Waiting — at the crossroads

Once you hit the road, without a personal vehicle, you need enormous patience to move from one point to the other, especially if you are in the rural areas of India. I was not an exception.

First, i waited exactly one hour and 15 minutes in the morning for the one-off bus to my destination. It didn’t arrive, as elusive as it can be. 

Once you hit the road, without a personal vehicle, you have to do a lots of permutations and combinations — something we all were good at as high school maths students but not now. I took a bus on a different route that will drop me at a junction on the highway from where i had to catch another bus to the village where i was headed to. 

Unfortunately, things are different now as the pandemic rules disallowed me to hop on to its roof unlike in the past when my regular bus rides gave me umpteenth opportunities for a 360-degree view — the sal trees bending to touch my forehead with its new-grown leaves, ducking my head to avoid any abrasion with the unevenly trimmed branches or the high-tension electric cables that criss-cross golden paddy fields, and the real wind-in-my-hair feeling. 

The window seat, with the warmth of a mid-morning winter sun, had only a skewed view. The bus carried the label of ‘super’ — means less stops like a superfast express train. But it truly was snail-paced, angering commuters who had to reach workplace on time. But a different day was in store for me. 

On a dusty stretch of the peeled-off-asphalt of the highway, the conductor asked me to get off and wait for another bus. Thus began a solitary wait for that solitary bus — Godot style. 

Once you hit the road, without a personal vehicle, things are about to unfold in a different way. I asked a tuk-tuk/toto driver, who was busy on his cellphone, about the bus. Among otherwise mundane things like untimely rain caused severe crop damage and sudden elephant invasion in his village, he politely told me there is only one bus in a day on this route, and it has already passed this junction. The one seen in this photo will never start! This means, in simple words, you have to walk 20 and odd kilometres amid dense forests. Else, wait for your luck for a hitch ride in a sparsely populated area with hardly any vehicle. 

Should I ask the truck driver who’s stopped to relieve himself by the road? How much distance can this tuk-tuk go on its battery? What about this motorcycle rider with a huge haystack on its pillion? I won’t fit there! Neither would i fit in this motorised van-rickshaw with some trunks of wood headed to a saw mill nearby. Options are minimal and fast diminishing as the sun is getting mild and shadows are growing longer than the tall sal and eucalyptus trees. 

No matter how tough is the day, I’m always optimistic that some magic will happen like the cormorant i spotted a whole afternoon perched on a small rock with its wings spread out before taking a plunge deep into the pond next to our house for its well-deserved lunch. 

And, magic it happened as a group of youngsters with football jerseys appearing from nowhere. They were on their way to play a five-a-side tournament in a neighbouring village. Accompanied by a coach, they were bubbling with confidence — of a victory that would earn them a spot in the semifinal. And, if they win the final, a goat is secured as winner’s trophy. In rural Bengal, such ‘khasi’ tournaments are not uncommon. They woke the drooling driver of tuk-tuk and asked if he can take them  — and, me — to the tournament ground. As I’ve always observed that people are always kind to strangers, and that afternoon was no exception: once you hit the road without a personal vehicle, you are never alone. 

Reporting the Other: Mutiny and Mutilation

Webinar at Kandra RKK Mahavidyalaya

The Politics of Gender Discrimination in Media: Critical Perspectives

September 20-21, 2020

REPORTING THE OTHER: MUTINY AND MUTILATION

On June 7 this year amid the height of Covid-induced pandemic, I got a distress call from one of our senior field reporters that someone had been sending her lewd messages for the past few hours, and if I could intervene to stop the abuse, as the sender was a Bengali – a language she does not understand. In our field of work, such harassment by unknown people against women is not uncommon these days – that will be discussed in details later − but our reporter was stunned for two reasons – first, she helped the migrant labourers, many of them women with children, arrange transport back to West Bengal while writing about their ordeals for days, and secondly, while doing so, she was putting her family at risk of being infected with coronavirus. Why the mother of a six-year-old kid should be at the receiving end of such abuse while doing her job?

The answer to the question lies in the system – a centuries-old patriarchal society that puts up stumbling blocks in her pursuit to find happiness while chasing her passion. Our reporter is the sole breadwinner of her family, as her husband has lost his job during the start of this financial year that coincided with the pandemic. The society could only possibly offer such abuses to a woman who struggles to make ends meet. Historically, for women aspiring to build a career, media has been the go-to sector where one can write stories and report incidents highlighting the plight and pleasure of the Other, the marginalised. But in the process to unshackle the bonds of patriarchy, the reporter herself is many a time tormented out on the field. In a postfeminist world when gender discrimination is sometimes called a thing of the past, the clamour for equality is often heard but not quite practised.

A case in point is Mona Eltahawy, the Egyptian-American journalist who faced police brutality while covering the Tahrir Square uprising in November 2011. Later, she writes in The Guardian, “I suffered a broken left arm and right hand. The Egyptian security forces' brutality is always ugly, often random and occasionally poetic. Initially, I assumed my experience was random, but a veteran human rights activist told me they knew exactly who I was and what they were doing to my writing arms when they sent riot police conscripts to that deserted shop…. The viciousness of their attack took me aback. Yes, I confess, this feminist thought they wouldn't beat a woman so hard. But I wasn't just a woman. My body had become Tahrir Square, and it was time for revenge against the revolution that had broken and humiliated Hosni Mubarak's police. And it continues. We've all seen that painfully iconic photograph of the woman who was beaten and stripped to her underwear by soldiers in Tahrir Square. Did you notice the soldier who was about to stomp on her exposed midriff? How could you not?” [1]

Over the course of last decade and with the advent of internet, such mutilation of body and thought of women journalists have now transcended from physical to digital. It would have been easier for them to stop going to field reporting but it turned out otherwise.

In one of her early despatches from Kundli in Haryana off the Delhi-Chandigarh highway, Barkha Dutt posts a 10-minute news story. Barkha, in the April 8 video on her YouTube channel, Mojo Story, says, “Nobody is focusing on how Covid-19 has been impacting women. Of course men are suffering but women have the double burden of running homes as well as taking care of children.... In this colony, there is an entire settlement of widowed women who are the most vulnerable. They run single-income homes in a deeply unequal society that still offers only limited opportunities to women but discriminates against those who have been widowed.” [2]

Five months down the line, i feel had there been no Barkha, who hit the road in a car for about 90 days across several states, we would certainly be devoid of a narrative that could have buried with the virus one day. She says, “As a journalist, you can’t give in to the fear. We signed up to do this. This is the biggest story of our lifetimes. How can we sit it out because we’re scared? The most depressing part is talking to the children of the migrants. When you ask a child, do you get food? He says: I get food when the NGO comes and gives. The mother is domestic help, the memsahib has said don’t come to work. There’s no money, so there’s no data on phones. There’s no data, so there’s no online classes. It has wrenched open an existing class divide, and it makes a certain class too uncomfortable. You have to tell a good story so people will care about it despite themselves, despite their guilt, despite their discomfort.” [3]

Writing as a tool for women emancipation and empowerment started long back in the 18^th century. Today, we all know how Mary Wollstonecraft’s ‘A Vindication of the Rights of Woman’ in 1792 set the foundation stone of feminism in literature. But what about her contemporary women journalists? Not many have read Anne Royall (1769-1854), or her life. Royall, the first professional woman journalist who forced the US President (John Quincy Adams, the 6^th President) to give her an interview, turned a rebel, as her in-laws had denied her property shortly after her husband’s untimely death.

In Washington DC with her petition for a federal pension as widow of an American Revolution veteran to the Congress, she could convince the President to support her plea in 1824. A new law for pension was passed in 1848 to her favour. But in between, she carried on writing books and started a newspaper, Paul Pry in 1831, two years after she had been termed a “public nuisance, a common brawler and a common scold” by the court for writing against the Presbyterian church. She was to be punished the medieval way of ducking stool but fined $10 instead. Incidentally, the $10 penalty was paid by two reporters of Washington’s The National Intelligencer, as she had been known among the press circles by then.

Till her death in 1854, she consistently faced financial woes as her battle was not only with the state and hostile advertisers but also with postmen who used to deny mailing of her newspaper to subscribers. Don’t we see the similar pattern in our digital world? Have we changed much? Are not the so-called social media heroes pleading others to attack women journalists? Ask Mumbai-based independent journalist Rana Ayyub, who wrote the book, The Gujarat Files, based on her investigation into the 2002 riots. She routinely calls out the current dispensation on policy and governance. She has come often under violent trolling from right-wing handles determined to drown her voice.

But what happened on April 22, 2018, with Ayyub, was terrible. Someone attributed a false tweet to her on the Kathua gang-rape, and opened the troll floodgates. Journalist Rituparna Chatterjee, quoting her, writes that it almost broke her, and she had to go to the hospital for an emergency health check-up. “I couldn’t sleep for three nights. I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was numb. My parents called me to see if I was OK,” Ayyub says. “The trolls posted my phone number, the address of my house online.” She feared for her safety. “If this is the depth of their hatred, what will stop them from coming into my house as a mob and kill me?” She decided enough was enough. Accompanied by lawyer Vrinda Grover, Ayyub filed a criminal complaint at New Delhi’s Saket police station four days later on April 26. But her ordeal hadn’t ended. A policeman at the cybercrime cell asked Grover, “Why she did not file the complaint at a police station in the area in which she first saw the fake tweet?” After much persuasion by her lawyer, the police accepted the complaint and promised to send it for further investigation to the special cell.

“I’ve been trolled before, but I have never faced anything like this. I don’t know what else I have to fear after this. There are marches when people are killed. I’m repeatedly telling the state that I’m under attack and I fear for my safety. Will they take action only after something happens?” she asks Chatterjee. [4]

From Anne Royall to Rana Ayyub – the mutiny goes on for 200 years. It’s a mutiny against patriarchal hegemony thrust upon a woman at every step yet a journalist’s storytelling goes unabated withstanding such mutilations and humiliations every day. In the process, sometimes we get stories like Rukmini Callimachi’s historical take on Yazidi sex slaves of Islamic State terrorists in March 2016. Sometimes, we lose a journalist like Kim Wall whose mutilated body, practically just the torso, washed ashore 11 days after she had gone missing while interviewing Danish inventor Peter Madsen in August 2017 on board the scientist’s submarine. Madsen claimed that Wall had fallen down a set of stairs, but an autopsy revealed that she had been stabbed numerous times, including at least 14 wounds to her genitals. Footage of women being tortured and mutilated was also found on Madsen’s hard drive.

In an essay for The Guardian, Wall’s reporting partner, Italy-based Caterina Clerici argues that her death should not be used to blame women or exclude them from this sort of reporting.[5] But it does reanimate the fears many female journalists swallow or otherwise suppress. US-based independent journalist Liana Aghajanian says, “When you read about Kim Wall, your worst fears get confirmed. I think back to every situation I’ve been in, even in the US: getting into a car with someone, visiting someone in their home. Every instance is one where what happened to Kim could happen to you. As journalists, we all want access. We want to go in that submarine. But at what risk do we get that access?” [6]

Risk is something that has made a news reporter’s job, over the past few years, one among the five most stressful jobs worldwide according to several studies. However, journalists every day risk their lives to get to the bottom of a story. I think the Yazidi sex slave story[7] of 2016 by Callimachi, a Romanian-American, is a seminal one in gender studies in journalism as a woman from an ultra-modern city travels at least thrice to war-ravaged Iraq and Syria to gather details of tormented ones and interview them for a story in world’s one of the most respected and widely read newspapers, New York Times. It not only lets a woman journalist to explore the intricacies of sex slave trade of a different religion in a different region and culture but also depicts deep-rooted discrimination against children and women – marginalised to the horizon in a troubled time terrorised by fanatics of Islamic State.

More than a year after the story was published, Callimachi writes, “Being a woman was helpful. I say that with caution, because some of the most revealing and sensitive stories on rape have been done by my male colleagues: Jeffrey Gettleman on male rape in eastern Congo and Adam Nossiter on the rapes inside of a soccer stadium in Guinea, for example. Both stories put important issues on the map. But I could get these girls to open up by telling them, Somebody very close to me, in my own family, was gang-raped as a teenager. I was raised with her story. I’d tell them they should not suffer any shame for what happened to them. It was not their fault. I tried to make it clear to them that what they’re about to describe is something quite personal to me, given my family’s history, and I do not come at this with some morose curiosity.” [8]

On one hand, women journalists across continents are coming up with such narratives that have usually, and to some extent deliberately, been untouched for ages while on the other, they are waging an everyday battle against various levels of the system to leave an indelible mark in the society. It’s no longer only a struggle for women to get the desired space that is long overdue but also to work successfully within that space. Some battles are easily won but several others are not. And, here comes the role of editors in the newsroom. In Callimachi’s words, “My editor has been Doug Schorzman. He was really instrumental because when I pitched the story there was significant pushback from other elements in the newsroom. This is a story that has already been done. We know about the Yazidi rape victims; what are you going to say that’s new? Doug is the father of two young girls. I’m not sure he would describe himself this way, but I see him as a feminist. He really had my back and rallied for me to do this piece.” [9]

For any news organisation, it helps to highlight several issues if the editor understands the reality of marginalised Other – from women to gays, from transgender to queer. If a newspaper is run by women in the top, as in my case at present, it’s great to have different voices both in print and newsroom. In July 2009, I was working with Kolkata’s largest English daily that came up with a graphic portraying the chief minister and senior bureaucrats wearing sari, as they apparently could not do much for West Bengal. 

One of the first critics was my university professor who wrote on my Facebook wall: “What’s the big deal about that sexist graphic? Is that all you have to say? It doesn’t make me proud that I was once your teacher and that you did my gender classes. Maybe (I) am a total failure or is this what being a savvy cool journalist means?” Why i am quoting her verbatim is not to defend myself, which I could never do before I was unfriended, but the real reason is that there was no woman involved while the graphic was ideated. It’s needless to say sane and sensible male voices like me were also not heard.

Today, 11 years down the line, a graphic with such gender discrimination will hardly be conceptualised in a mainstream media, as the space has not shrunk for women rather myriad avenues on social media have been created for her to talk and raise the voice for a mutiny. And, even if something of this sort happens, journalists within the organisation will protest, as has recently happened with Shantashree Sarkar, who quit an English news channel on September 8 over ethical questions, as being asked to suit the patriarchal propaganda of its misogynist owner-editor. She writes, “I am finally putting out on social media. I have quit (I’m not naming the channel) for ethical reasons. I am still under notice period but I just can't resist today to throw light upon the aggressive agenda being run by (the channel) to vilify #RheaChakraborty. High time I speak out! I was taught #journalism to unearth truth. In #shushant case, I was asked to take out details of everything but not truth... Of course it didn’t suit (their) agenda... Then I witnessed how my colleagues started harassing any random people who visited Rhea’s apartment... They thought shouting & pulling a woman’s cloth will make them relevant in the channel! As I was dealing with trauma of how wrong this story is getting reported and how a woman is shamed publicly, I was punished for not bringing out biased stories by making me work round the clock as a punishment. I worked for 72 hours straight without rest. Whatever stories I have done so far, I can proudly say, there was never any bias. When time came for me to sell my morals to vilify a woman, I took a stand finally.” [10]

This mutiny will continue even as women are mutilated in news or newsrooms. Out of such conflicts, a new perspective in journalism will emerge.

---

[1] Eltahawy, Mona. ‘Bruised but defiant’, The Guardian (December 23, 2011), London

[2] Dutt, Barkha. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmE4G5EahcM Accessed on September 6, 2020

[3] Jha, Rega. ‘How Barkha Dutt Took COVID-19 Coverage From Studios to the Streets of India’. www.shethepeople.tv/home-top-video/how-barkha-dutt-took-covid-19-coverage-from-studios-to-the-streets-of-india Accessed on August 29, 2020

[4] Chatterjee, Rituparna. https://www.dailyo.in/variety/rana-ayyub-trolling-fake-tweet-social-media-harassment-hindutva/story/1/23733.html April 26, 2018. Accessed on August 29, 2020

[5] Clerici, Caterina. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2017/oct/12/my-friend-kim-wall-journalist October 12, 2017. Accessed on September 7, 2020

[6] Petersen, Anne Helen. https://www.cjr.org/special_report/reporting-female-harassment-journalism.php

Winter 2018. Accessed on September 5, 2020

[7] Callimachi, Rukmini. https://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/13/world/middleeast/to-maintain-supply-of-sex-slaves-isis-pushes-birth-control.html March 12, 2016. Accessed on September 7, 2020

[8] Green, Elon. https://www.cjr.org/the_feature/isis-rukmini-callimachi-new-york-times.php April 10, 2017. Accessed on August 29, 2020

[9] Green.

[10] Sarkar, Shantashree. https://twitter.com/sarkarshanta/status/1303391282841092096 September 8, 2020. Accessed on September 9, 2020

Lock-unlock-lock-unlock...

From immunity-boosting lemons to panic buying of pulse oximeters --- Punekars have again stocked up everything today, as the city is bracing for another 10 days of 'strict lockdown' in the times of coronavirus-induced pandemic. Frankly, i don't know where we are leading to with so many lockdowns. For the record, the city is going to witness sixth phase of lockdown, and ironically enough --- amid Unlock 2.0. 

What always concerned me during the ever-stretching lockdown, as cordon sanitaire is popularly known in this part of the world since March, how someone will deal with mishaps at home --- a broken kitchen tap or short-circuit of fuse or even a broadband modem issue. I remember on a winter afternoon, the shower tap of our apartment's bathroom suddenly going bust, as i was taking a bath, and i could hardly control anything. By the time we, thankfully my wife was at home then, could switch off the connecting pipeline and call a plumber, our room was overflowing; and, i had to take a leave from office just to put things in order.

If something happens today, how will i, or anyone, manage? One of my colleagues suffered internet breakdown in early-April when we had just started working from home, a process not unknown to many software engineers but a complete new aspect in the print newspaper business. Even six months ago, i could not imagine desk editors and designers are working from different locations and bringing out the paper every evening in a seamless process in just about four-five hours. After going through the trauma of intermittent broadband for a few days, he got hold of a portable Wi-Fi dongle, and when we were speaking yesterday, i got to know that now his house has five different sets of back-ups from as many internet service providers. 

Not everyone can stock internet devices like him to tide over such an unprecedented situation. But how is it justified to pick up 23 packs of hand sanitisers? Or, 8 litres of milk, especially when this is part of essential commodity? Shops selling milk and medicines will remain open in Pune from July 14 to 18 but nothing else --- nor even vegetables or grocery items. I feel lockdowns have led to more stress among all of us than serving any real purpose. Those who still feel lockdown will kill the virus or break the chain of infection should look at the health stats after it was lifted. And, the country, or any city, can be under lockdown forever; it's unrealistic. Between July 14 and 24, there will be less infections in Pune but what will happen after July 25? 

What we need is awareness about how to keep ourselves safe with precautions. Ruining the economy, on track to rebound, is not the call of the hour. Also, i am confident i would not see a sea change in health infrastructure in the city after 10 days of lockdown either. Then why should we need such frequent cordon sanitaire? 

On and Off: Lockdown Saga

What's on? And, what's off? My days have never oscillated between these two extremes than in the past three months. And, this lockdown-induced off-on phenomenon started when there was no cordon sanitaire in this country. 

On January 30, India reported its first case in Kerala's Thrissur. Most of us thought that like Sars or Nipah or Ebola or Mers, this too will be contained soon although the nCoV's first strain was found in China's Wuhan at least 30 days before that. On January 29, World Health Organization (WHO) issued its first advice on the use of masks. This led to a flurry of thoughts among people while several were of the opinion that masks are not necessary to curb the virus, especially the advice noted that 'medical mask is not required, as no evidence is available on its usefulness to protect non-sick persons'. To me, that was the first off-on dilemma --- whether you need a mask or not!

About a fortnight back then, in mid-January, when i went to pick up some masks with my friend to a neighbourhood medicine shop, the imported N95 masks were found at Rs 100 apiece. Shortly, the imported varieties were off the shelves, and replaced by cheaper local varieties at Rs 50-60 per piece. My friend, who began using it during his commute in January, was ridiculed by his colleagues till each of them got one from the office in third week of March for mandatory use. Even on March 9 when i met two doctor friends, neither of them was wearing a mask. Incidentally, that was the day Pune recorded its first covid case.

Masks are probably the first weapon --- second being washing hands with soap or rubbing the palms with alcohol-based sanitisers --- to win the battle against covid. Incidentally, masks were made mandatory during Spanish flu of 1918 as is evident in this photo of a New York postman. 

Most of the on and off orders began once the country had gone to strict lockdown mode from March 25. It may be funny but worth recalling that several such orders had, or still have, been operating on different layers. Something what the Union government allows to operate is also okayed by the state government but the local civic body does not approve it, which however gets the police station-level nod but does not reach your doorstep, as the housing complex bosses have the last word.

  

From housemaids to milk packets, from newspapers to liquor shops, from cab aggregators to food delivery partners --- separate and ever-changing rules for each sector baffled me, like thousands others. Not only the tangible ones, think about the apps. Of course, it would have been prudent if all establishments, be it government or private, adhere to only one app, maybe the centralised contact tracing app Aarogya Setu, downloaded by 13.86 crore of Indians (about 10% of total population) as on July 6. But that's not the case. From government departments to private offices to even local departmental stores began developing apps during the lockdown. And, when Unlock 1.0 was rolled out last month (ironically, amid lockdown!), such apps made way to homescreen of our smartphones. If you don't have a smartphone today (only 25.3% Indians had smartphones in September 2019), then you are doomed, and may face difficulty to access basic facilities, like taking a train.

Adding to the confusion are numerous orders-revised orders-clarifications by the government about whether this kind of shop should remain open or even asymptomatic patients should be at home or not. Like many an archaic British-era law, another such rule, Epidemic Diseases Act of 1897 (yes, not 1997, which i thought a typo coming across for the first came in a government order in March), has been imposed on us to tackle this crisis. It reminded me of West Bengal government's land acquisition in Singur in 2008 under an act that itself was 115 years old that time!

Under this 1897 act, sale of tobacco is apparently banned during epidemic, but what about the liquor sale? It got a nod as it would ramp up revenue, as if no tax is levied on cigarettes. Fuel refill stations in Pune were open to only essential service vehicles between 10 am and 2 pm, in clear indication that nCoV remains inactive during that time. But such vehicles could not refill tyres as all garages were closed for two months. Look for a garage that was operating surreptitiously to fix a tyre if that goes flat --- probably local admin wanted that.

So were the vegetables and grocery shops opened between 10 am and 12 noon, leading to crowded markets but babus were hardly convinced. They thought that it's perfectly alright, and when the government announced one day that shops selling essential items can be opened for 12 hours till 7 pm, the next day local police reimposed the old order! There is hardly any respite from such confusing orders and executions.

I came across letters written to the editor of The Times of India while researching how people reacted to the plague epidemic that struck Bombay in 1896. Not to my surprise, people almost 125 years ago also asked for proper isolation against the similar backdrop of fears and stigma of a contagious disease like today, fuelled by perplexing civic orders!

Back to Roots

Usually, i don't discuss politics with the mass on social media because most of the people out there flaunting their knowledge about everything hardly knows how the government, especially at the grassroots level, functions. For example, most of my friends don't know what a three-tier panchayat is or what a borough office does in a city like Kolkata. Even at a higher level, intricacies of governance are not known to us; and, i don't blame them for this because we are never encouraged to learn so-called mundane stuff of life.

Exactly a month back when one of my friends, who stays abroad, shared a positive story from an English daily that highlighted how the chief minister of West Bengal doled out Rs 20,000 each to 5 lakh cyclone Amphan-affected families in 9 days since the severe storm had devastated a vast area of south Bengal, i sent him a text. "It has gone back to the party leaders from beneficiaries, who hardly got anything left to repair their houses," i wrote. 

My friend agreed that it's not possible for him to gather details in abroad although such a gesture from the CM should be appreciated. And, we ended the chat with me saying that i also want cash should reach right people at this hour of crisis. 

Today, when reports are coming in from several block offices in worst-affected districts of south Bengal that people are queuing up to return money, it hardly surprises me.

My question is: what went wrong in end-May or early-June when the first tranche of cash was to be disbursed among villagers without a roof when the cyclone had struck on May 20-21? First, it was not possible like in earlier years that people throng BDO's offices for cash, as with Aadhaar linking in force, the amount is directly transferred to the beneficiaries. That leads to the second argument: who would draw up the list of beneficiaries in the aftermath of Amphan? As has been the rule, block-level government officers inspect a village and draw a list of families entitled for any relief operations. 

The twist in the tragic tale lies in the second factor. Instead of asking the government officers, the administration requested grassroots-level lawmakers to make the list. This logic was based on two other factors --- 1. most government offices were working with skeletal staff because of coronavirus pandemic 2. fast and timely disbursement of relief in cash was the administration's focus.

Once that was decided, the rest has been a simple process. Almost every part-level member and village heads came up with list of families having political inclination towards their parties, mainly the ruling one. And, thus opened the Pandora's Box. True to the news story that the government indeed sent millions in total to accounts of beneficiaries but that included some real and some bogus. Today, the bogus ones, and several ruling party workers, are returning money in lakhs back to the exchequer under instructions from higher-ups but have the all real sufferers got all of Rs 20,000? No.

The administration, or even the party, should find answers why someone has to part with almost entire amount of Rs 20,000 after withdrawing it from bank, and is left with just Rs 150. Such stories are galore, and known to the top party brass. If i get such information sitting hundreds of kilometres away from ground zero, i hope that officials know much better than me, and party bosses are the best to answer the question. 

The ruling party, Trinamool Congress, has less than a year to retain power in the Assembly even as its main opponent, Bharatiya Janata Party, had an astounding vote share in last year's general elections. It's barely 3 per cent vote share that Trinamool had an edge over BJP last year. In 2008 panchayat elections, Trinamool catapulted itself as the emerging party with a strong leadership that steered it with winning 14 seats in 2014 Lok Sabha elections and finishing it off by winning the 2011 elections on a huge margin. South Bengal has been its fortress since its electoral debut in 1998 general elections in which it won seven seats. Later, its first zilla parishad-level victories were from East Midnapore and South 24-Parganas --- both are hit by Amphan this year with the latter bearing the brunt with its neighbour North 24-Parganas.

In a nutshell, Trinamool has a tough time ahead, particularly after losing seven Lok Sabha seats to BJP in north Bengal; barring one constituency, Lok Sabha seats in six districts in the western part of the state also went to BJP. If such corruption in the aftermath of a natural calamity is not plugged in south Bengal soon, it'll be difficult for Trinamool to return to Nabanna next summer.

Fees, freebies and a few dreams

Courage. And, dreams. For anyone in late teens, these are the words weaving the head and heart, especially if someone from an underprivileged background wants to go for higher studies. 

In a dimly lit hostel room — those were the days of tungsten bulbs with warm yellow light — on the Visva-Bharati campus, one of my friends started his story. And, another followed. And others, shortly thereafter. Sharing maybe caring. In that early winter night, i felt that i'm the most privileged among them all although my father retired a year ago and our family was going through a crisis, though not much financial.

A farmer in Malda who lost his last few cottahs of land to the mighty Ganga but did not tell his son, as the latter, preparing for GATE, would be tense. After the exam, he went back home only to find his village obliterated from the Earth; his parents and relatives taking shelter in a high school. Today, 20 years later, the student is back as a professor in one of the top engineering colleges in the country after a long stint at a university in the US. 

Or, the boy from a nondescript village in Jharkhand who once took part in the movement for a separate state as a schoolkid. After his post-graduation in the university, founded by educationist Rabindranath Tagore, the once-firebrand rebel is now a senior officer in the Indian government. Such anecdotes are galore.

Photo by Rajarshi Biswas

Visva-Bharati, declared a central university in 1951, 10 years after Tagore breathed his last, has groomed students from different sections of the society for decades to live up to the poet's dream. Unlike universities in the state, Visva-Bharati and other central universities in India are directly monitored by the Union government, and more importantly fees are quite low compared to private ones. When we studied, the hostel fee was Rs 18 per month and tuition fees Rs 15. The kitchen charges for food — lunch and dinner — were around Rs 400 per month. Before the year-end exams, we used to queue up to pay around Rs 700 in all, including exam fees. 

Why am i writing this? At a time when there's a clamour on the social media, and in some mainstream media too, in the past few days about raising fees in government universities, i was compelled to revisit my past when a bed in a hostel in my university, Visva-Bharati, seemed worth a lakh. Not many could afford Rs 500 for a bed in a cramped mess outside the campus plus another Rs 1,000 for lunch-and-dinner dabba service every month. Of course we had students from affluent class also for whom such hostels were out of bounds as they used to ride expensive motorcycles while staying on rent at houses in Bolpur and Santiniketan and many of us had to do with second-hand ramshackled bicycles.

But we all were happy in the hostel, which accommodated around 300 students, including PhD research scholars. Now, we are talking about doing away with subsidies in higher education — something that successive governments have infamously achieved to do with hardly any increase in budget for central universities. When i recall faces of the students, must be some hundreds, in our and other hostels, i can see the joy and mirth in them playing cricket or football or volleyball while excelling in studies and research. If we, the taxpayers, now withdraw the subsidy, we will not only send them to the dungeons of a deadly future but also will rob their courage to even pursue the dream. 

Amid all these, we, the people, confer institute of eminence tag to private universities, including those yet to take off, and try to justify our stand to raise hostel fees in traditional central universities manifold, sometimes 300%. Irony cannot be better than this, perhaps.

Searching...

It needs just a click to be a friend — at least to show your intention to become friend with someone. We even may not know the person, we may have never met, never talked... yet we are friends. At least i've several "friends" on Facebook who i'm yet to meet face to face. But i know who s/he is, what s/he does for a living, the last city s/he visited, the food s/he loves and what nots... Facebook reminded me the other day of a 10-year friendship with a person who i did not forget but never bothered to check the names of kids the couple have! The reason is simple: no Facebook update from their end. It's easy to be friends and easier to forget.

But our school hostels did not teach life as such. There, friends were everything. When i was shivering with fever, my roommates used to give me paracetamol or bring food home before informing the warden. Before exams, we did exchange notes unlike millions of children taught otherwise by parents these days. We used to debate on issues ranging from science to society — far more in depth than that we do on social media now. The concept of friend, for me, was indeed not necessarily not "in need". I'm sure you also have same experience in your childhood. 

Has social media robbed me, and you, of what could have been more social connect? Do i really need 1,300 and odd friends who are on my Facebook list? I've seen people, especially millennials, fighting over how many friends are on their list. Go through your friend list once: check when you last had a hearty laughter with him/her. Well, i'm repeating the same cliche — social media friendship — that is being researched for quite some time now. I may not have needed to utter a single word but a dream last night took me to a different world, when i used to share my afternoons with Arnab.

Like many of us on Facebook, i also looked for Arnab by filling in the blank on "search". Lots of results with same name and last name. But the face is hardly similar to that decades ago. Can i forget, or remember at all, the face of a primary school friend? I am remotely in touch with only one of my primary school classmate but no clues of Arnab. Thoughts, particularly the sub-conscious ones, have a spontaneity not like the mundane reality of life where you go to office, do your job, come back home to spend very little time with family. Amid such thoughts, sometimes we all are reminded of the long-lost friend, in reality or in dream.

Kill it

1.

CBP immigration check done. We were waiting for our suitcases at conveyor belt downstairs with hundred others. Bored, after an 11-hour flight, i started fiddling with my iPhone, looking for Wi-Fi. No sooner the belt had started popping out luggage than messages began dropping ping-ping-ping... One text simply left me speechless: “***** is no more. Committed suicide last night.”

This is not the message to welcome you abroad; this is not the text you hope to hear from a dear friend about another from the same group that used to come back home together after office for years; this can neither be an info nor a news though he, like me and the other friend, was a journalist throughout his life, and death. No news is good news, i thought so.

2.

Apart from liking occasional posts and pictures on the social media, we were not much in touch — a common trait of most of us in these screen-controlled days. The last time we met was some 15 months ago when i had gone to my old office to meet former colleagues as i was shifting base. We met briefly, wishing each other with a word: “Rest is on Facebook!”

And, Facebook indeed is cruel. Its messenger said the other day: “ He killed self.” Messenger of news; messenger of death. “ Reason yet to be known clearly...” — another messenger to keep me abreast of the latest. I could not continue the conversation with our common colleague. Another journalist; depressed; stressed; found a couple of days after death.

3.

Do you know ***** jumped to his death? When? Why? Possibly depressed. But why? Maybe in fear of losing his job. Job? Is that all in life? Can’t one secure one’s life without job? He could well be without a job; he was an artist. An acclaimed artist of his generation. Got his Master’s degree from my university, still the best institute in the country to pick up nuances of fine arts.

Arts never teaches anyone to look at life as finite; its all pervasive force takes you beyond the darkness of death to another life. Was he looking for that life? Is he happy now not to struggle with the crowd to reach office; not to open his paintbrush for a quick illustration for our paper; not to enjoy a puff with colleagues on the pavement teeming with commuters rushing for the Metro?

-----------------------------

We could not save them. I could not. No one could. They were all great individuals yet did not know how to avoid suicide; how to cope with mental health; how to live this LIFE. They all wrote or did illustration about death, suicide, depression, maybe even mental health, for years; yet, they chose a different life — a different death. Could they talk to their close friends or relatives? Or, even psychologists? At times, we all feel depressed for various reasons but depression is not chakravyuh. There are ways to come out; let’s learn that. I just don’t want any of my friends choose such an extreme. Live and let live. Kill that thought; kill the negative vibes; kill it before it kills you.

Rider to Crew

[This blog is not intended just only to recollect my, or our, experiences and short-comings as a crew but also it might help people like me who enjoy a gradual shift from a mere cyclist to a randonneur to crew member to help ultra cyclists realise their dreams.]


Crewing for long-distance cycling racers is tough — both mentally and physically. Till the other day, i didn't know why people used to say: A crew cannot win the rider a race but very well lose it for you.

Like every other journey in life comes with surprises and lessons, crewing for me was altogether a new experience, which was not an easy task either. Back in June-July 2016, when we tried to put together a team for competing in Deccan Cliffhanger, a RAAM-qualifier race, we were confident about one thing: if riders give 100%, the crew will also follow that. 

Once our team was ready by early August, we started two things immediately: Hard practice by riders and race strategy by the crew members. For being a good crew, one needs to have several qualities, and the foremost should be a cyclist himself or herself. It's very difficult for anyone crewing for ultra cyclists without understanding their problems, and demands on the race.

We spent several hours planning the race, as we wanted 100% of our back-end jobs complete a day before Pinaki and Imran were to hit the starting line. Since the racer and crew were in different cities, and travelling most of the week because of their job, we thought to use WhatsApp to a great extent to share our ideas almost round-the-clock. Incidentally, there was no WhatsApp video calls then, and we practically did everything on chat! Technology, especially the communication part, is very crucial in any cycling team to be successful. 

So, how does one prepare as a crew member? We've all seen how a driver in Formula 1 zooms past everything. But what drives the driver? A team of professionals — from automobile engineers to garage workers, practically. And, a person has to do a lot more than his/her own skills too. Likewise, in ultra cycling team, a crew member has to arrange everything even as his/her role is assigned. Except the driver/s of the crew vehicle/s, the other crew members are supposed to take care of the supply line — that includes nutrition, hydration, accessories, apparel etc for the rider/s and also for the crew!

We took three steps seriously to make our preparations rock solid. First, we started to read up stories and blogs of other ultra cyclists who had attempted Deccan Cliffhanger successfully. Obviously, we wanted to learn from the mistakes they did and also to put to use their success mantra. The best blog we found is none other than Chaitanya Velhal's who is an RQ racer, Ironman finisher, and also a great crew who had experience in RAAM also. His blog, http://chaitanyavelhal.com/2016/09/08/25-absolutely-essential-things-remember-long-distance-cycling-india, was an eye-opener to me, as well as many others. 

Second, we attended the crew seminar in Pune just three weeks before the race. There, many racers and crew shared their experience. It was also a learning experience on how to plan on-road nutrition and hydration for the riders. The best part from this seminar was to successful execution of rider change plan and sleep management.

The third was the most important part of our preparations. A dry run. We thought that a dry run was essential before the race to check whether everything was in order. We chose to cover around 200 km of the 650 km of the race on the Diwali holiday. And, the best part from this was to plan the Ghat sections. We knew that the whole Pune-Goa route is undulating but our target was to cover the Ghat sections at ease. The dry run five days before the race made our strategy perfect.

Deccan Cliffhanger is just a two-day race unlike RAAM's 12-day rigour. But for me, it was a huge experience. Fortunately, we did not have more than one flat tyre just off Satara town in Imran's rear tube but the race tested our patience, sleep-deprived conditions, surviving on dry food for hours and what-nots! On my part, to encourage the racers, i ran up several metres on the ghat section along with them apart from occasional dances to motivate them! Yes, they could fall off the saddle laughing but nothing of that sort happened and these little tricks worked very well for the riders. Also, in absence of a physiotherapist, i took on the role of a masseur too! 

Obviously, i had a great time on the road, off the cycle, and helped two ultra cyclists romp home with finisher's medals!

Swachh Bharat: A Dream or Reality

Room No. 3, Advaitananda Bhavana, Ramakrishna Mission Vidyalaya, Narendrapur, 1991: Gifted a broom by one of the hostel seniors to clean it in 10 minutes. No, it was not ragging. it was my first brush with what people call Swachh Bharat Abhiyan nowadays.

Charity begins at home. So cleanliness should also begin at home. Yes that was the mantra we learnt when I was in the first year of my long hostel life in school. And, learning came with reward also. Every Sunday night, the "best room" award used to be announced in which the roommates of the best clean room were given a lozenge each. 

Besides the "best room" contest, we also shared our duties every week to keep our campus clean. I vividly remember one of our friends, the son of a wealthy businessman of the city then, was given the duty of surrounding cleaning. As the tell-tale name suggests, the boy — with long broom in hand like what we see celebrities use for photo-ops these days — was supposed to clean the hostel surroundings along with five of his friends. He was not very keen and our warden just used the broomstick on the kid's back several times to make cleanliness, and responsibility, a habit! Such was our grooming unlike millions of Indians outside the 15ft wall around us. 

Department of English and Other Modern European Languages, Visva-Bharati, Santiniketan, March 10, 2000: We took up brooms as our collective responsibility towards cleaning the department. It has been a decades-old tradition in Santiniketan when its founder Rabindranath Tagore began cleaning the ashram in honour of none other than Mahatma Gandhi, who was a visitor to Gurudev's abode of peace. Even today, ashramites gather in their respective places for a mass cleaning exercise on March 10, christened "Gandhi Punyah" by Tagore himself.

Gandhi's influence on people — from Tagore to Narendra Modi — seems immense so far as cleanliness is concerned. Even 10 years ago, I saw several posters on railway stations with Gandhi's message: Cleanliness is next to Godliness. Nowadays, even railway officials hardly try to pass on this message to either the passengers or the junior officers. Time has changed but not the indiscipline attitude of people towards cleaning their surroundings. Which "ness" is to be blamed for that — awareness, laziness, carelessness, callousness, fearlessness of law or obliviousness to our values?

I feel angry to watch people spit on the streets and litter around roads. Do they behave at home like this? Do we need a Prime Minister to cane around us to teach us about cleanliness? Do we need a Bharat Ratna cricketer to record a video of broom in hand to teach us what cleanliness is all about? 
Most probably, yes. 

Cricket, and beyond

"Eat cricket, sleep cricket" — a slogan once popularised by a cola MNC still reverberates from the Valley to the Ocean. Like many an acquired stuff from our colonisers, we have "inherited" the game, we have reinvented the game with its shortest form, an annual money-spinning exercise. I've nothing against it. It's a game millions love to watch, we bask in the glory of our champs on the field. We cheer for them. We cry for them. We seldom cry for Sukhen Dey, or Rituparna Das, or Shreyasi Singh, or Amarjit Nagi, or Nilesh Shinde. The list is endless.

No, they are not from Mars. We, the cricket-fed crowd, have hardly thought existence of any other sporting activity other than the 22-yard summer masaala matches. Yes, i'm talking about IPL. We claim that cricket is in our DNA. Yet, we hardly bother to watch men in white. Blue is the colour. Ranji? What's that? Test? That boring one? Who has the time to watch a Test match? But we like football — one of the highest viewership of Fifa World Cup 2014 was from India. Population, not passion, is the reason.

Who wants to play football? Body-contact game. Don't even go for that. Play Fifa 14 on iPad instead. Yes, the parents — the concerned ones. But what do they do after school? Tuition. Else, learn something fruitful that may make you a billionaire like Sachin. But why not Schumacher? No, who wants to die so fast? But he hasn't died yet. The risk is there. So many speeding cars on the road. But you have bought him a motorcycle? Oh! That's for his tuition and cricket coaching. Then, why doesn't he get training for Moto GP? Training for what? Moto GP, where Mahindra has been the first Indian team to take part in 2011. 

Sporting activities, especially the outdoor ones, are on extinction among the youngsters. It's certainly not a good sign. Do we have interest in hockey? Who is the Team India hockey captain? Would be "some Singh". Who is Nilesh Shinde? I don't know. He's the captain of Bengal Warriors. What's that buddy? It's a team in Pro Kabaddi. Yes, i saw SRK, Big B and Aamir's picture the other day at some kabaddi match. Yes, we need the glam factor. We've seen this in cricket, sorry in IPL. 

One of my friends told me a couple of months ago when we thought of organising an anti-cancer cycle rally that to make it a success we need a celebrity. Finding a celebrity to talk against smoking, or cancer, is like searching a footballer from Shivaji Park. Moreover, who is interested in cycling? Two wheels only. Out in the open. No AC (!). And, you consider it as a sports? Why not, have you watched Tour de France ever, maybe on TV? No, we went to France on a 19-day European tour, but that Tour de France was not included in the itinerary; should i call up the travel agent for skipping that?

Simply, we don't know anything other than what the politicians, celebs and media feed us. We never wanted to know beyond that. We just love to be what we are: checking inbox, typing texts, waiting for the video to buffer, changing handsets, downloading movies, and what not! Physical activities are confined only to moving the brain tissues. And, sporting activities can stay on the small screen in the drawing room. 

Telephone Travails

The cellphone hardly stopped ringing, and that too in the national roaming when my balance was on reverse mode. Still, i picked up calls and following is a series of conversations with unknown numbers! 

Sir, we are giving you special 10% discount on down payment for your dream flat in Greater Noida. When can you come for a visit?
No, I don't need it right now.

But after Navratri, you will not get any discount Sir.

But i don't want to buy a flat at all.... forget discount!

Sir, i heard from one of my friends that your company is hiring. Can i send a CV?

Right now, i'm not at office. Can i call you back next week?

But Sir i'll be in Delhi then. My cellphone will be switched off.

But i'm in Shimla for a mountain bike rally. How can i say my office is hiring or not?

Sorry Sir, i must be disturbing you. Are you riding now?

No.

OK. Then let me send my CV to your mail. Can i have your mail id Sir?

Yes. Write it down....

Am i speaking with...

Yes.

Sir, your DP account has gone into negative.

Yes. That's because of the non-performing stocks in a bad market.

Yes Sir. It's just an alert and a reminder so that you can deposit Rs 880.13 to our account.

OK. i'm out of Kolkata at present. Can i do it next week?

Sure. But can you please write down the amount? Rs 880.13.

Thank you. 

Hello.

Yes.

Do you remember me?

Of course. I usually don't forget anyone. But i can't make out who you are as the number hasn't been saved.

Oh! Then you must have forgotten me!

OK. Whoever you are, can i call you back in 10 days after i'm back to Kolkata.

Where are you?

I'm middle of nowhere. At 7,500ft, i cannot tell you the exact name of the village but it's in Himachal.

Wow! Enjoying with wife?

Not at all. Haven't had lunch yet. Going to rescue a cyclist who fell on downhill broken tarmac?

Oh! How come? Where's your wife?

She is in Kolkata.

So what are you doing in Himachal?

I can still do a lot of things without my wife.

You must be joking.

No. I'm serious. 

OK. It seems you are not in a mood to talk now. Give me a call once you are back.

OK. Will do.

Sir, your subscription is due to expire in December.

Yes i know.

Sir, we are offering fabulous discount and goodies to our existing subscribers.

OK. 

Sir, for how many years are you going to subscribe?

Right now, i cannot take this call. Drop me a mail. Will get back to you.

But Sir, our subscription offer ends today only. You will get instant Rs 500 off, a pair of shoes, a pair of sunglasses, a trolley bag, two holiday guide books.

OK. I'm in Himachal at present. I can consider if your offer is valid for at least one more week. 

So Sir, should i put a tick on five-year plan?

Nope.

Then 3 years?

Nope. I've net connectivity problem here. Let me take a look at the mail and i'll get back to you.

But Sir if you don't give your nod today, i'll miss the target.

Target? What?

Yes Sir. Please. I have promised them 10 subscriptions today.

Tomorrow, we are meeting at Chowringhee. Are you coming, na?

No.

Why? You have been riding cycle for so long and a long associate with us.

Right. But i can't join the Chakra Cycle Satyagraha on Gandhi Jayanti.

But you are supporting our cause to demand in lifting the cycling ban in Kolkata, na?

Yes, of course. 

So, we can use your name as one of the signatories, right?

Sure!

Arreh boss!

Bataiye!

Your Reliance number is unreachable! What happened?

Nothing. You have reached me. That's all. How does it matter if another phone is unreachable?

But where are you?

I'm in a small village near Narkanda. 

Narkanda?

Yes. Himachal.

What are you doing there?

Helping riders finish off MTB Himalaya.

Oh! Are you riding? Should i call back later?

No. Have i said so?

No. But i thought...

Anyway. But who are you? Your number is not saved.

I'll be in Kolkata during the Puja.

Great!

Yes, we should meet one day. 

Sure!

Happy riding!

I'm not riding idiot!