AN EMPOWERED INDIA

DATELINE CIRCA 2005
GULMOHAR PARK NEW DELHI

[I had returned to India after a decade being away in Australia. Indian Express newspaper has advertised seeking responses to the query: What does an empowered Indian mean to me. In no time my response was ready and submitted but was not published. I had a feeling that responses only from well-known people were published. Never mind, my sole aim was to share my views which I am doing now through this blog.]

For me India empowered is about reducing/covering/closing distances between Indians; it’s about getting to know of each other’s pains, dreams, aspirations and concerns. It’s about gaining an insight into each other’s world from a non-judgmental, non-stereotypical and caring bent of mind and heart. It’s about thinking in terms of we - the rich and poor, carwalla and cyclewalla, malik and naukar – all having a vision of working together as a team; as we individually go on about chasing our dreams, doing our errands.

The urban privileged (middle class, higher middle class and the rich) often don’t even know much about their own crew of drivers, domestic help, ayahs; forgetting that these are fellow Indians who too have families and who too dream.

For me India empowered is about not buying into the logistics and definitions fine-tuned by international welfare structures and groups about Indians. It’s about not accepting pitiable living and working conditions of fellow Indians as a calamity of fate. It’s about looking at our less privileged through our own eyes not via shocking logistics. It’s our own hardened attitudes, our own callousness, our own neglect and lack of interest which has made millions of fellow Indians to feed into these shocking logistics. Invariably we do have loads of pity, sympathy and concern for the miserable lot. Need is for pity to convert into compassion, sympathy to become empathy and concern to turn into action.

It’s about not blaming the burgeoning population for all our ills; because when the privileged talk about masses they tend to think of working class poor who thanklessly run our cities; they clear our dirt, sift and separate it for us and often are forced to live with this dirt around them.

While some of us look forward to that morning nirvana in the cup of tea with the day’s paper in hand, it is millions who toil hard through the night, often putting their lives at risk using humble means of transport on our mean roads and by lanes. They ensure that when some of us get up, we have our papers lying on our door step. They deliver vegetables at our doorstep; they lug thelas in scorching heat to bring us so many goodies which we need through our day.

I don’t wear a hat but I do like to take my hat off to these millions of toiling Indians –men and women – in our suburbs, our cities, on our roads, on our pavements and in our jhuggis.

And this is what I meant when I talked about reducing/covering/closing distances. India empowered to me is when the privileged, the moneyed of our country give much needed attention to the dreams of those who serve them tirelessly often without complaint, with no job security, with hardly any infrastructure to take them through the exigencies of life.

For me India empowered is when we look at a fellow Indian more as a fellow human rather than just an autowallah, kamwali, sabjiwala, naukar, tiffinwala and so on. When we don’t assume that just because these people are doing lowly paid jobs they are perhaps half-human. We don’t realise that a little attention, a little hearing, a little encouragement from us - the privileged, the educated, the sophisticated, the elite - goes a long way in making these unsung feel empowered, feel human, feel part of the game.

These Indians are the unsung army of this country who don’t get any special uniforms or allowances, who have to negotiate for every little comfort from their maliks. Please do not get me wrong, there are many who tirelessly endeavour amidst us to make life a little better for our toiling masses. But I like to see a greater level of cooperation, consideration and concern for each other.

Poor are people with less money, less resources at their disposal, less pulling power. They eke out an existence living at the margins of the society; often they don’t speak out against exploitation, injustice and inconsideration for fear of risking whatever meagre earnings and belongings they might have. And also being poor doesn’t mean that they don’t have a culture, they can’t think for themselves. They can as well as any one from the privileged brigade.

We call them illiterate, we call them poor, we call them uncultured; we think they lack enough morals.

I often wondered while living overseas - when I used to visit all these India-centred arts and crafts melas, exhibitions and so on – that I might have not contributed anything directly to the making of this culture. It’s the so-identified poor, the marginalised women and men who pour out their imaginations on their walls, on their clothes, in their festivals, in their dances, in their songs. Majority of them can’t speak the language of the urban privileged – the English; they can’t decipher our dreams, our discussions, our ponderings and feel totally alien to us. And we hardly ever feel much need to reduce this sense of alienation.

The lyrics are in Hindi, music is Hindustani, English is Hindustani but Mohammed of Nizamuddin is unable to place a song request with our glorious commercial FM channels. Mohammed, the autowallah, doesn’t have a landline and has spent loads of his hard-earned money calling all those numbers belted out on FM stations from a PCO. His problem is that he just can’t get through the pleasantries/questioning thrown at him by Hindustani English speaking sophisticated platoon of program executives. Suave, sophisticated, Hindustani English speaking India is in self-denial. It forgets that it’s the likes of Mohammed, Dina Nath, Meena, Sheela, Raju and Ram, Ali and Rehman make a Sholay out of a Sholay or a Mother India out of a Mother India. Once they have done it then only we wake up to our cultural realities as shaped by our non- English speaking Hindustani masses.

We often blame these working class poor for their pitiable situation. But I guess it’s time when we stop blaming them for their situations and instead ask how they continue to tide over monster obstacles on their path and have a life?

They have oral traditions, age-old wisdom and knowledge and time tested web of relationships to guide them through their lives. We try to force the need to be literate on them, yes it always helps. But need is to take into account what they have to say, to listen to their unwritten voices.

It was a moment of awakening for me few years ago when P. Sateesh of Deccan Development Society (DDS) based in Hyderabad postured: Why should I wait for these women to become literate first before we can do empowerment work with them? These illiterate, farming class women already have a language, they have words, they have wisdom, they have knowledge and they can talk.

And no wonder these women have lapped up the medium of radio as initiated by DDS producing radio programs which have content emerging out of their context. This is one example of India empowered.

I also have reservations about using the word empowered as if we lack some power and it’s has to be fed in. I like to say, power is all there among our people. But it’s a power denied. It’s a power harnessed when we need it to showcase our culture. Khairati Lal of Lajpat Nagar has travelled the world sponsored by Government of India showcasing his art. Ravi, son of same Khairati Lal lugs stuffed elephants on his young shoulders hawking for his bread in the by lanes of the rich. He can’t afford stall fee at Delhi Haat; he goes to India Gate lawns in the evenings and there he and his fellow hawkers are forced to give a hafta of Rs 300 to the police. He is not sure if he will have a jhuggi to return to since Khairati Lal has been served a notice for demolition. This is just one life lived at the edge next to where life is lived at best in our posh colonies, bungalows of overly empowered.

We all have been swapped up in singing glories of globalisation. I am not for entering into a debate about benefits and perils of globalisation. I feel it’s time we need to cater to localism. It’s every local need, desire and right which needs to be paid attention to. Otherwise we have injustice, exploitation and disempowerment confronting us every minute of our life in India. I feel we need to adopt each other, nurture each other, act for each other and take India ahead as Team India made of not just much celebrated techies, scientists, fashion designers but all those living life at the margins.

I would say India is a powerhouse of emotional warmth and emotional intelligence, its people have not lost touch with their humanity. They have not lost their hearts and souls into the alluring morass of goodies, money and rational ethos and thus continue to bewitch the whole world with their ability to express the magnanimity of their hearts and souls.

How can I ever forget the hospitality I indulged in from my fellow not so privileged Indians? I like to recall one such experience.

Years ago, I visited the village of my friend’s father, a senior official in Delhi who was visiting his village. We were being feted and celebrated by the villagers. They wanted to show respect to my friend’s father and to our educated status. One family on behalf of all invited us for dinner and they served us in the spirit of Athithi Devo Bhava. All they cared about that we had accepted their invitation and they cooked pouring their heart and souls into the food. In return they didn’t ask for jobs in the city, they didn’t ask for anything. In any case there was nothing we could have given them. They had simply outdone us in showing us their exalted human warmth, respect and care.

How can I ever forget having a lunch of boora-ghee and chawal when my family was invited to the wedding of my father’s assistant’s daughter in a village? Though we were Gharatis, we were served first. I can never forget the divine taste of that basic feast and the warmth of their hospitality.

The other day I was feeling bit low, pondering about this struggle of resettling back in my own land after living in ‘exile’ for many years. I passed through India gate area and as usual they were many women and men hawkers selling jamuns and what not on the glorious wide pavements of Rajpath.

I wondered about these women- being pushed around by the police, being bullied by their very demanding customers- roughing it out in our killer public buses. Where are the toilets for them? What about their personal safety? Thinking of their difficulties and recognising their determination to make a living shook me out of my temporary mellowed mood. My head bowed down to the indomitable spirit of these ‘insignificant’ masses of India who do it so hard but can still smile, laugh, eat and find shelter; and sing, dance and draw. I felt I had no right to feel disheartened. For me these marginalised are the inspiration to bring me back to this land of my birth and making.

Once again for me India empowered is reducing/covering/closing distances between the privileged and the marginalised. Then I shall dig up a hole somewhere and retire with my books, my learnings, and my yearnings and shall watch from a distance at India and its people blossoming together. That India wouldn’t have a need for me and then I shall feel be free to leave India to its destiny.


©sumeghaagarwal