A day out with the girls

Standing outside Linton Street Post Office gave me a good vantage point on which to gently muse on life and the busy-ness of passers-by (except when interrupted, fairly frequently, by young men who delighted in shouting out ‘hello lady’). With that name it sounds a typically British place, but in fact it couldn’t be more Indian. From the family sleeping on the pavement through the mid-day heat, oblivious to the flies swarming around them, to the young man standing idly by his sparkling new motorbike, the street encapsulated much of Kolkata life. For a while I stood by an old man and his wife who were making pakoras – they had got a small-scale production line going, scooping out big clumps of dough and dumping them in a pan full of sizzling and spitting fat. The end result looked quite appetising, but I couldn’t help pondering on the cleanliness of the man’s hand, and decided in the end to desist. Opposite this old man and his wife was a sparkling air-conditioned shop, selling, among other things, Cadbury’s chocolate, pepsi and Colgate toothpaste.

This street is also an entrance to Park Circus slum, and I was waiting for Tabassum and her sister Tarranum. Tabassum is a community worker with the Association for Women with Disabilities, and she had arranged a picnic by the river for some of the disabled girls from her slum. Tabassum is also blind.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a grubby little girl give me a cheeky grin, and then grab the hand of the older boy she was with and pull him authoritatively away. I smiled back. It was a couple of moments later, when the little girl turned round to look at me again, that I realised that it was Tarranum’s daughter. And the boy she was with was Tabassum’s brother. And it was a moment after that that the full realisation hit me: here was a five year old child leading a blind seven year old child alone on a 20 minute walk through a Kolkata slum, to meet a foreigner. And let me tell you that little girl was absolutely fearless. She confidently led both me and her uncle down the streets, guiding him past the motorbikes that came zooming close by us and other hazards endemic to the streets of Kolkata’s slums. When some older boys shouted out to her (I don’t know what they said) she went up and whacked one of them on the arm, albeit with her cheeky grin. And when walking past a cow she gave its rump a big whack as well. I gave the cow a wide berth.

We reached Tabassum’s shack with no other untoward event, and I was welcomed by the big smiles of both sisters decked out in sparkling shalwar kameez. We had arranged to meet at 3 o’clock, and I was spot on. It was not until 4 o’clock that the girls actually turned up, but I didn’t mind; it gave me time to talk to their mother in broken Hindi, and be fed a paratha and burger-y thing.

Once the other disabled girls from the slum arrived we walked together up to the main road, and hailed a taxi. We were a group of 10 people (with two children), so I assumed obviously that we were to be getting two taxis. Not so. Tarannum, I and Tabassum’s younger brother squeezed into the front seat next to the driver, and the other seven somehow managed to fit in the back. Being squeezed between a surly Indian taxi driver and an over-excited young boy, with my right leg twitching every time we drove up too quickly up to traffic lights, did not make for the most relaxing of journeys. However, we got there in one piece and piled out of the taxi, and I was able to breathe in the cooler river air and take in greenery and open spaces. Millennium Park was a welcome break from the craziness of Kolkata’s streets, and we all enjoyed ambling along the footpaths looking at the views across the river. I had been told that this was to be a picnic, so I came prepared with snacks of pasties and cakes. I seemed to be the only one who had brought food however, and meditated on the thought that perhaps Indian picnics don’t include food. The girls seemed happy enough to dig in to what I had brought though.

After having our fill of cakes I expressed a wish to go on the river, and Tarannum said that we could get the commuter boat across to Howrah station and back. This was definitely the best spent 10 Rupees ever. We all clambered on to this rusty hulk that had definitely seen better days, elbowing our way past hundreds of commuting men. The hulk slowly chugged across the river, I could say into the sunset, but unfortunately it wasn’t quite the right direction. We did chug our way past fishermen drawing in their nets, but also past huge rusty wrecks that seemed to be decomposing mid-river. Evidence of the decay of modern industrial ‘progress’ side by side with a still-thriving centuries-old way of life: interesting. At Howrah station the hordes of commuters pushed and jostled their way off the boat, and very few people got back on it for the return journey. We chugged our way back across the river, enjoying the cool breeze and twinkling lights of Kolkata.

Once the trip was over, the fun did not come to an end, however. We made our way to a mini theme park, and as the girls wished to sample the delights of one of the rides I let myself be talked into it. I was pleased to exit with my head still attached to my spine: I can’t imagine what Tabassum must have felt, not being able to see what she was letting herself in for. However, the girls obviously enjoyed it as they wished to go on the big swinging boat: I declined this pleasure and took on the role of official photographer.

After this we made our way to the exit, and before all piling into another taxi we partook of a Kolkata delicacy: pani puri (or something like that). It was very strange, once tried I don’t feel the need of trying it again. It was a fried UFO shaped object, inside which the street hawker puts a dab of something like mashed potato (not able to see clearly due to it being at night) and some bitter liquid. Hmm.

Very rarely are the girls able to get away from their slum, which made this day all the more special, although it was tinged with sadness for me. These girls probably wouldn’t have been able to afford even these simple pleasures had I not been there. One of the girls, who has a curved spine, took me gently by the hand, and then said to me ‘what must these people be thinking about us?’ A revealing comment from someone who has had stigma attached to her for her whole life.

20 million missing women

How do you count 1.2 billion people? The Indian government are working on this precise issue at the moment: 2011 sees the next census, where not only is every single citizen to be counted, but all over the age of 15 are going to be given an ID card. The mind boggles at the extent of the work and challenges involved. Not only are there the challenges of collecting data about all citizens, including migrants, Muslim women in purdah, and those living in huge slum colonies, but there are also perplexing difficulties concerning what questions should be asked. Whether caste should be included has been a hot topic. On the one hand gathering such data would be used to inform government policy for the disadvantaged – the pragmatic viewpoint is that caste is evident in Indian society today and therefore the government needs data so they are as well informed as possible. On the other hand, by including the question the government are perpetuating the issue of caste and caste distinctions, and through this are giving it more credibility when many believe it should be obsolete in a modern India.

Another important question, and more pertinent to my work, is whether there should be questions on disability. In theory, of course the government needs to know the extent of its disabled population. However, in practice the question has not always been included, partly because it is very difficult to frame: how do you define disability? How do you define whether someone is visually impaired – whether they wear glasses? There was no disability question in 1991, but a question was included in 2001. However, the question was inadequately framed – it did not include all forms of disability, and the census enumerators found it difficult to recognise when to define someone as disabled. According to the data generated by the 2001 census, 2.1% of the population are disabled. The UN estimates, on the other hand, are around 6%.

This means that 20 million disabled women were not counted in the last census. This is 20 million women who have been invisible in government policy for the last 10 years, who have not been taken into account in the allocation of resources or budgets.

It is therefore crucial that the government gains a more accurate picture this time round. Not only does this necessitate a more accurate framing of the question, and training of the census enumerators, but it also requires disabled women to stand up and be counted. It is thought that last time round many disabled women were unwilling to be counted due to shame and the stigma associated with disability.

To address these issues AWWD arranged a census seminar with disabled women, people from other NGOs, and government officials. The Census Commissioner for West Bengal and the Disability Commissioner both came and spoke about what their respective departments are doing about the issue, which was very positive. Disability groups have been more involved in the framing of the question this time, and it is likely they will be involved in training census enumerators. Now we need to spread the word among disabled women to stand up and be counted.

Elections!

There can be no doubt that it has been election season in West Bengal, and it is equally clear that Indians have embraced democracy wholeheartedly. In the last couple of weeks Kolkata has become, if possible, even more colourful, noisy and vibrating with activity. I was wrong to assume that the area in which I am living is a Communist Party stronghold though, – the Trinamul Congress (TMC) party have made significant inroads with their own flag providing activities. Now, each shop and building not only has several red and white hammer and sickle flags, but also the green, white and orange flags of the TMC party. It seems I myself have divided loyalties, as both a Communist and a TMC flag appeared overnight outside my house. The TMC has one up on the Communists (CPI (M) as they have a huge flag suspended between two buildings and hanging above the street. But, then, on the other hand there is a hammer and sickle in fairy lights near my office. And it is not only the flag business that has seen such an exponential rise in activity in the last few weeks. The loudspeakers down every street have been in use almost every evening, with men (and a few women) exhorting people to vote for them (well I think this is what they are saying, not too sure on the precise content given they are speaking in Bengali). It is clear though that as the evening wears on the speaker gets more and more frenzied. Loud music is also played, and processions and rallies have been noisily evident as well – drums, cheering, that sort of thing. Thankfully there must be a ban on rallies after 10 o’clock, but even so, four hours of almost continuous Bengali exhortations has been slightly too much of a good thing, particularly as the lack of glass in my windows has meant that I have been unable to significantly reduce the volume of noise.

The actual elections were last Sunday, and I stayed in all day as I wasn’t too sure how tense the situation would be. The headlines in the newspapers the next day said how peaceful it had been – most previous elections had seen ‘bombs and bullets’, but these had thankfully not been evident this time (except for one instance when a policeman had started shooting at someone).
The election results came out on Wednesday, and it was expected to be tenser. Judith and I went out for lunch: the situation didn’t seem very different from normal apart from a number of young men covered in red paint zooming down the streets on motorcycles, and a greater police presence. Other parts of the city saw hundreds of people come out en masse: it was an overwhelming victory for the TMC. My area elected a CPI (M) guy, so apparently it is predominantly Communist. I haven’t been aware of particular tensions when walking down my street, but then I am a foreigner and blissfully unaware of what is happening underneath the surface. Interesting times.