoured by God because of His unfailing love and grace. For Him, there’s no transgression, no sin greater than Christ’s sacrifice. He loves this world! The Bible says, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. (John 3:16)

There are different rituals in this world to cleanse people of their sins. But, one act of God has redeemed us from our sins forever. A part of God’s plan, Jesus came into this world for you and me. He came, not to condemn us for our sins, but to save us. He is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not only for ours but also for the sins of the whole world. (1 John 2:2)

His love cannot be expressed in words, His grace cannot be understood, His glory cannot be comprehended. His gift of salvation is available to all, anyone who seeks Him! Because the ultimate sacrifice has been offered, and eternal life is ours.

***

'Hum Gareeb Hai'

A Maruti Suzuki car honked relentlessly. I looked back and gestured as if asking the driver to wait. I turned and and asked the person riding the cycle rickshaw to go ahead. He moved on. I was still mad at the car driver, and told the man riding the rickshaw, “You should show some attitude to these car drivers who don’t care for other people on the road.” He smirked, as if he’s been there and done that. He replied, “Madam, there’s no use trying to confront these car drivers. For them, we are like crap...we ride cycle rickshaws na! We are poor people and rent out these cycle rickshaws. If we say something to these rich people, some won’t hesitate to cause damage to our rickshaws.” I said, “No, they won’t do anything. Forget you’re poor. The road belongs to everyone.” He laughed, “Not everyone thinks like you, madam. There’s no izzat for people like us. We eat and sleep on the roadside pavement.”

He continued, “All day, we ride cycle rickshaws, eat 2-3 samosas, and at night, we sleep near the metro pillars.” I asked, “How much do you earn in a day?”He shrugged his shoulders, saying “Around 200! But, I have to send money home.” Having heard about daily wage labourers, I asked about his village, expecting it to be Bihar. But, I was proved wrong when he said he was from Aligarh, Uttar Pradesh. He continued, “I came here, thinking I will do some work and take care of my family back home. But, the amount I earn is not enough to build a roof over me. So, I decided to stay on the pavement and ensure my family back home sleeps with full stomachs.” I couldn’t help saying, “Men of the house tend to sacrifice so much for the comfort of their family.” He nodded, “Yes! Yes! But, is anyone concerned about us? The only times I get good food is when some good people set up tents and give us rice and pulses.” He continued, “Once, I sent money through a man who stayed in our village. When he reached our place, he had spent half of the money on liquor. I couldn’t do anything about it. I kept quiet because his sister is married to the Sarpanch’s son. He can take revenge against my family.”

I understood his sense of fear and lack of self-confidence. As if he understood what I was thinking, he exclaimed, “I am scared of these rich people. We are poor. For us, it is important to be able to have food every day.” As we were reaching the metro station, he asked, “Why did you ask me so much about my story? Paper mein kaam karte ho kya?” I said, “No, I am just out of college. But, I hope to write on your story.” He giggled, “Then, maybe you could name it as ‘Hum Gareeb Hai’” I got down, paid him and said, “Of course! This is the first time someone has suggested me the heading.” He smiled, got another passenger and went off. 

ON THE STREETS, LITERALLY!

Little pearls of dew rest upon the grass around me. As I lay, the sun played hide-n-seek with the clouds. My friend lay beside, and my other friend sat cross-legged, munching on her favourite potato chips. Instead of relaxing, the three of us cribbed about the preceding class session and the professor, who ensured we had enough work for the weekend.

A song played, and I jumped out of my bed. It was my alarm bell, and I realised my dream had gotten interrupted. Trying not to be mad at my fate, I observed the sound outside. No bird was chirping, but bang-whoosh-crackle was heard. It was Diwali, and bursting crackers has always been the norm. I wanted to go back to sleep, but the whole house was awake. My parents were having tea, and the little mosquito in my room was happily flying around me. Instead of whacking it down, I shooed it away. I joined my parents for tea and the usual morning talks.

Fast forward...we were ready for breakfast. The noise of crackers had died down, and I heard a drum being played. Leaving my food at the table, I rushed to the balcony. To my surprise, I found a middle-aged man who entertained the audience with his two little monkeys. His audience had children from the nearby slums and the colony. Another set of audience consisted of people in their balconies. 

He sang songs and the monkeys danced. He had dressed up a monkey in a frock and called her Katrina Kaif. He held rings and Chota Akshay Kumar (that’s what he called one of his monkeys) jumped through them. The children were happy and everybody threw notes of 10 rupees. He seemed satisfied with the money he received on a Diwali morning and gently made his monkeys sit on the back of his bicycle. As the audience made their way back to their homes, I knew it was the right time to talk to him. I rushed downstairs and called out to him. He stopped, looked at me and said, “Madam, you didn’t give me any money.” As though I was expecting it, I handed over a 10 rupees note. Looking at the monkeys, I asked, “From when did you start performing with these monkeys?” He seemed ready to talk, parked his bicycle, sat down on a huge stone and started, “They are with me since six months, but I have been performing with monkeys since 8 years.” I sat down on the staircase, knowing I could write something on this. He continued, “I am from Bihar. My father also performed with monkeys. I learnt this art from him. But, he was a level higher than me. He performed acrobats with a group of people. I’d go with him wherever he performed. On a Diwali like this, he was performing in Patna. The rope he stood on gave away and he fell to his death. I was 12 and my mother went into shock. She stopped eating and mingling with others.” As he narrated his story, Chota Akshay Kumar, who seemed interested in his owner’s story, almost fell down from the cycle. Unhurt, he was helped back to the seat.

The man didn’t lose focus and continued, “My mother fell ill, and my elder sister started taking care of her. Finances were a huge problem, and having never attended a school, I couldn’t find a job in my state. And wasn’t unemployment a huge issue in the recent elections in Bihar? I shifted to Delhi, hoping to start earning. A relative suggested riding a cycle rickshaw. I tried it for a few months. But, I decided I should do what my father taught me, other than the acrobats. I somehow found two monkeys, trained them and started performing on streets.”

Knowing the issues faced by street performers, I asked, “Have the police ever asked you to leave?” He immediately replied, “So many times! If I request them to let me perform, they tell me to give minimum 100 rupees. I earn only 200 rupees in a day. I send home some money. What am I left with if I have to pay the police every day?”

There was a pause, as I nodded. I recollected the newspaper articles I’d read on street performers and their dying art. I asked, “Do you stay in those slums near the mall?” “Yes”, he said, “But, we got a notice to vacate the place. The slums will be demolished by 30^th November. I have to find a house, but the minimum rent is 600 rupees...not possible! I guess I’ll have to live on the footpath.” His monkey seemed to understand his despair and patted his back. The gesture amazed me, and I remembered my friend who believed animals are better at understanding emotions than humans. 

The man stood up, sat on his bicycle and said, “Madam, I’ve to go. I’ll be performing in Sector 4.” I got up and exclaimed, “You didn’t tell me your name.” He replied, “Shah Rukh Khan!” with a glint in his eyes. Seeing my puzzled look, he giggled, “I am not lying. We’re Muslims and from the family of Khans. You all know Bollywood’s Shah Rukh Khan. I am also an artist like him. But the main difference between him and me is that he lives in Mannat and I am preparing to live on the footpath.”  I was confused, whether to smile at his witty comparison, or feel bad for his fate. He pedalled his way towards the main road and Chota Akshay Kumar looked back at me, as if he was saying good bye. 

***

Life in Ruins – Blame the Booze!

His legs shivered, his vision blurred, his hands numbed, Rakesh staggered towards the ground that was holding Dussehra festivities. He couldn’t walk straight, it was evident. As his tremulous hands tried touching the fence of the park, he fell down. He could feel a few feet rushing towards him. Immediately, someone lifted him and made him sit. His whole body quivered; he couldn’t think properly, his thoughts intertwined!

He thought, if these people stop surrounding me, I could go and get another peg. But, he knew it wasn’t possible, without escaping from the sight of curious onlookers. He saw a familiar face, that of his wife Swati. She ran towards him and sobbed uncontrollably. He said, “Kya tamasha banake rakha hai?” He held on to the fence and tried his luck again. He was successful; he stood up straight, and tried walking away. However, his knees gave way and he fell again.

As I looked on, his wife wailed. His child looked helplessly at her father staggering, who otherwise was the strongest man for her.  His wife tried holding him, while he just shooed her away. His child called out to him, frightened. But, in his drunken stupor, he couldn’t respond to the love in his daughter’s call.

Picture for representational purpose

What does alcohol do? According to Responsible Party, a European group that raises awareness among students on responsible drinking, alcohol slows down the function of the central nervous system and alters a person's perception, emotion, movement; vision and hearing. Small amounts can make a person feel more relaxed or less anxious. Bigger amounts lead to intoxication by causing greater changes in the brain.

I haven't had any personal or familial experience with alcoholism. Being from a state where alcohol consumption has made us sit up and take notice of the otherwise peaceful Mallus, I have seen and observed how alcohol has destroyed lives. Kerala has the highest per capita liquor consumption in the country with over 8 litres per person a year. About one in 10 men in the state is a heavy alcoholic consumer and this amounts to 5 percent of the state's population addicted to liquor. Statistics carry weight, when we actually see drunken men staggering on the roads of Kerala, or maybe overhear drunken husbands beating up their wives. 

If we focus on India, statistics are equally alarming. According to the the Global Status report on alcohol and health 2014, released by the World Health Organization (WHO), around 30% of the total population of India consumed alcohol in the year 2010. It revealed that over 11% of the population in India indulged in heavy or binge-drinking. The global figure stood at 16%.

Alcohol as such may not be the issue here, as drinking is everyone’s personal choice. But, what makes it a matter of national concern is when lives are lost to alcohol. On the ‘Years of Life Lost’ scale, which is based on alcohol-attributable years of life lost, India has been rated 4 on a scale of 1 to 5. This implies that the alcohol consuming population of our country loses most years of their life because of drinking and its consequences. Liver disease (alcoholic hepatitis, cirrhosis and liver cancer,) heart problems (chronic heart disease, hypertension, heart attack), digestive disorders (pancreatitis or gastritis), neurological disorders (stroke, dementia, memory loss) are some of the ill effects of alcoholism.

Adding to the lives lost, violence has been a major consequence of alcoholism. A study from the University of Tennessee, Knoxville has suggested that men under the influence of alcohol are more likely to perpetrate physical, psychological or sexual aggression against their partners than men under the influence of marijuana. Well, one of the reasons Kerala state government banned alcohol was because of the rising instances of domestic violence against women. Women’s lives have been ruined, and children have grown up in an insecure environment. Families’ finances get perished, and peace gets ravaged. No relevant data can be found on these instances, but lives speak more than numbers.

There have been enough debate on why men succumb to being heavy drinkers (read stress, work pressure), but what it results in is numerous lives being devastated because of one alcoholic person.  Banning alcohol is not the solution. We have enough black markets thriving in our country; getting alcohol won’t be an issue. However, the only solution towards alleviating this evil would be support of family members to help the person quit drinking, government and civil society organisations doing enough to spread awareness (no, just advertisements won’t do). 

 

The Menace Continues...

Savitri turned off the gas stove as the milk boiled. The white liquid smelled good, but the glee turned short as her toddler cried in the other room. Her baby cried a lot today, she thought. But, who can stop the blaring sound from the loudspeakers? The temple near her house has been playing loud music since morning. The noise was unbearable and no adult could listen to it, let alone a baby. Her mother-in-law was in the hall, covering her ears with cotton. Irritated, she asked Savitri to quieten the child. Savitri knew her mother-in-law could not be blamed; any elderly person would go insane because of the noise.

Savitri entered her child’s room; her baby’s face turned red crying. She kept the milk bottle down, took her child in her arms and swayed him back and forth. That was the only way she knew to comfort her baby amidst such noise. Meanwhile, her mother-in-law, in the other room, started feeling dizzy; the noise was agonizing. She called out to Savitri, her sound was faint. Thankfully, Savitri heard her name being called out. She rushed to the other room, with her baby in her arms. A crying infant and an unwell mother-in-law, Savitri didn’t understand how to take care of the situation. The cause of anguish wasn’t in her control. She knew things were going out of her hand. The noise wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. More and more people were descending in to the temple. The atmosphere was so distressing, that Savitri couldn’t think of anything sanely. Her mother-in-law’s health detoriated and Savitri decided to rush her to the nearest hospital. In a jiffy, she entrusted her child to her neighbour, who was equally irritated by the noise. She rushed her mother-in-law to the hospital. Getting her her mother-in-law admitted to the emergency ward, Savitri was surprised to find that the hospital ambience wasn’t free from the loudspeaker noise. Startled, she asked the nurse about how the hospital suffered from the noise pollution. With a straight face, the nurse looked at her and said, “Koi kuch kar sakta hai kya? Complain kar ke bhi koi fayda nahi.”

This video was shot to describe the writer's experience!

Well, the Supreme Court cracked the whip on noise pollution banning the use of loudspeakers between 10 pm and 6 am in public places (except in emergencies), in response to a long-pending petition pertaining to noise pollution caused by loudspeakers, generators and vehicles. That was a good move! But, what about noise pollution during the day?

Nobody has a solution, and the menace continues. By the way, Savitri’s mother-in-law got better and returned home in the evening.

***

The Fallen Rose

I walked hurriedly towards the metro station. I am going to get late, I thought. Motivating myself to rush, I accidentally stepped on something. I took a step back and saw a beautiful rose I trampled upon. I looked around and saw a girl looking accusingly at me. Dressed in a frock probably given to her by someone, she held a bunch of beautiful roses. But, the look on her face showed she wasn’t happy with my stupid act. I understood she belonged to the group of kids who sold roses near metro stations every day. Hoping to win her over, I smiled. She returned a gracious smile and came near me. She was a familiar face, I realised!

Picture Courtesy: Google Images

Being trained on how to sell flowers, she caught hold of the chance, asking, “Didi, ek le lo na!” I knew I didn’t want to buy a rose. I stooped low till her level, and said, “Le lungi, pehle aap yeh bataao ki aapka naam kya hai.” She answered, “Roshni”. Her innocent smile made me exclaim, “Arre, aap toh is gulaab ki tarah hi ho!” She was a clever girl and returned to her usual line, “Didi, ek le lo na!” I knew I didn’t want to buy the rose, but wanted to listen to her story.  I convinced her to tell me where she stays. She pointed to the tent near a metro pillar. The roses in her hand and the tent she lived in made me understand that she might have had a troubled past. Without me asking any further, she continued, “Meri mummy yahaa par baithke yeh sab baandhti hai, phir hum bechte hai. Phir hum paise lekar mummy ko dete hai. Woh raat ko paise kisi uncle ko deti hai.” I asked, “Aap us uncle ko jaante ho?” She nodded her head cutely saying, “Na!” I knew something was fishy, and I asked, “Aap school jaate ho?” She looked at me perplexed. She returned to the ‘uncle’ taking money from her mother, saying, “Mummy hume unse milne nahi deti hai. Woh bahaar aate hai, mummy ko bulaate hai aur paise lekar jaate hai.” My Sherlock Homes side came up and I asked, “Agar aap yeh uncle se mile nahi ho, toh phir kaise pata ki aapki mummy paise deti hai?”  “Mere bhaiya ne bataya! Usne chup ke se dekha. Meri ek behen bhi hai. Par woh uncle use lekar chale gaye. Mummy kehti hai ki woh kaam karne gayi hai. Ek raat woh uncle bahot chilaaye aur mummy andar aake bahot royi. Kal toh police waale uncle aake mummy pe chilaaye. Mere bhaiya ko maara. Galat hai na?” Having heard stories on gangs which force women and children to beg, I felt maybe the ‘uncle’ was a part of such a notorious gang. I wanted to know more, but little Roshni had nothing more to say. She only had disgust for the ‘uncle’ in her otherwise innocent voice. I asked if she ever wanted to attend school. She again nodded, but this time, it was a yes. But, the nod stopped quickly as she said, “Par mummy ko akele chodke nahi jaaungi. Mummy ne kaha, thodi badi ho jaaungi toh mujhe woh uncle lekar jaayenge.” For a second, I felt goose bumps all over, as I could only assume why she would be taken away.

My emotions took over, and I felt sorry for her. But, I knew sympathy won’t help the child. What would help is a concrete step to rescue this child from the claws of this perilous racket. But, she isn’t the only child stuck in this evil. There are others too. What about them? As I kept thinking, she tied up her roses, ran to her friends and waved at me. I was still shocked because of her story. I had read such stories. But hearing it from a child who might be taken away, made me shudder. She went to the other gate of the metro station and vanished from my sight. Her eyes were promising and her voice rang in my ears. I looked at my watch and realised I was too late. Catching up on my previous pace, I rushed for the metro.

The next day, I was hoping to meet her again, so that I could inform a few rescue workers. But, I couldn’t find her at her usual place. Her friends found me as ‘Roshni ki didi’ and smiled. I asked one of them, “Roshni kaha hai?” Her joy suddenly turned in to gloom, and said, “Woh uncle Roshni ko lekar chale gaye, kaam ke liye. Uski mummy Dilli chali gayi.” I looked at the kids, knowing they weren’t of a suitable age to understand where Roshni might have been taken. I realised I was late or maybe the ‘uncle’ was early! He wanted to take Roshni away when she grew up, but this sudden action made me feel empty.

The rose I trampled upon the previous day was still there. Withered, it lay there, destroyed by the greed of selfish men and women. It was supposed to be beautiful and its fragrance was supposed to touch hearts. But, it lay there, trampled upon by men who wanted to make big bucks through illegal and inhuman ways. As I walked towards the metro platform, I realised the rose I saw was beautiful, fallen and trampled upon, never to bloom again. Maybe she will, but is there hope? 

***

‘Buzurg hai hum…’

‘Ae beti, kuch khaane ko de de’, a familiar line that I would come across, whenever I passed the temple! The sight of two elderly women begging on the roadside was an everyday affair for all who either visited the temple or the departmental store nearby.

On a rainy Sunday, as I went through the same route, I was expecting the same line to repeat, but in vain. I looked around, and saw one of the two women, a short and frail body in tattered clothes and a dupatta covering her head, holding the rods of the temple gate and trying to glance inside, hoping for some alms. Viewing it as a photojournalistic task, I clicked her picture. She looked at me with eyes that spoke of a tale I knew I wanted to listen. I smiled at her, feeling guilty I clicked her without her permission.  She smiled back, looked at the bag I was carrying and gestured at me to give her something to eat. I searched my bag and found a packet of fresh bun. She thanked me and showered on me the blessings of all the gods of the world. I realised I wanted to hear her story. I knelt down in the sand. Knowing not how to strike a conversation, I asked her if she wanted to look at her picture. She smiled and said, “Mera beta bhi meri photo leta tha!” Without waiting for me to say anything, she continued. She used to live in Nangloi, a semi-urban area in Delhi, with her husband and son. Her son studied in an ‘English waala’ school. Her son got married and they had a daughter. Life was all good until her husband fell ill. “Mere pati guzar gaye aur mera naseeb kharaab hua.” For a month, her son and his wife looked after her, with the woman of the house constantly cribbing about how tiring it was to take care of so many members. She understood they had intentions of sending her away for a pilgrimage. Not wanting to believe what she heard, she asked her son who denied of any such plans.

But, on 17^th June 2009, they asked her to pack her necessary items. “Mujhe laga kahi ghumne jaa rahe! Par mere bête ne mujhe is mandir ke saamne choda aur kaha ki who kuch leke waapas aayega. Aur woh abhi tak waapas nah aaya.” Teary-eyed, she looked back inside the temple. The silence that lasted for two minutes was hurting and I knew it brought her painful memories. I immediately asked, “Aapki dost kaha hai?” Without looking at me, she said, “Use aapke padosi ne park mein se maarke bhagaya.”  Hearing no response from me, she looked at me and explained, “Kaafi din ho gaye. Woh park mein gayi thi aur neechi hi baithi thi. Aapke koi padosi ne use dekha aur bahot gaaliyan di. Chappal bhi nikaala use maarne! Ab humaara koi khayaal nahi rakhta hai, buzurg hai hum, mandirwaale jo dete hai who khaate hai,  aur yahaa ke log hume dekhte hi…. ” she nodded her head in dismay! “Woh bahot royi, bahot bahot bura laga use. Ek din rote rote so gayi. Aur phir nahi uthi woh!”

The scary silence returned and I found myself at a loss of words. But, it was short and was broken by the sound of ladies chattering as they made an exit out of the temple, with ‘thalis’ in their hands. She waited with hope; a hope that they would give her something to eat that would ensure her stomach would be full for at least a day.

I stood up, dusted my pants and looked if it was right for me to go away.  Yes, it was right, because my new ‘acquaintance’ was nowhere in sight. I walked towards my home, understanding that every person you see has a story to tell….a story that will shake up your conscience. 

***

The Sewage Overflow!

Vaishali, one of the most bustling areas of Delhi-NCR, is developing at a fast rate. A part of Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh, it’s proximity to Delhi has earned it an array of high-rises and malls. With privileges and comfort, come responsibility. From occupants of skyscrapers to those of slums, every citizen has a responsibility to take care of their city. However, here, I talk of the responsibility of the administration.

The Sewage Lake

One particular area of Vaishali, which is right next to a popular mall, has manholes leaking all over. The sewage overflow has led to dirty water getting accumulated in parks, grounds, roads, etc. The stagnant water has also led to rise in the number of mosquitoes. To top up the issue, the manholes leak every day, leading to gushing water entering the parks.

Repeated complaints fell on deaf ears for a few days. However, the Ghaziabad Development Corporation (GDA) has promised to send its workers to clean up the blockage. We can only wait and watch the action being taken.

Sewage overflow!

***

Ironic Earth Day!

Photo Courtesy: Google Images

Irony is when we celebrate Earth Day which is coupled with news of a weak monsoon this year. Earth Sciences Minister Dr Harsh Vardhan said there is a 35 percent probability of the rainfall being below normal, because of weak El-Nino conditions. Agriculture is going to face a severe crisis. Food inflation will set in, and farmers will face crop shortage.

Why and how is this happening? Lack of concern for our planet plays a huge role in global warming, climate change and other such heavily-loaded terms. Well, a lot has been written and spoken about what needs to be done. The question is how many Earth days will we celebrate as the planet keeps getting destroyed.

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Dreams of a Little Citizen

Khushboo’s  dream is to become a pilot, a ‘plane udaane waali’ as she calls it. Her eyes lit up everytime she sees a plane flying by. She’s amazed by the way it flies, and wants to drive it. I ask her about school and she looks at her mother. A domestic help working in 3-4 houses, Geetha is all of 23 years. ‘Bachche ko school kaise bhejein?’ she asks.  Geetha is married with three children. Her husband, who rides a cycle rickshaw for daily living, earns around Rs 200 everyday. She earns around Rs 2000 at the end of every month. With less than Rs 10,000 as monthly income, it has become impossible for the family to have even a hand-to-mouth existence. As part of the money goes to their extended family back in Bihar, there’s little left to ensure that Khushboo attends school.

Khushboo whiles away her time during the day, near a temple. Kids of her age look greedily at the temple gate as devotees make a beeline for doing some charity work. With sweets and other eatables in hand, the followers of deities hope to attain moksha by giving food to the poor. The kids flock around the philanthropists, while Khushboo stands in a corner. Ask her why she doesn’t follow her friends to get the sweets, she says, ‘Mummy maaregi’. An NGO-run school in the same locality refuses to enrol her as a student, because of increasing number of students and lesser space.

The eyes that haven’t even seen a school gate, the ears that haven’t heard the school bell ringing, the mouth that hasn’t said the line ‘Good morning, teacher!’, the legs that haven’t run around on a school ground, the hands that haven’t held a school textbook, Khushboo may not even be able to dream of a school life. Acts like RTE (Right to Education) have done little to ensure that children like Khushboo get access to education. With the much-hyped developmental programmes of a growing economy like India, it is important to remember that the country will go nowhere when the most little of its citizens can never hope for a better future. 

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Save the Little Wings!

Picture Credits: Javed Sultan

My day would start with the chirping of little creatures perched on my bedroom window. The thought of going to school would sadden me, but these little angels brought a toothy smile on my face. My petite legs would rush to the window and my eyes would search for the winged beings.  I would wave to them, and they would fly away, searching for a branch or a window.

Wondering what am I talking about? Sparrows…those birds which are hardly seen nowadays. Growing up in Nasik, a bird-friendly city in Maharashtra, sparrows were a part of my childhood.  Watching them was a regular thing. I remember them flying onto the ceiling fan of my room, and to my surprise, as a little kid, I never dreaded them. Shifting to Delhi has made me lose a handful of things. And surely, sparrows have only become a part of my memories. Because the capital city of Delhi has no sparrows. The only sparrows I see are on postcard stamps or notebook covers. The once-so-familiar sparrows are now endangered species, and I found it hard to believe the fact. This is mainly because of the infrastructure we have built. Mobile towers, spike son high rise buildings, less number of trees, etc, are some of the factors contributing to the reduction in the number of sparrows. 

It is our fault that the sparrows are nowhere to be seen, and it is our duty to restore them. Keeping this in mind, the students of Development Communication 2013-15, AJK Mass Communication Research Centre, Jamia Millia Islamia, Delhi, have created a call-to-action ‘Save the Sparrows' campaign, in collaboration with Nature Forever Society. The initiative involves building bird houses, setting up bird feeders and putting around insect-friendly plants. Spreading awareness is a part of their agenda. They're confident this move will bring out great results, even though it is only a drop in the ocean. Jyoti Mehra, the student who initiated the campaign, says, "We have heard a lot about environment issues like pollution, global warming etc. But, unfortunately, house sparrows have been completely forgotten. Many of us don't even know that it is the State Bird of Delhi. So, as a project of Social Marketing and Media Advocacy, our mentor - Mr. Dharam Arora encouraged me to initiate a campaign in AJK MCRC, Jamia, wherein we can create awareness about sparrow's endangerment and take steps to make the campus environment as sparrow friendly as we can. So, what can we do to bring sparrows back? Steps are easy and not economically taxing. Keep some water and bajra on your terrace/balcony. Plant insect-friendly flowers. Luckily, I got the support of Mohd. Dilawar - also known as ‘the sparrow man' - to give a defined direction to this campaign. We plan to celebrate 20th March - ‘The World Sparrow Day' with zest and love for this bird. Let's do our bit to save this bird from extinction and bring it back to our gardens." 

They've also started a Facebook page called ‘Let's Save Sparrows' (Link: https://www.facebook.com/letscoaxsparrowsjamiawallon) as a tool to spread awareness about the campaign. Ankita Kumari and Snigdha Jindal, members of the campaign, have made it a part of their already popular Facebook page ‘The Invisibles'. As each and every student is involved in making the campaign a success, the common aim is to make the dream come true….save the sparrows!