nadirafromkannur's blog

        It is difficult to describe a person whose personality had so many wide ranging attributes that it amazes you when you try and capture it in words. It’s difficult to try and express  the sense of utter loss one feels at his demise. Dubeyji’s long time friend and neighbour , Shri Mittal calls up at the end of a long day to say..Nadiraji, I’m sorry for disturbing you at this hour . But I’m not feeling normal and I had to speak to someone who knew him.”

       His reach was amazing. Young and old could communicate with him with a level of comfort  that only comes from a life that was intensely connected with the goodness in humanity. He would have completed 80 years this coming October. He had seen it all, the excitement of the freedom struggle when he was a young boy, the strife filled days of partition, the  idealism of early youth that had led him to dream of and believe in an egalitarian society and be an active part of the communist movement, family responsibilites coming very early in life with the loss of his father at an early age, a journalistic career  spanning many decades , disillusionment with the party that he had so strongly espoused ,et all. And yet , he had an abiding belief in human beings. I guess , without that belief, detachment from life and its varied hues would have set in long ago. But Dubeyji had been involved to the very end. He cared till the very end.

      All of us who knew him closely have such a lot of lovely memories ..Dubeyji the romantic  who would sing old hindi songs and talk of how many times he had seen “Pyaasa”  and all those films of yesteryears. Dubeyji who loved to cook and who had made kababs and shahi toast in our kitchens. Dubeyji  , who loved to share a few pegs with his young friends and whose conversation dominated the crowd and held them captive with his never ending anecdotes, so interstingly told. Dubeyji who beat youngsters at badminton till a few years ago, when his knee started giving him problems.

      He touched our  lives in ways that will take a while for us to wholly comprehend. He lived his life fully, loved everyone he knew completely, expressed that which got under his skin honestly and in the end left us all ,wondering  how he had charmed death to lead him away just the way he wanted, without suffering and  without putting anyone to inconvenience.

        When the tinkle of glasses filled with spirit  brought out the twinkle in his eyes, he would often tease me saying that he would always have this regret that he couldn’t “convert” me and make me a fan  of the beaded bubbles.

          With tears in my eyes, I raise this toast to Dubeyji..”Wherever you are, spirits are bound to soar in your company”

Much before the clouds rumble
And travel inward from the sea
My heart begins a restless grumble
My thirsty soul prepares to flee

Home is where the heart is
Mine dwells here and that’s for sure.
When the city smoke  begins to choke
The homestead casts its magical lure

I know I’m home when I can draw
Water and wishes from the well
I know I’m home when the rain dances
And the breeze brings in the briny smell.

I know I’m home when amongst the grass
I still can find the watery reed
Those slender stems that we would hoard
To have our slates all nicely cleaned.

Home is where the window weaves
A tapestry of secret dreams
Home is where the falling rain
Pauses in puddles and runs in streams

Home is where  the old  brown  walls
Soaks in the rain and turns green with moss
Home is where the gnarled mango trees
Whispers stories of past pain and loss.

Home is where the dark wet nights
Listens to the croaking serenade
Home is where I sleep in peace
And dream sweet dreams till the stars fade.

       Today  The INDIC studies project of the Centre for Studies of developing Societies , had convened a dialogue between some leading members of Khap Panchayats and social activists of Haryana “in order to understand the issue of Intra- gotra marriages and the controversial role of Jati based panchayats on civil society”

       The venue was in Civil Lines where my friend Madhavi lived. So I decided to attend as I could also visit her place which I had been intending to do for quite some time.

        The area is very, very nice … full of trees. The ambience of old Delhi, so to speak is still there. There is a sense of space and much less clutter than you find in what is “New” Delhi. Madhavi’s house was beautiful too . She has maintained it very aesthetically. Because of the abundance of trees the mornings are accompanied by the sound of birds. Monkeys too liven up the place, she said. “We’ve been spoilt for life” , said her daughter Mandakini. Madhavi’s husband who is the M.S of a Government hospital had been allotted the accommodation and for sure it is going to take them a lot of getting used to when they eventually have to move out after some years. They still have lots of time though and I’m going to keep visiting her. That’s for sure. I’m regretting the fact that it took me so long to get there.

       After lunch, Madhavi and myself pushed off for the “dialogue”, which started at three)clock.  Well, the khap chiefs who were at the seminar took a long time explaining  from how far back in history this traditional form of local governance had travelled . It was democracy at its best, the decision of khaps involved the consensus of the whole gathering at the khap panchayats, decisions on local issues involving property ,marriages, divorce etc were swift , whereas if the same disputes were taken to the court, so much more time and money would be consumed before a judgment was delivered; there was no scope for corruption or buying of witnesses, as everybody in the village knew the parties involved and the wrong doer could be identified and brought to task then and there, they went on. They were secular in nature and included everyone in the decision making process , although the khaps did also function as gotra based panchayats where issues of a particular caste were raise.

     It sounded very nice really, what with the existence of a whole hierarchy of panchayats  beginning with toda at the lowest level whose decisions could be appealed against at the next level(Panna) and at the Gaon level, from there to the thappe, the Khap and finally raised at the level of the maha panchayat. What could be wrong with such viable , democratic , inclusive and justice based local empowerment. Nothing really, isn’t that what Panchayati Raj is all about?

     Except that many  young couples who had dared to marry within the same gotra  had been killed with the acquiesance, if not at the behest of these khap panchayats. Each one of the khap leaders present there kept on emphasizing categorically that there had not been any case where a khap panchayat had authorized such a killing. Not ever, they said. But then they went on to insist that they could never agree to intra-gotra marriages as that would pretty much be like marriages between siblings. If anyone did so, then the concerned families were either asked to pay a fine or socially boycotted ( which in many cases meant that they had to forcibly sell off their land and leave the village ) There never had been a dictat for murder. If they were such a wonderful example of a parallel government , as they claimed themselves to be, why is it that they condoned such happenings and why did they never boycott the family who committed such dastardly acts?, asked a member from the organization, “Common Cause”. They had, said the khap leaders , but those incidents were never reported. It was the media who were maligning them they said. 

       Dr. Rawat, one of those present to support the khap panchayat caused, explained in great detail  why marriages within the same caste was not to be recommended from a genetic point of view. The genes having adverse effects on the health, was more likely to show up when couples from the same caste married , he said. What about the regions in India where such khap Panchayats did not exist? After all, this tradition of local governance holds sway only in Hayana, Rajasthan, Punjab and areas of Western Uttar Pradesh. The general populace didn’t seem to be suffering any particular ill effects. And what about the tens of thousands of villages all over the world where caste and gotra was not recognized? For sure , genetically caused ailments have a tendency to show up more frequently in offsprings of parents who are close relatives, but in a larger population, no such  alarming evidence has been evident.

    In spite of their vehement declarations as to their innocence , it had been reported in many papers that many of the khap leaders had condemned the judgment of the Court who had awarded the death penalty to the family members who had been responsible for the honour killing of  Babli. Even while the discussions were going on, the word that frequently popped up from the side of the khap leaders to describe such marriages was “Kalank”. They kept insisting that the Hindu marriage Act should be amended to include a clause that would make marriages within the same gotra illegal.

        I had to leave before the dialogue was concluded. Just before I left, Ms. Prem Choudhury . Lecturer in delhi University made some very valid points. Regions where the Khap Panchayats existed were also the regions where the increasing number of female foeticides had alarmingly skewed the sex ratio, so much so that young men were now looking outside the state for brides . If the Khap leaders considered themselves to be the guardians of their culture and the welfare of their society, shouldn’t they be seriously addressing such aberrations. ? Wouldn’t the restrictions imposed on same caste marriages further accentuate the problems caused by a declining female population that is now becoming evident ?

       I was feeling quite buoyant on my way back from the market. The carrier of my bicycle was loaded with all kinds of shopping that I had done. There was a kurta which I would try on as soon as I got back home. There were vinegar , soya sauce and tomato sauce bottles which I was going to use to make a nice chicken dish for my son, some vegetables and so on.

       I’ve always had this tendency to allow my mind to wander off once I am seated in a vehicle. I’ve come to the conclusion that that is the reason why I am so bad with directions. I tend to lose my way even in places that I have visited many times. So many times , while in a bus , I have come to my senses one or two stops after the place where I was supposed to get down. Happens regularly even now , while coming back on the metro train from Delhi to Noida. Sometimes one has to get down at a place called Yamuna back to board a Noida bound train and I just travel onwards , my mind playing on its own merry go round. Thankfully, one can get back and resume the onward journey without having to pay more, thanks to the way they have programmed their tokens.

       Well , it’s no different even when I am riding my bicycle. The short distances that I travel on it fortunately does not allow for too many mishaps. Well, here I was riding back with many cross currents swirling about in my ganglions. It was hot and I was thinking ..these sunscreen lotions are just another way of taking us women for a ride. They don’t do anything for the tan. No wonder you can see more and more young girls now venturing out with their faces masked completely with scarves. I had noticed that phenomenon for the first time when I visited Pune three or four years ago. I had then thought they were all muslim girls wearing the hijab. Now it had caught on here in Delhi and its precincts as well.

          And then my mind skipped on to the Shah Rukh Khan ad , where he was smugly  recommending a fairness cream exclusively for men!  What happened to the tall, DARK hero whose handsomeness we all fantasized about in our Mills and Boon days? Don’t young girls read them anymore ?  I’ve seen men wearing elbow length gloves too, while riding their bikes just like us females. Kind of sissy, I think. Anyways….

      And then I started thinking of the Facebook faceoff in Pakistan and got to wondering how the Prophet would have reacted had he been around. I’ve read that the had quite a nice sense of humour. There was a photo  in the newspapers in which the protestors were carrying a poster which said “kill those who insult Islam” . Who was insulting who, I thought .   This holier than thou attitude actually insults the Prophet and what he stood for.

      And then my mind went on to the film “Bruce Almighty” starring Jim Carrey and Morgan Freeman , which I had really enjoyed watching . It is kind of nice to think of God who has a nice sense of humour.

         Then my mind went into a swoon of self endorsement. Here I was cycling to and from the market etc. I was saving at least eighty rupees a day which I would otherwise have spent on Rikshaws. My health was okay too etc. etc.(  It wouldn’t be prudent to give you all the details. I wouldn’t like to spoil my image more than is called for).

       Okay. So I reach home and open the door , my hands laden with all the stuff . Just inside, some of it  drops to the ground. Yeah you guessed right. All the bottles cracked .

       My house is now smelling just like the kitchen of a Chinese restaurant. There are huge stains on the floor where the vinegar spread.

       Does God have a sense of humour or what?  All that time I was giving myself those certificates of commendation God was probably muttering, “ just you wait, you pompous female, just you wait” .

            The Deoband muslim seminary is reported to have issued a fatwa that has decreed that it is unlawful for women to work as it involved interaction with men!!!!

(http://www.indianexpress.com/news/Sub-quota-on-mind–Muslim-outfits-ignore-fatwa-on-working-women/618135)

        It is immensely irksome that a community’s perceptions and value systems get hijacked like this , whether it be by the Deoband clerics or by the Khap Panchayats. To my mind, it works against the potential for  higher spiritual evolvement of the human race when relationships between men and women continue to be viewed with the same parameters of social laws that existed hundreds of years ago and women continue to be objectified.  It is not only demeaning to the women, I’m sure it is equally repulsive to most men to insinuate that their relationships with women can have only one hue.

       Personally, I feel that such “trustees” of society and religion do a lot of harm to the dynamic spirit that should be guiding us towards  more inclusive , generous and altered states of conscious living.

         Sometimes I get baffled to see how  an injunction in a religious text, which had clear associations with the traditions of the society at that time , is sought to be converted into a fossilized dictat without any regard to the changes in the way we now conduct our lives.

     Take the case of adoption in Islam. There are any number of verses in the Quran which uphold the virtue of such an act. ( I cannot claim to be well versed with the entire text of the Quran, but I have read enough to vouch for the veracity of the above) and yet, adoption is not supposed to be legally allowed in Islamic communities.

       The other day I chanced upon a video in which Zakir Naik , who is considered by many to be a spokesperson of the Islamic community , was answering questions on this issue. He says that Islam allows and commends the care of orphans , but that legal adoption is not allowed. These are some of the reasons given by him:-

1)      That legal adoption would give equal property rights to the adopted child, which would not be fair  to the natural children.

2)      That the children in a family having adopted siblings would not be real siblings and therefore the possibility of marriage between them should not be ruled out.

     There must be thousands of families in the world where orphan children have been adopted by families and are growing up in an atmosphere of filial love and bonding. To conclude  that human hearts are not capable of such love is to straightaway shackle it and prevent it from expanding.

      The guidelines in the Quran, as far as I have understood them, is to prevent the foster parents from usurping whatever property the orphan may be entitled to from his own natural family and to give the child the freedom to retain his antecedents, culture etc. if he so wishes. Now that could be relevant in a case where a  foster child is old enough to make an informed choice. When an infant is adopted , for all practical purposes , he or she automatically grows up in alignment with the religious and cultural norms of the foster family. Once an adult, he or she can always choose to be what he wants. My question is , how can a positive guideline for  just behaviour and one which upholds individual choice, be interpreted to give it negative connotations? (Remember Zakir Naik has a huge following and his interpretations are next to God’s words for many).

    If a child grows up in an atmosphere of love and kinship, he will grow up into a well balanced , considerate human being , whether he is a foster child or a natural one. There must be many cases we personally know where natural siblings fight over property, where even children kill parents over contentious issues of legacy, where fathers and brothers develop incestuous relationships within the natural  family and so on. Does the fact of legally being included within the definition of “family” preclude  such developments?. Inversely, why should it automatically be assumed that  a foster child growing up with a natural offspring will always consider himself/herself as an outsider and hence invite conjugal intentions?

        Laws in force everywhere take into cognizance all relevant aspects and are meant to ensure what is best for humanity in the age it exists, isn’t that so? So why should adoption be not legally allowed in Islam? I throw up my hands in the air.

       So too with this Deoband fatwa. If a society continues to look at women (and women continue to look at themselves)  in terms of their physical attributes alone, there is no way they are ever going to be anything more than just that. I wonder if the Deobandi clerics remember that the Prophet’s wife Aisha was held in high regard for her knowledge and wisdom and consulted on any number of occasions by the men of those times.  Were they not interactions ?

        Going off on a tangent  , just a couple of days ago, I was googling for information and pictures of Bushmen of Africa and what one read really got me thinking why we consider ourselves more “civilized”. They went about naked , but women were not considered as mere reproductive vessels or as objects for sexual gratification. They had an equal place in the tribal group with that of men . It was just that they had their work areas defined, division of labour , so to speak.

        A human being has to be considered to be something more than the physical aspects he or she represents. If we cannot begin to do that even now, I cannot see why we call ourselves evolved. We are where we started or regressing, may be ?

       Interpretations of religious texts taken too literally with little or no regard to the context  only makes sure that we sink further into the bog instead of  being conducive to the human spirit soaring high in the realms of harmony.

           They say there is something to be learnt from every experience in life. Well I’ve learnt quite a few things in the last one month in the course of my daily trips on my new bicycle  from my home to the school where I spend some of my time.

         First, do not let people try to dissuade you from doing things that you’ve wanted to do  pointing out your age. Barring those which really involve a risk factor , at least give it a try. I had just about learnt to ride a cycle when I was in my teens during one of those summer holidays when a shop in my neighbourhood started renting out cycles to kids . Well that was it. I never owned a bicycle and in that conservative circle, my father would never have allowed me to ride one on the roads once I had started growing up. But I had loved the feel of riding one and I guess, it has never left me. Whenever I  reviewed the list of the things that I would want to do before I died, riding a bicycle along a long tree lined road would always show up as one of them.

      Once or twice many,many years later, I had persuaded my son to let me ride his bicycle and he had reluctantly agreed . So under the cover of night , he had held on to the cycle while I tried wobbling along on the road. I had managed to ride along for some length of the road on those occasions , on my own. But then I had lost balance and lay sprawled on the road much to my son’s embarrassment and that was the end of that chapter.

      Now at the ripe old age of fifty three, I had set out with renewed determination to tick off one of the items on my “Bucket List’ (“Das Vidanya” , if you would prefer the bollywood version). And has it been worth it?  Of course!!!!

      On one of those initial late evenings when I was practicing in the empty ground nearby and inside the lanes of my colony, I had skidded on a wet patch on the road where the water pipes had been leaking  and had fallen down cycle and all , bruising my elbows and ankle and bruising my matronly dignity as well in front of a group of young boys who were around. They were kind of course, helping me to my feet and making sincere enquiries as to whether I was okay etc. Back home, I had called up my nephew to report my progress( or rather the lack of it) and my little niece happened to take the call instead. She listened quietly and then disconnected rather abruptly. My sister later told me that after keeping down the phone she had got into a fit of uncontrollable paroxysms of  giggling, almost as if  she could visualize the scene in all its detail.

      But from then on , my skill only improved and soon I was able to muster enough confidence to venture out to the school, choosing a route that would keep me off the main road for most of the part.Lesson number two..it is  imperative that one is aware of one’s limitations. It makes no sense to indulge in any kind of false bravado.

      On those  first few days, the kids who come to the school were embarrassed for my sake , I think. I can’t think of another way of putting it. I would see them nudging each other  if they caught me inside the lane and trying to cover up their crooked grins with their hands. ( I also wear a flop hat to keep off the sun from my face and that must have added to the  anachronistic image I must have been projecting) The adults whom I encountered daily would also look up with curiosity almost expecting me to topple off any moment  and I almost did  many times. I was more disconcerted and would almost lose my balance when I became aware of those glances.But by and by , their curiosity wore off .

       So that was lesson number three. Do not put off doing things just because it may attract the curiosity of the world  and you feel uncomfortable with all the uninvited attention. Believe me, it wears off  and you would be a fool to have succumbed and given up for sake of the transient attention of the world.

       The longer you persist with doing something , the more familiar it becomes and the odds that appeared insurmountable actually begin to feel as “no big deal”. You learn to get the pace and know how to slow down when you have to. The bends in the road and the obstacles  that seem intent to mow you down  stop being alarming.

       You also learn that the “system” will always facilitate those who are bigger than you. Noida roads are all being “repatterned ” , doing away with the need for traffic lights at crossings to ensure smoother flow of traffic. So now , while the cars whiz along  without a break, pedestrians and cyclists have to wait humbly till providence awards you with a slight pause in the flow which just about allows you scurry across. Lesson learnt …Darwin’s theory  about survival of the fittest and other laws of the jungle extend to the cement ones too. So, might as well accept it .

      These last four days,  I have been  finding it extremely laborious to pedal my way to the school and back home. I kept asking myself whether I had been foolhardy to conclude that I was “young” enough to take up something that most people give up at half my age. I have become quite fond of my companion of the roads and I knew I would feel very regretful if I had to give up cycling. But yesterday, one of the youngsters in the school pointed out that the tyres were either punctured or it didn’t have enough air.

       So , yes , you may reach all the wrong conclusions of what you can or cannot do just because of sheer ignorance. Be aware of all the little things that are required to be attended to at the appropriate times and hey life can cruise along again J

      Her gentle eyes stared at me from the poster near the bus stop. There was to be a public meeting to urge the district administration and the police to bring her murderer to justice without further delay.

      I remembered her as a very unassuming teenaged girl, always wearing a long skirt and blouse with long , black plaited hair. She lived with her parents, a brother who was slightly mentally challenged and two younger sisters. There was just a tarred road separating our house from the row of rented houses across , one of which was theirs. We talked to each other from our respective verandahs . We became daily witnesses to the boy’s tantrums and his fights with his sisters. Non-interference in others’ affairs or ignoring them was not the way of small towns. We were privy to the goings on  of each household in the neighbourhood as they were to ours and an unstated bond of affection held sway.

     And then I got married and came away to  Delhi. For some years thereafter , on my yearly summer trips back to my hometown, I would see them all again , now slowly growing up. And then they shifted to some place else and I lost track of them.

     It was my nephew who first broke the news on the phone, of her gruesome murder by her husband and it was then that I picked up bits and pieces of what had transpired in between.

      She  was dusky complexioned and not very exuberant  by nature. She was not exactly sombre , but quiet and reserved. She was an affectionate girl, always enquiring about everyone in the family whenever she met my sister in the bus or elsewhere . She had completed her studies and taken up a job as a teacher. Her sisters had in the meanwhile got proposals for marriage and the parents had married them off . For some reason they had not been able to find a suitable match for her. Societal norms in small towns take ages to change even as  shopping arcades  replace the old  smaller outlets and private vehicles on the road increase . There was therefore very little chance of her finding a partner other than through the traditional familial match-making process or to have been let alone to live her life on her terms.

       At some point, the parents must’ve grown desperate and she must’ve mutely imbibed their frustration and longed to remove it. When this guy came along with his fairly stable financial background, her parents did not want to make too many detailed enquiries about his nature or antecedents and she was perhaps not the kind who would’ve insisted that they do so.

      But apparently many of the other neighbours had wondered at the choice as there had been rumours of his first wife having died in mysterious circumstances. Nothing had been established of course, but there had been an air of unease and suspicion all around when it had happened. Perhaps they had not thought it fit to interfere on her behalf or had assumed that the parents and the girl had decided to go ahead in spite of all the stories going around.

     Signs of an extremely violent disposition had soon become evident. He would beat her up at the slightest pretext, always accusing her of throwing glances at other men. She was not allowed to visit anyone and on the few occasions when she did go to her sisters’ houses or that of other close relatives, he always accompanied her. He dropped her at school and picked her up. She would sit looking straight ahead as any sideward glance at a known familiar face would immediately invite a tight slap then and there if the person passing by was a man.

       It was not as if the family was unaware of all this. She had  often shared what she was going through with some of her relatives , specially her sisters. One of the sisters was a spirited girl and had taken the husband to task many a time. He would then pretend to be apologetic and agree to mend his ways.

       The man had certainly not been normal. He drew sadistic pleasure in chopping off the legs and wings of the chicken before eventually killing it. He would rush off to the railway tracks nearby whenever he heard of an animal being run over by a train.

      Then one day, he had asked her to accompany him to the hospital and they had not returned.

      Early next morning, the brother who was sauntering along the road as was his wont, spotted their vehicle at a somewhat empty stretch of the road. He went rushing home to excitedly proclaim that his sister was lying dead inside , her neck sliced through. My sister later told me that the bus she was travelling in on that afternoon had slowed down near the place just as the police were covering up her body and that the gory sight had kept haunting her for many days.

     The husband had got an accomplice to help him with the murder on promise of  cash. The accomplice was arrested , but the husband  is still missing.

   Can’t help wondering why  a woman can’t be allowed to be single and  and happy instead of married and unhappy and as in this case, dead ? What is it in the female psyche that they cannot stand up and fight  even when  otherwise capable of fending for themselves? Why is it that societal approval becomes so predominantly desirable even at the cost of your children’s happiness? Why are we so very slow to change ?  

       I  suffer from wanderlust and there are ever so many places on my list that I really want to visit before I die. Some of them have just not happened even after almost finalizing the itinerary. Some trips just happened out of the blue without any prior notice or planning.

      Finally, this last December , I was able to fulfill one of those dreams. I visited the Silent Valley with two of my other friends.

      Madhavi and I travelled to Kannur and from there proceeded to Palghat by an overnight bus, where Vijaya was supposed to join us. Ravi, another young friend working in Hyderabad,  couldn’t make it at the last moment as an unexpected hartal over the Telengana issue made it impossible for him to reach the station to catch his rain. The poor chap was so very disappointed.

     Anyways, we reached the Palaghat station at about three in the  morning. Vijaya’s train was scheduled to arrive at 5.30, but it was running late. We sat on the steel chairs near the counter , just inside the entrance of the station. They weren’t comfortable as we kept slipping off and our eyelids were heavy with sleep. There weren’t too many people around at that hour. So Madhavi and I decided to sit more comfortably on the ground, leaning against the pillar. We dozed off. It was quite embarassing to wake up and  find a long line of people who had queued up beside us in the meanwhile.

    Vijaya’s train  finally arrived . It was more than four hours late. As we didn’t want to waste any more time we hired a taxi and reached Mukkali in about two and a half  hours’ time.  Mukkali is the base camp of the National Park. We had done prior telephonic  booking, followed up by e-mail, for our stay there. The Inspection Bungalow does not have too many rooms, but they are nice and clean and spacious. All three of us got accommodated in one room. The rent was quite reasonable.

      There are no  other hotels around  . We had lunch at a small dhaba like place near  where we were staying. An old couple served us hot rice , sambar, curds and pappad. It was a simple meal but very satisfying.

      That evening we trekked a bit  in the buffer zone area. The National Park has a core area of 89.5 sq.kms and is one of the best representative evergreen forests existing in the world. There has been very little human interference in its history and hence is splendourously glorious in its rich biodiversity. I’m speaking of the core jungle area, of course. Visitors just get to see the fringes.

        The place gets its name from the total absence of cicadas which otherwise  inhabit the tropical evergreen forests .

 

     While walking along the rough path through the forests that evening, we spied huge elephant droppings. They were dry, so the pachyderms must have walked that way many days ago. We did see a mother and its baby from a distance on the mountain slope across. It is a very strange , inexpressible feeling to come across an animal in its natural habitat. One feels so much the intruder.

       The next morning we went on a jeep safari through through the forests, stopping at intervals when our guide spotted some animal amongst the trees or on top of it. The lion-tailed macaque is an endangered species that is seen in these forests and we were lucky to spot a couple of them on our way. These monkeys survive on the fruits leaves and buds of a particular tree. Without those trees they would be destroyed. There are a large variety of such relationships thriving in these virgin forests. No wonder then that when the Kerala Electricity Board initiated a hydro-electric project to be built across the River Kunti , Silent valley became the focus of  a huge environmental movement that continued for many years. Eventually in 1984, it was Smt. Indira Gandhi who stalled the project. Unforunately she was killed  the same year and it was during the time of Rajiv Gandhi that Silent Valley was declared as a National Park . The Silent valley Movement was perhaps the first story of success in the history of environmental protection in our country and our visit happened to coincide with the silver jubilee year of it being declared as a protected forest.

       It is difficult to describe the richness of such a forest . After winding through the roads, which had been built by the Kerala Electricity Board when the hydro project was just mooted, we reached a watch tower. From atop the tower , as far as the eyes could see, there were mountains and ridges thick with trees. The canopy was beginning to change colour here and there; red and greenish yellow and pink. One kept wishing for those compound eyes which insects had , which could look in many directions at the same time. In a couple of months time, the entire forests would be a blaze of red, we were told.

       After getting out from the jeep, we trekked about one and half kms into the core area. That was as far  inside as visitors are allowed to go which was a huge disappointment , although one should have expected that. So unless you are a forest ranger or a guard or a photographer or researcher with a special permit, all those beautiful orchids and flora and fauna which thrive in all their glory in the deep jungle become accessible to you only in the books and photographs  and postcards one can buy at the office at the base camp. Still, we considered ourselves lucky that we could make the trip.

     We had a late lunch after getting back. Rested and refreshed we strolled down along the road in the evening , stopping by to chat with a family and requesting them for a few luscious looking deep pink “Chambakka” fruits which stared at us invitingly from a tree in their small courtyard. There are a few families living in the buffer are, most of them from the tribal community. They help the forest department to preserve the forests, preventing forest fires and poaching.

      At dusk , dark rainclouds gathered and soon there was a steady downpour. We sat near the entrance of the Inspection Bungalow , watching the rain and chatting with the Wildlife Warden who came by after a while. A very amiable person he was and quite in love with the forests, although he admitted that when he joined the forest service , it was just a matter of having some job. But the forests begin to grow on you after a while, he said. He regretted the fact that there was far too, little manpower  and too little budget allocated for protection of the forests in comparison to what was being spent on policing , say a city like Trivandrum.

     Just behind the Inspection Bungalow, the Bhavani River flows by. This is an Eastward flowing River which joins the River Cauvery, whereas the River Kunti flows Westward to join the Bharatapuzha. We climbed down the steps in the early morning, the next day. The rains of the previous evening had increased the flow and the waters flowed gushing by. Sitting there listening to the sound of running water was so soothing and soporific. We could have continued sitting there for hours. But we had to get back.

      The bus ride from Mukkali to Mannarkad  had us swerving from one angle to another as we had to travel standing   and the roads kept winding around the slope. From Mannarkad to Palaghat it was comparatively much more comfortable. We broke up at Palghat station. This time Madhavi went on to Ernakulam to visit her relatives and Vijaya and I returned to Kannur.

       I’m going to Silent Valley again, if possible during the monsoons. That is a promise I’ve made to myself. Let’s see. Meanwhile, do have a look at some of the photos I clicked.. Believe me, they cannot capture what its really like . The images of the green, green forests stored in my mind are going to haunt me , particularly in the coming months, when here in North India , the Loo winds will bring the dust and heat. To twist and old song “ Somewhere in my youth or childhood I must have done something bad” to be deserving to live in this cement jungle. But then again, I must have done something good to deserve going back to the rains and greenery of my home state , don’t you think so?

   Here’s the link to the photographs : http://www.flickr.com/photos/39163243@N07/

I was just viewing a slide show of pictures taken across the world on what is supposed to be “Women’s day” on the internet version of “The Hindu”. The varied images include protesters holding placards demanding the release of Aung San Suu Kyi and for stopping rape as a weapon of war in Burma, Katheryn Bigelow holding the Oscar award for the best director, Mulayam Singh Yadav and Lalu Prasad Yadav joining hands and shouting slogans against the Womens’ Reservation Bill, a Cambodian woman pulling a cart loaded with scraps and so on.

         Some years ago, on Womens’ Day, one of the Malayalam television channels had chosen to interview a young woman from Norway , I think it was , who was one of the main participants and spokespersons of a huge gathering of sexworkers from all over the world, which was taking place in Kerala at that time . Demands were being raised from a section of sexworkers for giving legal status to prostitution and treating it as an industry. The representative who was being interviewed , amongst other things said, that nowadays many women entered the trade on their own volition for the money or the spirit of adventure or whatever and therefore it should not be treated as a criminal activity and so on.


        In the initial stages of my blogging days on Rediffiland , I had written on the subject of prostitution and many of my friends had commented with a wide ranging array of views. I had deleted that post and many others in one of those quirky moods. For some reason, on every Womens’ day since that interview , the same comes back to mind and I cringe now as I cringed then. That a television channel would choose to feature , thereby almost applauding the voice that spoke for the freedom to be a sex worker as an example of justice and empowerment to the women all over the world , somehow made me feel so very uncomfortable. Prostitution is abominable, more so if there is victimization involved . I somehow cannot attach any dignity to it , in whatever form it exists, whether with free will or with coercion. But this is my personal view and may be I react to the issue too strongly.


        Anyway, here is another so called “Womens’ Day” slipping by. Personally, I’m beginning to believe more and more that if we wait for that Womens’ Reservation Bill or some apparently empowering “largesse’ to come our way, we’ll just keep waiting . Better to sieze whatever opportunity that comes our way , which allows us to be what we want to be .

        Me, I bought a bicycle today and hopefully in a week or so , will be borne along on the strength of my own steam:-) Wish me all the best friends:-)

         My dear friend Venkitesh called me up last night to say that he had decided to get me some books as plenty of water had flown under the bridge since the last time he got me one. How could I refuse, book-lover that I am.