eye reveal catalogue

7/27/2019 Eye Reveal Catalogue

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Cover Photograph/Design/

Exhibition Design : Probir Gupta

Cover card : 350 gsm Magno Matt

Text paper : 170 gsm Magno Matt

Catalogue Size : 21.5 cm x 27.5 cm

Type Font : Times New Roman

Processed and Printed at : Archana, Tel.: 011-24311992


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present

E Y E R E V E A Lan exhibition

photographs & short stories

e x p l o r i n g t h e i n t e r p l a y b e t w e e n g e n d e r ,

v i o l e n c e a g a i n s t w o m e n a n d m a s c u l i n i t y .

U N I F E M A N D M U K T A N G A N

Supported by UNIFEM South Asia Regional Off ice

Galerie Romain Rolland 26th April to 6th May 2005

Lalit Kala Akademi, 7th to 13th May 2005


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UNIFEM is the womens fund at the United Nations. It provides financial and

technical assistance to innovative programmes and strategies that promote womens

human rights, political participation and economic security. UNIFEM works in

partnership with UN organizations, governments and non-governmental

organizations (NGOs) and networks to promote gender equality. It links womens

issues and concerns to national, regional and global agendas, by fostering

collaboration and providing technical expertise on gender mainstreaming and

womens empowerment strategies.

The views expressed in this publication are those of the authors, and do not

necessarily represent the views of UNIFEM, the United Nations or any of its

affiliated organizations. No part of this printed work may be reproduced without

due acknowledgement.

UNIFEM South Asia Regional Office

223, Jor Bagh, New Delhi - 110 003 (India)

Tel: 91-11-24698297/24604351, Extn: 26 Fax: 91-11-24622136


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I h a v e b e e n a f r a i d

I h a v e f e l t a n e n d l e s s i r r e p r e s s i b l e p a i n ;

I h a v e s e e n t h e s u n w a k e i n a b l o o d - r e d s k y

a n d c o m m a n d m e t o d r e s s a s a s o l d i e r o f h u m a n i t y ,

c o n f r o n t t h e w o r l d ;

J i b a n a n a n d a D a s

I h a v e b e e n a f r a i d

I h a v e f e l t a n e n d l e s s i r r e p r e s s i b l e p a i n ;

I h a v e s e e n t h e s u n w a k e i n a b l o o d - r e d s k y

a n d c o m m a n d m e t o d r e s s a s a s o l d i e r o f h u m a n i t y ,

c o n f r o n t t h e w o r l d ;

J i b a n a n a n d a D a s


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F o r e w o r d - E y e R e v e a l

Gender-based violence knows no boundaries. Right through history, it has cut across continents, class and cultures, impacting all

aspects of womens lives. Gaining in momentum, it is moving from strength to strength, taking new forms, and increased impunityon the part of perpetrators. With the proportions of a pandemic, gender-based violence remains one of the most outstanding challenges

that all of us face in the 21st century.

Several articulations respond to this. The Declaration on the Elimination of Violence against Women, adopted by the United

Nations General Assembly, shortly after the World Conference on Human Rights in Vienna in 1993, set the pace. And today,

violence against women is recognized as a crime requiring official action, in peace and in war.

It is no secret that gender-based violence remains the biggest deterrent to both development and empowerment of any kind. Deep-

rooted for generations and built on social sanctions, it is no casual visitor and remains a timeless health and human rights issue.

Clearly, unless, all stakeholders join hands to confront and combat this common adversary, there is little chance of vanquishing it.

For strategies to be effective there is a need for multi-sectoral efforts at multiple levels. For solutions to be enduring and durable, the

active involvement of the youth is critical.

This is what we have tried to do in Eye Reveal. In a way, a companion to UNIFEMs earlier initiative, Touch, we have had the

pleasure of partnering again with eminent artist Probir Gupta who has designed and conceptualized both. In Eye Reveal, the

objective has been to sensitize young people on issues of gender based violence, masculinities and HIV/AIDS using the power and

potential of art, the photographic medium and the written word to communicate and create appropriate messages.

Eye Reveal has essentially been a journey of discovery - not only for the 150 university students, who participated, but also for

everyone involved, including resource persons. NGOs facilitated student interactions with survivors of violence, leading to increasedunderstanding on the issue as well as offering glimpses on community responses. Resource persons from specialized agencies

provided insights on diverse dimensions of the issue, including the life cycle of violence faced by women, trafficking, issues of


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mental health and HIV/AIDS. To explore the interplay between gender, violence against women & masculinities, students interacted

with men in traditional and non-traditional areas of work, such as wrestlers, dancers, chefs and singers. Interactions with leadingjournalist were held, to provide a journalistic perspective, demonstrating how such issues could be articulated.

This tremendous journey, with so many special partners could not have achieved the level of success that it did, without the

exemplary commitment of all. I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge and applaud our many partners. To begin

with, I would like to extend my appreciation to the students of colleges of Delhi University, which include, Jamia Milia Islamia

University, Indra Prastha University, Jawaharlal Nehru University and Rai University. Without them, this journey could not

have been made.

I warmly thank Mr. Probir Gupta, who conceptualized and guided the whole process, Ms. Sudha Tiwari of Shakti Shalini, Dr. Achal

Bhagat of SAARTHAK, Ms. Vidya Shah of Breakthrough and Ms. Sanghamitra Chakravorty of Outlook our resource persons,

who brought such a singular edge to their respective areas and who created a holistic understanding of the issues under consideration.

My sincere gratitude to Prayas, Shakti Shalini, Mamta-Health Institute for Mother & Child and Nav Sristi for deepening understanding

on violence by facilitating exchanges with survivors of violence. I extend my appreciation to the Chandgi Ram Akhada, the Schoolof Kathakali Dance, the chef of the Maurya Sheraton Hotel, the Qawwals of Nizamuddin, without whose inputs, understandings on

masculinities could not have emerged. I thank the Alliance Francaise and the Lalit Kala Academy for making available their art

galleries for our exhibition. I would also like to thank my colleagues Nandita Baruah and Gitanjali Singh for their hard work and

close involvement in every facet of the initiative.

We are sharing this journey through an exhibition at the Galerie Romain Rolland of the Alliance Francaise de Delhi. The First Lady

Mrs. Gursharan Kaur has honoured us by inaugurating the exhibition and releasing the catalogue. We have been further privileged

to have the gracious presence of Mrs. Nane Annan on this occassion. This exhibition will also be housed at the Lalit Kala Academy.


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We have brought out this publication in an effort to share this unique and multi-facetted initiative with a wider audience. Having

made a deep impact on the participants, it is encouraging to see the response. Some have said that they would like to take this

experience of working on issues related to violence against women forward, as a career option. Others say that it has changed the

way they think and feel, enriching and educating them at a personal level. We are hopeful that it will contribute towards making aninter-generational change in mindsets, that it will help in making changes in individual lives such as standing up against dowry,

fighting against sex selective abortion, and breaking the silence around violence, among others.

We hope that this publication will add to the knowledge and resources currently available on violence against women, bringing new

insights on the issue. Equally, we hope that it will be a useful tool for diverse stakeholders in their work to end violence, catalyzing

increased involvement of youth in creating a world that is more gender-just and more violence-free.

Chandni Joshi

Regional Programme Director

13th April 2005


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m y d i a r y

Eye Reveal: A dream project whose final approval byUNIFEM follows their recognition of an artists emotional and creative

intervention and its worth, thus allowing it to grow. The symbiotic relation between the revealing nakedness of the visual

image and the word - Word the first product that sells in a marketplace (as said by a Baul friend) and images that the eye and

the inner eye records. Eye Reveal records, combines and connects manuscripts of countless shrieks in visual images of the

inner eye. Sounds - the word that needs to be uttered to create a sense called communication, as the essential. Here we see and

speak in the hope that people will see, read and react, if not in the same way but close to the way we reacted and not be mere

spectators.

A predetermined and sensitive approach towards the presentation and portrayal of reality is the need of the hour, connectingmasses to masses is how one would define the priorities ofEye Reveal a true Public Art Project. One experiences and carries

it to other negotiating mediums. It is the Art of transmission connecting people that is termed as Art here - Art in its role of

development and community service - an intimate involvement of people of different generations; the youth as well as

seasoned grass root activists (committed field workers) in identifying victims/ survivors of violence, in difficult and dangerous

circumstances. Especially those like Nazma (survivor), Kiran, Ayub, Suneeta , Shabana, Ranjita, Ashok and many others like

them operating in infamous areas like Sangam Vihar, Tigri and Nangloi in Delhi deserve much more than just an applause.

Hence Muktangan. Endless trips were made to several colleges in different corners of the National Capital. And all this was

done relentlessly over the last few months, repeating tape recorder like with the will to convince and mobilize the youth of

today to enter the limited arena of social work for social action. Following months of frenetic activity, like minded, convinced

young people were brought together.

All that I could do as an artist was to reach out to their sensibilities; it goes undeniably to the credit of these young people thatthey willingly stepped out of their sheltered existences and sought out the deeper shades of grey willing to look into the

under belly of our society


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Awakening of dormant senses - immune to everything else but ones own, Eye Reveal has touched the sensibilities, when

exposed to atrocities much in the same manner as the emergence of a product of art.

Contrary to what skeptics might have to say, many a survivors shattered within their world of irony and savage like existence,

opened their hearts and homes and shared their pains and pleasures with uslooking for a brighter day? Perhaps!

Long, turbulent nightmarish hours of listening where one tried to give them hope, for that one day. Conscience and

conviction gave me emotions and strength that were required, to prepare and pilot groups during their meeting and interacting

with a survivor, nervous as ever of making a faux pas. At moments, temperatures would soar and raw emotions would flow

uncontrolled, soon excitement would ebb giving way to silencepunctuated with sobs that none could bear. These very

emotional out bursts held us together, as a family.

Unable to focus on perpetrators we took the cultural route going to Chandgirams Akhara, whether the Pehelwans (wrestlers),

the Chef of a chic hotel, the Qawwals or the Kathakali dancers - glimpses to the male psyche.

There were moments of silence when asked why would a woman never be allowed to be a Kathakali dancer? Even she has

the right to enjoy, earn and contribute silence, silence when the young womenfolk of the Nizami (Qawwals) family asked

the all girls team of LSR to come up to see their room - they were shown the solitary window.

Moments when none of us were in creative spirits - moments of grey blur and vacuum: we were not intellectuals but workers

absorbed in the weight of revelations.

I would like to thank our guest of honour First Lady Gursharan Kaur ji for having graced the opening of this exhibition. Her

words of encouragement during my discussions with her on a couple of occasions at her residence have been a great source

of inspiration.

I take this opportunity to thank Chandni Joshi, Firoza Mehrotra, Nandita Baruah, Gitanjali Singh, Suneeta Dhar, Chandrashekhar


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Iyer and others from the UNIFEM family for their contribution towards the blossoming of this significant endeavor and all

the support that was extended to us at various stages.

I am grateful to my new found young friends for their participation and sustained support as they continue to make me grow

younger, I have cherished every moment that I got to spend with them. Special thanks to my energetic project assistant Mr

Neiljeet Gupta, Aapa ji of Nav Shristi, my old friends Meraj bhai, Farid bhai and Chand Nizami Qawwals of the Dargah of

Hazrat Nizamuddin Aulia, Guruji of the school of Kathakali Qutab Institutional area and his disciples, Mr. G. Sultan Moideen

executive chef the Maurya Sheraton Hotel New Delhi, Anjali, Supriyo Mukkherji, and Vikas from Mamta , Mohan,

Mr. Soma Sundaram, Claire Devos, Muktamani Kaul, Padma Natarajan, Mr. Sandeep Biswas , Mr Tupinder Singh, Ramlal

(framer) and the unrecognized Taxi drivers for their support and affection.

Probir Gupta


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I h a d a d r e a m

As she walked down the hot, dusty road, the sun scorched her little shoulders. The bundle was heavy but she was used to the burden

now, having had to carry it for about two years. The tiny seven year old caught sight of the Academy and hurried her steps. As she

approached the gates, the gatekeepers eyes looked her up and down.

Hello Maya. He smiled and pinched her cheek. Youre becoming cuter and prettier everyday!

The discomfort and dislike showed on her face, yet she boldly pushed his hand away.

Wheres my father? I have his lunch here with me?

He hasnt dismissed his class yet. So why dont you come with me, I have something interesting to show you. He took hold of herhand.

No! Ill wait in the verandah, and throwing his hand off, she ran to the safety of the verandah.

Maya abhorred the man, yet she could do just anything to get a chance to visit the Academy.

Her father was a teacher of Kathakali at the Academy, which was one of the oldest institutions in the village. Her elder brother

Krishna too, was a student here, entering the world of dance two years back.While her father and brother were at the Academy, the little girl helped her mother about the house, washing clothes, dusting the

straw mats, learning exactly what ingredients to add to the rassam and various other things.

Maya looked around searchingly for her favourite window, concealed and unnoticed by everyone passing by. There it was! Calling

to her. She sneaked to it and snuggled down against the low window sill.

Immediately, her father came into view, graceful, poised and perfect in every movement his body and face made. He was a strictteacher and his students, all boys, feared and respected him.

The little girl observed every exercise, every facial expression-the eyes, the mouth, the cheeks- observed carefully. For two years,

J E S U S A N D M A R Y C O L L E G E


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watching. How she longed to be taught what her brother was learning! She dreamt of becoming a famous Kathakali dancer someday.

The journey would be very hard, she was aware of that, but it would be worthwhile. She wanted it so bad!

A week passed by, during which, Maya mustered up the courage to ask her father to let her join the Academy to learn Kathakali.

She did. Her father was furious and cruelly disdainful! He shouted at her, reminding her of her right place at home! He blamed her

daily visits to the Academy for her foolish, selfish, impossible dreams! He forbade her from going anywhere near the Academy

anymore. Maya never saw it again.

As she looked into her mirror, her eyes brimmed up with tears. Her vision became hazy..... Hear my voice in its silence.

Tread on me softly,

Im woven with delicate thread.Try to reach me earnestly

Im at the end of infinity.

But my feet are now fettered,

Though they were meant to explore.

My blanket which covers me

Is now wet with pain.

My body, now ornate

With scars of my destiny.

My silence, once complacent

Now prays for its death.

My hands held tight

The Elysian swing,

But now, impregnable bars.

My lips, they have forgotten



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I used to smile.

My eyes dont remember,

Now they hallucinate,

Show me only the dark.My soul so effervescent,

Now bleeds, it cries,

The only part of me;

Today, it too has fallen,

In the abyss of my destiny.

The deafening applause from the audience snapped Maya out of her reverie. Becoming aware of the tears rolling down her face, she

wiped them away with a handkerchief. How pretty she looked on stage, graceful, poised... her grand daughter. With proud eyes she

watched her grand daughter perform. She was a famous Kathakali dancer, known all over the world for her talent.

Maya sighed. Things have changed, she thought. And Im happy that my grand daughter has got what I never could achieve...

a fair chance to live her dreams. She rose with the rest and her clapping echoed the loudest in the auditorium.



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C O L L E G E O F L A W A N D L E A G A L S T U D I E S , I N D R A P R A S T H A U N I V E R S I T Y

and passion to survive I decided to leave. Today, Guddi is almost a year old and recognizes only me as her family. The battle was

less tough till she was born. The threats that I receive from my in-laws have been growing with time, my parents who are already

financially and emotionally drained have three more children to raise and I have no education to fall back on in order to secure

myself a job.

As things worsen I look up at the sky, feel the droplets of rain on my skin, sigh; another day in paradise; and the rain makes it worse.

There is no sun today and as evening sets in I will carry on and even though the outcome of this battle seems predictably decided,

I shall not lose even if I am meant to.


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H I N D U C O L L E G E


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ready to live alone, will be happy with just this one child...Kuch banna hai...unhe dikhana hai ki mein bhi kuch kar sakti hu... Fists

clenched, jaws set. Unke dost bahut achhe hai...Aisa bhi waqt tha jab pehle mujhe roti dete phir hi khud khate...,Mujhe doordarshan

pe bolna hai sahib...\

Television alluded her besides a lot of other things that came her way. But the desire to break from the shackles of exploitation was

overwhelming, to grasp at any opportunity that came her way. The contrast in the glint of the eyes at the end and the moist retina

upon her arrival held the promise to challenge any hurdle that came her way. In retrospect however, the story went in hardly without

the taste of cinder.

H I N D U C O L L E G E

J A M I A A P P L I E D A R T & R A M J A S C O L L E G E


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k r a n t i

Though no one can go back and make a new start, Anyone can start from now and make a brand new end.

Anonymous.

The following lines are about a life struggling to live through a hailstorm of pain, sorrow and uncertainty, having faith that oneday the sun will shine bright upon the stormy clouds and end all sufferings.

Young wild and free

Nothing can take you away from me

When I am lying in your lap

I feel heaven on my backIts my age to fly high

Twist and turn

Flip and slip

But in the end

Its only love that Ill always need

I found it in your heartAnd Ill never let it go

When Im feeling down

I know you will turn my world around

Main abhi ek gudia hoon,

Mere kadam kamzor hain.Chalti hoon kuch kadam to,

Usmain bachpan ke shor hain.




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Abhi to main apne ko

Pehechanti bhi nehi hoon

Pal rahi hoon aise main

Ma ki mamta janti bhi nehi.Abhi main bachpan se bahar

Aai bhi nehi hoon

Ek aisi kali hoon

Gamo se murjhai huin hoon main

Ai nanhe kadam mere

Katon se lahoo luhan hainMangti hoon adhikar jeene ki

Par dushman ye jahan hai.

But suddenly, my world did turn around\

Instead of joy, brought total darkness

And no hope of lightYour heaven on my back

Became hell in front

No where to go

No turning back to the normal flow

Everything cuts like a knife

Theres no way to know whos going to biteWho is selling me by making me his own device

Playing with me when Im in pain




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Taking my everything for their personal joy and gain

I dont remember my roots

A blur face I see in my dreams

Who is my father I screamWaking up in the middle of night

Ive lost my mind, will I be ever free?

Tanhaiyon se ghira jeevan hai

Kis tarah ab basar karain?

Kaaton se bhara raah hai

Kis tarah abs afar karain?Jidhar dekhti hoon main

Veeran se raste hain

Intezar aapka hai

Bas tera vasta hai

Ummid ki kiran bhi

Ab bujhti nazar aa rahi haiJaldi se aa jana sanam

Takdir tadapti nazar aa rahi hai

Me and my soul

Talking with each other, searching for a goal

i.e FREEDOMstarting from here, we made promise

and we are honest



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will never come back to this forest

nobody can stop me

I dont know where I am going

Everything has goneBut theres some HOPE which is carrying me on

vo mausum kitna suhana hoga

jab ayegi jhum ke baharain

hum khushi se jhumenge phir

chamkenge yaha chand sitarainab nehi hai khabar hamain

na jane kya hoga aage

ab peeche nehi hatenge

kadam bada chuke hain aage.

Sun is shining on my face

Everything is clean and clearThere is no limit where I can see

And the whole world is open for me

Trust in God has made me strong

What I felt- the limitless sky, the deep ocean

From head to toe, I was in motion

Found a home called SHELTER HOMEIm not the only one to get the whole pain

Here we are several ones without any gain



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God has given me feelings

I express them in words

But I dont know with whom Im dealing

Everyone says you are the one to heal usYou are the one to heal us

My name means REVOLUTION

Ill maintain my devotions

To drag them all

Out of this slump

Ill push myself as far as I can goTo the end of the sky

And to the earths core as low

And one day Ill find you

And never let you go.

Naam hoga itihas mein

Khud itihas banayenge

Hum aise rung hain

Rangeen prayas banayengeAtm nirbhar humko banaya

Jeevan se ladna humko sikhaya

Khoya hua apno ka pyar

Yahan muhobbat humko dilaya

Ab koi lachari nehi

Charo taraf ujiyara haiAane vale bhavishya mein

Ab humko lana ujala hai.

S T S T E P H E N S C O L L E G E


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u n t i t t l e d

The house is completely dark. Ma and I are the only ones awake. Munni, blissfully unaware of the curse that has fallen upon our

lives, sleeps peacefully in her cot.

BhaiyaI feel sick calling him thathas passed out in a drunken stupor.

I feel frozen to my bed. I just keep lying therestaring at the ceiling fan as it moves in slow painful circles. I think back to how the

day beganwas there any hint in the morning sunshine, in the usual breakfast of chai and roti, of the horrors I would witness today?

Were there signs that I missed? Had the chirping of the birds prophesized how I would suddenly in one evening, turn from an

innocent child into a violated woman? Had I only known I would never have woken up today...

Havent you ever felt that some things just cannot be helped, I mean call it a defense mechanism or just harsh reality but somethings simply cannot be helped. I woke up today morning, slightly sweaty and uncomfortable when I realized that no one was in

the house besides Ritu and me... I could hear her humming to herself as she hung the wet clothes in the verandah. She came back in,

her hair wet from a bathdroplets of water were trickling onto the front of her kurta

Bhaiya do you want tea?

I finished my tea and headed out of the house. My friend Deepak and I had big plans for today. We planned to remove some of theparts from the more expensive cars in his employers garage and sell them to a dealer. When I reached the school where we were

supposed to meet, Deepak was standing huddled together with a group of boys and seemed to be having a highly entertaining

conversation. They were talking in whispers and chuckling to themselves. I hurried my step but they fell silent when I reached. A

sort of guilty look was passed around. Instantly my mood soured. Deepak came away from the rest of the group

He seemed to be in unusually high spirits and kept whistling an annoying tune

What are you so happy about? I asked him, finally losing patience.Nothing... He smiled; unlocking the garage door, his air of secrecy beginning to get on my nerves.

We set about our work but he began to whistle again.



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What the hell is it you bastard? What are you so happy about? Did you finally manage to get it up last night or something?

Maybe I was overreactingI dont knowit was something about the dayit was too bloody hot and his self-satisfied smirk was

really bothering me.

Just tell me what it is you asswhats the big secret? I said grabbing his collarOk finejust dont take it badly

Arrebol na

Its Ritu we kind of saw her hanging the clothes out in the verandah and you know ok dont get me wrong but shes really

grown up

I felt my face go hot immediately; remembering the wet kurta clinging to her body, my fists stated to clench but I decided to let

it go...I looked away, and we set about our work silently

At the end of the transaction, we acquired about 100-rupees each.

When I turned to go home Deepak said with some hesitation, Yaar, dont go home yetat least lets celebrate our earnings

By the fourth quarter of rum, I had long forgotten my anger towards him; we were merrily laughing and exchanging jokes. Soon we

came to our usual topic of discussion

Have you seen that one who lives near your house she is always wearing that white salwar kameez without a chunni goodheavens I could just.

I know exactly what you mean Deepak said taking a swig.

She does that to me too

But shes a married womanyaar I said with a hint of disappointment in my voice.

Married? Oh nonot herI was talking about that sister of yours I just cant resist her

The next thing I knew was Deepak screaming for me to stop hitting him. I wasnt even sure what I was doing anymoreI justpunched any part of him within reach


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Deepaks face was covered with blood, and my shirt was torn. I gave him one final shove and stumbled home.

I flung the door open and stormed in. It was completely dark by now; a lone electric bulb was swinging in the corner. Ma and baba

were asleep. I could feel the effects of the alcohol increase with literally every movement. I lurched towards the charpai, when

suddenly Ritu awoke she was sleepy and her clothes were disheveled.Bhaiya? What happened to you? Is that blood on your shoulder? her voice shrill.

She came towards me and put up a hand to touch my face, but I pushed her away roughly

Suddenly it seemed like everything was coming into focus. It was because of this bitch that things were getting so out of hand. I

couldnt even look my friends in the face anymore, because shes been parading herself like a whore in the verandah. I pushed her

again- harder this time. She fell down and looked up at me with fear in her eyes It was almost as if she knew what I was

thinkingaccepting her guiltshe wasnt even screaming anymorejust looking up at me with that mute, pleading expressionI

felt powerful. I felt strong.

It was almost as if I was possessed. I wasnt thinking but somehow knew exactly what I had to do. The whore had to be punished.

She had to learn what happened to girls like her. I dragged her by the hair towards the charpai

Bhaiyapleasenodont she was choking on her sobs now. I felt repulsed and aroused at the same time. It was a sickening

sensationbut I couldnt stop nowI had to go through with itWhat do I remember of it? Tears blood and an overwhelming sense of ecstasy that had taken over

Its a strange feeling. I really dont know what to make of ita weird, warped sense of calm has taken over I feel completely numb

to the world. Everything and everyone has ceased to matter. Theres just this overwhelming sense of emptiness within this

deafening silence. It felt like the end of the world, but now, I dont know .I keep telling myself that its not such a big deal, that Ill

get over it someday, somehow but suddenly the look on his face flashes in my mind the way he pressed me down against the

cotthat feeling of helplessnessand something inside me explodes. I lose the will to do anything even to live. Ma says whathappened was unfortunatebut I should put the past behind me and look forward to the future she says theyve found a boy for

methe idea of leaving home seems like the only ray of hope



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All the arrangements have been made. The wedding is going to take place tomorrow...in a matter of less than 24 hours, I will be a

married woman.

Ive seen brides weeping from the pain of leaving their childhood homes behindyet I will never know that pain. I realise now that

I was never really a member of the family anywayjust a liability.As for now, let us all forget what happened that night. He is the son of the house, after all. Lets pretend no one heard me screaming

and begging for him to stop. Lets hope my husband to be doesnt find out hes getting tarnished goods

So the sooner I am out of this house, the better. No one knows what to say to me anymore theyre all bustling about preparing for

the wedding as if it were a normal, happy occasion. Sometimes it feels like I imagined the whole thingthe way everyone is being

so nonchalant about it. But then night fallsand fear grips my heart again

Its been four years since Ive been married.

In the beginning, it was all just right; things were going according to plan. But gradually problems started cropping up

At first it was just little thingsher constant nagging about where I had been, why Im late, why am I drinking so much, then the

way shed cower in a corner if I was drunk, look at me as if I were a heartless demon the list is endless.

Progressively her behavior started becoming more and more unbearable, she started demanding that I let her work thinking that

I could always use some extra money I got her a job at my friend Satishs factory.But it was of no avail as she began hiding the money she earned I would discover it in several nooks and crannies of the house

inside the pillow, under the idols in the templeeven in the lining of the mattress my blood boiled with anger when I saw her

trying these scheming little tricks.

She would come home late, see me drinking and hide herself away. I could see her flinch when I ventured near her; recoil every

time I touched her, as if she was repulsed by my sight, revolted by my touch that made me livid, I felt like thrashing her so much,

that the scars on her body become permanent

I cannot go on like this. I left home thinking this marriage would save me. But there seems to be no respite for me yet. He sits at



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home drinking all dayand when he is completely drunk, drags me out of bed and forces himself on me. When I am unwilling, he

hits me, abuses the children and mesays that he will sell us off to a brothel if I dont do as he asks.

I try to be a good wifeI try to keep him happy. But nothing I do seems to be good enough. He flies into a rage at the smallest of

thingsthe other day he didnt like the way the food tasted, so he flung the kadhai on my face, sometimes he doesnt return fromwork for days on end, and if I ask him where he has been he whips me with his belt what have I done to deserve this?

I think Im losing my mind, because, these days the display of his wrath has begun to amuse me when he whips me, I feel as if

with every successive blow, Im enjoying the pain more. My children feel disturbed

though they never say anything, just keep looking at me their eyes brimming with terror.

My employer Satish, he is an elderly man, is the only person who has shown some interest

in helping mebut the help comes at a heavy price; for he is no different from any othermale. In return for what he wants out of me, he gives me money and is even willing to give

me a place to stay in the city. One day when my husband is away, I shall take the children

and run away from this place. Its funny how this situation seems so familiar, four years

back I was leaving my house to find solace in my married lifeI found none. Now Im

leaving this place to go to another with the same ray of hope in my heart- that someday the

clouds will part

J A M I A - M C R C


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b a j r a n g b a l i a n d t h e c r i s i s o f m a n h o o d

Shakti ki puja to karte hi hain, par Bajrang Bali zyada strong hain.

(We worship Shakti but Bajrang Bali is stronger.)

A pehelwan1 at the

Chandagiram Akhara

The epitome of masculinity, vigor, power and male strength, Bajrang Bali2 looms large over the Chandagiram Akhara3 as its patron

God. A place where stereotypical notions of masculinity are manifest in the traditional Indian sport of Kushti4, or Mud Wrestling,

the akhara offers significant insights into the workings of gender relations in patriarchal structures. A visit to the Chandagiram

Akhara, one of the oldest and most renowned in Delhi, allowed us to examine the different facets of a gendered existence.

The front door opens into a large hall stocked with modern fitness equipment. Doors on all sides lead to the single room

accommodations of the resident wrestlers. In the backyard is an approximately twenty by twenty foot mud ring where the matches

take place. On one corner of this ring is a small shrine to Bajrang Bali. The akhara houses almost everything that a wrestler needs.

Everyday routine is a continuous cycle of sleeping, exercising and eating. The single focus of the men here, is to perfect the art of

wrestling, but like so many other things, this is not merely sport, it is a way of life.

Men work out, wrestle, win awards and money. The most important function of the women is to support the mans routine and see

to his meals. Here, the enforcement of traditional gender binaries: man/woman, public/private, culture/nature, reason/instinct is

stringent and harsh ignoring the notion of identity as a fluid construct.

The traditional akhara is clearly a male domain. The ancient link to Bajrang Bali highlights the Hindu tradition of celibacy that now

operates in a much lesser degree. It also hints at the fact that a womans intrusion would not be welcome. Most of the wrestlers we

interviewed did not seem to mind the idea of women wrestling. Women also wrestle now, but their matches are held on mattresses,not on the mud. Their menstrual flow pollutes the wrestling ring. They were, however, silent on the issue of introducing women

from their own families to the field.


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D E L H I C O L L E G E O F A R T


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ut+jkuk

^^MkDVj lkgc oks csM uEcj ikp ij tks is'ksUV gS u mldh ek fQj xk;c gS** ulZ ds psgjs dh >YykgV lkQ fn[k jgh Fkh ^D;k fQj ls] bl ckjoks vk;s rks mls esjs ikl HkstukA nks ?k.Vs ckn ,d iryh&nqcyh lh vkSjr flj >qdk;s muds lkeus Fkh] ^ueLrs] eSaMe]** mldh iryh lh vkokt

lqudj MkDVj lkfgck us flj mBkdj dgk] ^cSBks utjkuk] utjkuk rqe tkurh gks u fd rqEgkjh csVh dh ns[kHkky dh fdruh t:jr gS] eSa ;s ughadgrh fd rqe gj le; mlds lkFk jgks ij de&ls&de fnu esa rks mlds lkFk jgk djks**

bruk dguk Fkk fd utjkuk QQd iM+h]

^^ns[kks utjkuk eSaus igys Hkh dgk Fkk vkSj vc Hkh dgrh gw fd vxj rqEgs dksbZ ijs'kkuh gS rks eq>s crkvks D;k irk eSa rqEgkjs dqN dke vk ldwaA**

igyh ckj utjkuk us utj mBk dj MDVj lkfgck dh vk[kksa esa ns[kk] dqN lksp dj mlus viuh dgkuh 'kq: dh&

dgkuh 'kq: gksrs gS vkxjk dh xfy;ksa esa jg jgs ml eqfLye lekt esa tgk vkSjrksa dks ljsvke [kkluk Hkh xqukg gksrk gSA utjkuk dk fudkg mldhcqvk ds dgus ij ,d ,sls 'k[l ls fd;k tkrk gS tks fctyh dk dke djrk FkkA fudkg ds oDr ;g ckr lkeus vkrh gS fd vtgj 'kjkc ihrkgS ij ;s dg dj fd ftEesnkjh esa iM+dj oks [kqn lq/kj tk;sxk ckr ;w gh mM+k nh tkrh gS ij dk'k ,slk gh gksrk] tSls&tSls oDr xqtjus yxk vtgjdk crkZo cnyus yxkA nsj jkr rd 'kjkc ihdj ?kj vkuk] NksVh&NksVh ckrksa dks ysdj >xM+k djuk mldk jkst dk dke gks x;k] dHkh&dHkh ekjihVrd dh ukScr vk tkrh gS] cwkdj Fkd x;s Fks fj'rsnkj ?kjsyw ekeyk dg dj ihNs gV tkrsA utjkuk

ds ek&cki le>kdj tkrs] nks rhu fnu ldwu jgrk Fkk fQj ogh 'kq: gks tkrkA pkj cPpksa dk cki cu tkus ds ckotwn Hkh vtgj dks fdlhftEesnkjh dk ,glkl ugha gksrkA

ij 'kk;n brus ij Hkh [kqnk dks lcz ugha gqvkA jkr dks lks;s cM+s HkkbZ lks;s gh jg x;s 'kk;n mUgsa fny dk nkSjk iM+k FkkA ,d ogh Fks tks ?kj dkslEHkky jgs FksA yxk fd cM+s HkkbZ dh ekSr vtgj dks lq/kkj nsxh ij gqvk bldk mYVk gh mlds tqYe vkSj c


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jkr Hkj utjkuk lksprh jgh lqcg gksus rd mlus QSlyk fd;k fd oks vc vkSj ugha lgsxhvius cPpksa dks v;k'k cki dk uke ugha nsxh viuh lkl dh btktr ysdj oks fnYyh vkx;h ;gk ?kjksa esa NksVk&eksVk dke djds viuk vkSj vius cPpksa dk xqtj&clj djus yxhAftUnxh /khjs&/khjs lQj r; dj jgh FkhA vc mldk ,d gh edln Fkk cPpksa dks dkfcycukukA fnYyh ds ml cnuke bykds esa dqN 'kjhQ yksxksa us mls jgus ds fy, >qXxh fnyoknh Fkh utjkuk vc uTtks pkph ds uke ls tkuk tkus yxhA ij dgrs gS u fd bUlku lcdqN NksM+ nsrk gS ij mEehn ugha NksM+rk] utjkuk ds fny ds dksus esa vHkh Hkh ;s mEehn Fkhfd dk'k vtgj lq/kj tk;s vkSj mls


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D E L H I C O L L E G E O F A R T


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utjkuk fdlh rjg mudh Qjekb'k dks iwjk djrh ij ;s lc mlds cl ds ckgj dh ckr FkhA vtgj dk ,d ckjfQj dksbZ vrk&irk ugha FkkA utjkuk fQj vdsyh jg x;hA dbZ ckj csVh ds llqjky okyksa ds lkeus viuh ykpkjhtrk;h ij mUgksaus rks tSls dle [kk j[kh FkhA b/kj ?kj ij NksVh csVh dh rfc;r Hkh [kjkc jgus yxhA mlds bZyktesa gh jgs [kpksZ us jgh lgh dlj iwjh dj nhA

^cl eSMe fdlh rjg iSlks ds bUrtke ds [kkfrj ;gka&ogka HkVduk iM+rk gS blh otg ls csVh dks iwjk le; ughans ikrh gw** dgrs&dgrs mldh vkokt HkjkZ x;h vk[kksa ls fudys vklw mlds xkyks dks xhyk dj nsrs gSA

^^vki gh crkb;s MkDVj lkfgck] dgka ls yk bruk iSlk xgus rks igys gh fcd x;s tks FkksM+k&cgqr tksM+ j[kk Fkkoks Hkh [kRe gks x;kA u tkus [kqnk dks eq>ls D;k nq'euh gS dHkh&dHkh th esa vkrk gS fd [kqn[kq'kh dj ywA

^^utjkuk fgEer er gkjks** MkDVj lkfgck us utjkuk ds dU/ks ij gkFk j[k dj dgk ^vkt ls rqe dHkh vius vki dks vdsyk er le>uk] eSa ,dlaLFkk dh dk;ZdrkZ gw tks rqEgkjh tSlh vkSjrksa ds fy, gh dke djrh gS vc eSa vkSj esjs lkFkh ges'kk rqEgkjs lkFk gSA** vc rqe tkvks rqEgkjh csVhdh nok dk le; gks x;k gS] oks rqEgkjk bUrtkj dj jgh gksxhA**

lqudj utjkuk cksf>y dneksa ls okMZ dh vksj py nh** mlds tkrs gh MkDVj lkfgc us viuh laLFkk ls lEidZ fd;k mUgsa utjkuk ds ckjs esa crk;kAmldh NksVh csVh dk bZykt fcuk iSlksa ds 'kq: fd;kA cM+h csVh ds fy, Hkh dkuwuh lykg yhA

b/kj bruk dqN gksus ds ckn Hkh tSls [kqnk dh jaft'ks de u gq;h ,d fnu [kcj feyh fd LVkso QVus ls cM+h csVh vkx esa >qyl x;h gSA cngokllh utjkuk mlds ?kj x;h rks ogka mlds ?kj okyksa us mls viuh csVh ls feyus ugha fn;kA utjkuk le> x;h fd mu yksxksa dh Qjekb'kksa dksiwjk u djus dh ltk mldh csVh dks nh gSA utjkuk us cgqr le>k;k fd oks viuh csVh dks vius lkFk ys tk;sxh [kqn bZykt djk;sxh ij blij Hkh mu yksxksa dks dksbZ jge ugha vk;kA bl ij gn ;s gqbZ fd mu yksxks a us utjkuk ij gh ;s bYtke yxk fn;k fd oks viuh csVh dks ;gkals ys tkdj cspuk pkgrh gSA

^^dgkuh fy[kh tkus rd utjkuk dh csVh dk bZykt py jgk Fkk vkSj mldh cM+h csVh ds fy, laLFkk iwjh rjg dksf'k'k esa yxh FkhA**

L A D Y S H R I R A M C O L L E G E


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d a r g a h

The rather unstable step made by the two slabs of stone one above the other, leads to a small

courtyard with a shrine on the right and the sights and sounds of a busy household on the left.

This is the residence of Farid and Chand Nizami, two brothers who are carrying on the Sufi legacy of their ancestors

The Qawwals at the dargah are the direct descendants of Amir Khusro who came to India from turkey around 750 years ago. He

invented the popular instruments like the tabla and sitar used today. Miraj, the eldest among the qawwals says that qawwali is sung

for the greatest pir-GOD. He distinguishes it from the commercial form which is sung for mortals. Although Qawwali was to be

sung for his praise and devotion or Ibadat, it is today only a ritual of sorts performed during Urs and the following day. The loss

of our culture and its degeneration can be seen here very obviously where the descendants of a great poet have to struggle tosurvive. But the question to be asked is that in the age of globalization and capitalism is it possible for an art to survive?

Can the performers sustain themselves without commercialization?

The answers are available. The younger generation of qawwals like Zaffar Hayat Nizami is ready and willing to work commercially.

One of the reasons why the economic condition of a family is important is its effect on other aspects of life like education, work

skills and the condition of women.

The qawwals are a close knit group. They do not mix their blood. Their daughters are married within the community and the

daughters in laws are also from within the community. When asked about their daughters and their education Miraj and his friend

go on the defensive. They say that their children including the girls go to schools like any of us and are free to pursue higher studies.

But girls at no cost are allowed to sing or even learn music as a hobby. It is a domain of the men in the family. Miraj says that they

would have no problems in teaching music to girls from other communities, but for their own girls it is forbidden territory. However

the women are free to take up jobs such as teaching.

This phenomenon of close knit families is neither new nor is it unique to the qawwals of Nizamuddin. It is a phenomenon that has


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house. Women are still attributed the traditional responsibilities of bringing up the children and looking after the house .This

discrimination is not religious in character. It breaks barriers of caste and religion. It is a gender- based discrimination. With the

ruling out of qawwali as a career option ,and no promise of education, the women are left with little to do.They do not have the

courage to dream inspite of having ambitions. The same set of rules which are a boon foe the male members of the family to ensure

that the qawwali tradition gets carried forward, become a bane for these women. Women will never sing, but they can do a lot more.

Perhaps the simple step of educating them could prepare them for that dream. What such a step can do for a womens confidence

needs no explanation. This would also solve their e economic problems to a great extent and would leave the males for more artistic

pursuits, rather than digressing from the praise of god to the praise of mortals for financial viability.

The Nizami tradition presents a beautiful world, a world different from what we inhabit. However the solitary window, fitted with

iron bars in the ladys room troubled our minds. Is looking out of such windows the only way these women can see the sky above?The walls of their rooms are the universe for these women, but is the universe just these four walls?

Miraj with LSR students Farid and Chand Nizami

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u d a a n - t h e f l i g h t

Kaaton se kheech ke ye aachal,

tod ke bandhan bandhe payal,

koi na roke dil ki udaan ko,dil wo chala.......

aaj phir jeene ki tamanna hai.....

{I have pulled myself out of thorns,

I have broken all shackles,

Let not anyone stop my flight today,I want to live again......

Once again....}

Its a chilly January morning-gloomy and foggy. Somewhere 40 kms deep in the heart of Delhi suburbs in a run down 3-storey

building sat five people. The walls of the room are defined by posters which scream against violence perpetrated on the body, mind

and soul that the so called fairer sex undergoes in phases within our modern society.

The room was barely furnished with a few tables stalked with files and a chattai on which were seated five women. In one corner

sat Najma staring at the small blackboard that hung at the centre of the plastered wall written in bold white chalk MAHILA

PANCHAYAT staring at her, invoking the past. The pain, the tears, the betrayal and her triumph......they all came back in a flash.

I was 16 when I got married to a man knowing fully well that he was in love with another woman. But Ammi kept telling me that

men change after marriage. I waited.......... days, months and years rolled by. But nothing really happened......For 8 years, I lived in

that gilded cage. I was abused, beaten, raped and humiliated and scarred for life. I was even lured into trafficking by a man. But

fortunately I saved myself.

Appaji with JNU students

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I decided not to take it anymore and thus walked out with my four sons towards an unknown destination. A new journey had begun.

I found refuge in SHAKTISHALINI-an organization with a vision to empower women. Here I met APPAJI- one of the mostinspiring personalities and a woman of incredible resilience, who showed me the direction and changed my life forever. A woman

of insurmountable strength and an embodiment of courage who had seen it all. Her own daughter had been burnt alive by her own

in-laws for demands of more dowry. But unlike many others, Appaji refused to break down. She instilled courage in me. She made

me realize if she could do it, then why not many other women like us. A new dream was born-NAVSHRISTI and I became a part of

it. It became a medium to realize our self-worth. Navshristi was established in Nangloi. Soon it became a symbol of communal

harmony by generating goodwill in the equally dominated Hindus and Muslims of the area. Women from both the communities ofnearby areas here got an opportunity for self expression by educating themselves, learning to stitch, sew,& being trained in beauty

treatments.

The centre has become a symbol of sisterhood. We have become a family sharing our feelings. We have tried our best to care for

each person who has joined us and helped them fight against this state of fear, oppression and insecurity. We gave them a voice. The

workers here strongly believe that girls should learn to be self-reliant and stay independently if needed.

Things started to change. The battered wife stood up against her drunk husband, the harassed daughter-in-law said no to more dowry,

many daughters convinced their families to educate them, mothers refused to stand by and watch their children suffer, they realized the

futility of the senseless discrimination between the boy and girl child, many started challenging the conventional patriarchal wisdom.

In short, Navshristi- our new creation forced people to deconstruct and then construct the traditionaly received norms.

Today, yet again I see another Najma here, hiding her tear-stricken face and bruised eyes in her wet dupatta. Its ironical indeed! The

pain stings back each time with equal vengeance. But this time I have promises to keepand to walk a mile more........Ill break her

shackles. I will give her wings to fly.


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believe that this is a job that most women would be adept at, but surprisingly this field

remains mostly male dominated. It is quite ironical that at home men hardly enter the

kitchen whereas when it comes to the professional front, women are rarely to be found.

When asked about this paradox Mr. Sultan told us that professional cooking is a verystrenuous job involving long hours and so women are generally not suited to this profession.

Being physically weaker than men, women have difficulties in handling huge and heavy

utensils, as is also the case with large quantities of raw material required for cooking.

Long working hours extending late into the night do no good either. He tells us that since

most of the kitchen workers belong to lower economic classes, they are illiterate and use

abusive language. And so he reasons that the few women who might be present would find the atmosphere quite uncomfortable.

But of course, there is no profession in this world that is bereft of any difficulties and we wondered if there were some women who,

undaunted by these limitations, wanted to enter this field. Mr. Sultan told us that when he was a student, there were no girls in his

batch but now the society is changing and there are some girls taking interest in this profession. When asked if the hotel authorities

were prejudiced against women for the same reasons, he refused and said that he himself was a great promoter of enterprising girls

who were interested in this field, since he believes that merit can outdo any preconceived notions. In fact, the proof for this lies in

the fact that the daughter of a top defence personnel works under him in his kitchen.

After a few days, we got the opportunity to meet Bahadur Singh, a cook at a local dhaba where he has been working since the age

of 9. Today he is married with two daughters and a son. His daily schedule is monotonous and consists of sleeping, eating and

cooking primarily though he watches Hindi movies once in a while. He has not won any international accolades but nearby

residents swear by his aloo ke paranthe.

When we asked him whether his wife worked along with him, he seemed quite amused at the prospect and replied, If ladies work

outside, then who will take care of home? When we explained that by letting his wife work he would be increasing his household

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income, he looked as if realisation had dawned upon him. Just a minute later he changed his statement and said that a woman should

be allowed to work only if she can handle both the fronts. But when asked whether he would allow his daughter or his wife to work

separately or independently, he gave a very cold NO as an answer. On being asked why, he replied in a very serious tone that no

man in his society could see a woman working separately. Assisting the husband was one thing, but working independently would

mean that the man and master of the house was incapable of providing for them.

We went on to explain to him that now society was changing, women enjoyed an equal status as men, they were ambitious and were

extending their area of expertise, beyond the household. Bahadur Singh got angered at this

and said that these were the kind of new ideas that were responsible for the moral degradation

of society. He says that a man will never allow a woman to get a step ahead of him, and his

daughter will comply with whatever her husband expects of her.

We do not wish to draw any set conclusion from this nor do we wish to offer an opinion on any

of these accounts that we have retold. We only present you with a true picture of our society in

just a few lines. We leave it to the readers to conclude whatever they choose to and realise the

truth if they wish to.

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p e r e n n i a l d e a t h

Cries, stifling cries, maddening hysteria..silence and then again..shriek, a painful shriekwhich dried the blood in her

veins.

As her eyes opened she just wished him to be away. It was just another nightmare lying there beside her in reality.

Still shaking from the heart wrenching shrieks of desperation, she got up, wrapped a shawl around her frail and scrawny body and

just stood in front of the open door.

Her vision was blurred by the tears welling up in her eyes. As she kept staring outside looking at the empty road, it turned into a grey

muddy path and instead of buildings she saw small black mud houses like dots on either side of the road, tall trees hung over the

houses as if protecting them from some unforeseen forces, she had drifted as if by magic into her childhood, which was a distantmirage now.

It was that dreadful night where it all ended for her. The sudden noises of a passing car shock her back to reality. She was

grinding her jaws so that they would stop moving but this was no respite as it was very cold.

She went inside and got a small bottle with an ugly skull made on it in red, as she looked at it she thought life was mocking at her

face, voices started echoing in her head all screaming at her just one word COWARD.

With the bottle clenched tightly in her small bony fist she sat by the door and started to gaze outside again. Only this time what she

saw was unbearable, open, moist eyed, she saw only shades of black and grey broken houses with cobwebs, trees like scary

onlookers without leaves that wanted to grab her with their branches. She was feeling suffocated, as if she were underwater in an

ocean at night, it was so vast that she did not know where it started and where it ended.

She was taking a bath in the lake in the village, she was 13 when two hands grabbed her and drowned her in the shadows of darknessforever. He was 35 yrs old. She shivered as she thought how he had forced and penetrated all her innocence and had left a void in her soul.


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She was married to that same man within two days. The flowers lining the lake had withered and so had she, each day she was

drowned in that same waters of shame by her husband and the trees without leaves, they just looked.

She was chained to her own tomb for eternity.

Shivering she looked at the bottle with the ugly skull and saw her once spotless face in the glass, so bruised and battered now thatshe could not recognize herself.

They shifted to the city after a year of the marriage.

Every day she saw the sun rising from behind those tall buildings. The sun looked so feeble and tamed in the midst of that concrete

jungle, an epitome of freedom and strength, the sun seemed insulted and deprived of its glory in the shadows of those tall buildings,

she too was deprived, deprived of her freedom, deprived of her own will.

The shades of black and grey encircled her again. She felt as if someone had poured molten lava on her, as the boiling water seeped

through her sari and her 4 months pregnant stomach, she saw the face of hatred staring back at her, she became deaf to the yelling

and walked away, those same hands grabbed her again and drowned her again in the waters of shame and lust.

Little eyes small feet, just like a doll she was holding life in her hands, after toiling with labor for 4 hrs, this was her prize. Her child

died after 8 months due to pneumonia. Closing her eyes she touched her stomach, there were burnt marks still there, she hadsuddenly aged she touched her eyes around the corners and felt the lines of time which had passed quickly for her while she was still

waiting for salvation.

Blood gushed out of her wrist and made red spots on the floor, she stared at them and then looked up into the eyes of her second

child 10 years of age; she saw fright in those small pupils; she smiled and then started crying that, the life which had evolved out of

her had no future; her son was working in a mechanics shop, her husband was bedridden, liver cirrhosis and she worked in houses,cleaning utensils, clothes.



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The neighbours came, hearing the screams of an innocent, forced into this meaningless life and took her away to the hospital. The

scares of all the years were still there on her heart, mind and soul. The tears whirled in a black whirlpool along with the ghastly

buildings and she swam in an endless tunnel without any light.

He was lying there on the bed, grey hair and ageing but those hands had not lost their strength or their greed and showered theirvenom on her and her son, who also lay there on the floor curled into a ball trying to give his mother some place on the bed but even

he could not give her a place in this world. He was curled as if hiding away from the tentacles of poverty and black eyed malice of

hunger.

The angry face on the bottle again screamed at her COWARD she wanted to drown that word away. As she stared at the sun rising

from the concrete jungle, insulted and deprived of its glory in the shadows of those tall buildings, she slowly brought the bottle to

her lips.

Everything was in the shades of black and grey.



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u n t i t t l e d

This is not a sob story for the benefit of a PhD in male bashing. If it comes across as

such, then all we would like to say (politely of course) is Face the reality ladies and

gentlemen! Dont make fabricated excuses in order to satisfy your conscience.Because we tried as hard as we could to not put spice into our taleand this is what it

sounded like:

Take 1: Paridhi is born when her family is going through financial difficulties and

is branded unlucky.

Take 2: Paridhi passes her 12th standard exams, is not allowed to study further and is married off to an unemployedman.

Take 3: Paridhis father-in-law starts making physical advances towards her. Her husband demarcates his association with the

whole business.

Take 4: Paridhi leaves her husband and files for divorce.

Take 5: Paridhis family lets her into the house but constantly accuses her of ruining the family name and any future that heryounger sister might have had.

Take 6: Paridhi agrees to marry a divorcee police constable so that the path can be cleared for her younger sister to marry.

Take 7: Paridhi reaches her new home in the interior of Uttar Pradesh and finds that the first wife of her new husband is still

living with the family and is not legally divorced.

Take 8: Paridhi discovers that her new husband has a sexual relationship with his younger brothers wife and Paridhi herself isexpected to reciprocate the same favours to her husbands younger brother. She refuses.



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Take 9: Paridhi stays in constantly harassed circumstances for 2 years till her younger sister is married off without any

stigma.

Take 10: Paridhi leaves her second husband and comes back to her family begging them to let her in willingly.

Take 11: Paridhis family now fears her legal right in the family property which should all go to the son traditionally. Theyaccelerate their demeaning attitude towards her.

Take 12: Paridhi still lives with her family. She now has a job but that does not compensate for the constant psychological

stress on a day to day basis, 365 days of the year.

Here we finish the story of our protg with minimum of emotional sentiments. We made sure that the readers didnt cry or were

even remotely entertained. So now that everyone is not sentimental, is thinking rationally, is capable of an impartial hearing ofour narrativewe continue.

Paridhi was never a man-that is obvious! she has been treated as woman. But her future is something that has even the term as

woman ripped from her badge of accomplishments. Because according to our

ever righteous socity, a woman without husband and kids is not a complete

woman. So what do we call Paridhi now?

We will not go into the complexities of what feminity and masculinity mean.

All we have to say is that Paridhi is not interested in marrying again. Let alone

depending, she does not want to trust any man, any longer.bottom-lineno

arguments. Who can blame her? In Paridhi we saw the face of thousands of

women who have burnt all bridges of contact between feminity and

masculinity. Here goes our benevolent purpose of gender studies again. Canwe salvage it yet?



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Why is it that parents acknowledge the burden of marriage of their daughters as their responsibility

and yet the responsibility of checking the credentials of the household they are packing their burden

off to, is outside their domain? In this case the educated parents of the girl blame it on her kismat. Yet

another excuse for getting something off ones conscience...?

Why is it that even educated people, according to the presence of their flashing degrees, are not

educated in the true sense of the term. Paridhis father is an engineer but his education seems to be nil

in real terms.

Why is it that in certain situations a woman has to be dominated and kept down while in other situations

(mostly when she is doing wrong) is not to be interfered with and even encouraged. Paridhis mother is

in the forefront of the whole attack, her father and brother who would otherwise designate her to theposition of a woman in other matters, do not interfere and even support her when she harasses her own

daughter.

Her second husband says that he has seen the world and knows that all city girls are whores or nearly

whores, so Paridhi being a city girl should not object to sleeping with her brother-in-law. This portrays

the attitude towards stereotypes that have been formed.city girls-too open, girl smoking - badcharacter, girl dancing in a disc - ready to sleep with anyone who approaches. One can somehow deal

and fight with the situation but what happens when the members of the law enforcement force start

categorizing everyone into broad categories of what they consider good or bad. They are the ones

we look up to for the well being of the people and maintenance of the lawwhen did we give them the

right to make laws and play God?


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thrashings, her husband did not tame and love her after the beating. Pehle

jab marte the, pyar to karte the (Earlier, he would be tender with me

after a beating)! What can one call this? Ignorance about ones rights orsubmission to the one you love? A serious question for all those who still

believe in healthy debates.

Sanam had been with Noor through all the hard times. Her restless hands,

came one over the other, perhaps in search of her better halfs pair; her

beautiful eyes drained tears every time she mentioned his name; as she

narrated how they would remain hungry for days together in their harder

times back in the village. In fact, they had migrated to Delhi in search of

work only, where now Noor is well off working for a garment company

as a master tailor. He earns Rs 15,000 a month and sends Rs 1500 to

Sanam too - enough for her to kill her time - alone? She indulges herself

in occasional visits to neighbourhood Thakurs. Plays around with their

children. Dresses up quite bright and always wears a plastic smile in the

Mohalla street. She might have to do only this for the rest of her life.

What does she do now? Would she remarry, as she is still beautiful and quite young; or would she seek divorce from her husband?

All tastes bitter to her. She is in a dilemma. However, she seems quite eager that her husband take her back, which seems quite

unlikely though. But, what to do, she is still in love and has hope. I wonder can hope and love ruin somebody like this as well?

N A T I O N A L I N S T I T U T E O F M A S S C O M


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R A I U N I V E R S I T Y


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s h i n e o n y o u c r a z y d i a m o n d

I was back home. Everything seemed so familiar around the house. The walls, the smell, the people.

It was like coming back from a sweatshop. Loads of work, meager pay, pathetic conditions et al. Abbu

was still in Dubai, drinking. He was supposed to send money which he never did. He hadnt called this

week. What would happen when I tell him that I would never go back to that house again? My mind

refused to work. My marriage seemed like a fairytale, like snow white . No, like Cinderellas

except the prince charming would never come back looking for me. The house seemed so peaceful.

The nagging there was constant. Your dowry is less, You should have given us a scooter instead of

that cycle.

My head was exploding. Too many dilemmas in my head. Too many problems and no solutions. I hadto take charge of my life. But what if he came back? What if he came back, to take me to his house?

No! I will never step into that house again. That old man disgusts me from the very pit of my stomach.

I was supposed to be like his daughter. How could somebody abuse their daughter, sexually? My

mind fails to understand. And and to top it all Ravi Ji wouldnt believe me. He felt that his father

couldnt go wrong, but that? Even after he saw it happen in front of his own eyes!!! My mind fails to

understand.

I hate that house, I hate the occupants of that house, except Ravi Ji, but only if he leaves that house.

But even he has fooled me. Even he told me how he was working even though he wasnt. They had

made me useless and even he had a hand in it. If only he could leave the house to come and stay with

me. I will surely forgive him, because I miss him.

However he may beSeems like Ammi is back. She looks exhausted. Anybody would be. She works 14 hours a day. To


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R A I U N I V E R S I T Y


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feed herself, her daughter, now both the daughters and that useless lazy oaf, who doesnt do anything except drink. Even he is

cribbing about getting married. Ill make sure he doesnt marry until he sorts himself out. Poor Ammi. I need a job, one where I am

provided with a good house and a long sleek car. Ha who would employ a poor seventh grade pass for that job? I feel so lost in

this world. I want to learn crochet. But I dont have the time. I will make garlands instead. They pay according to the garlands you

make per hour. I can work more to get more money. Even Munni has to get married. I have to talk to Ammi, I dont want her makingthe same mistake they made with me, by not letting me grow up.

Ammi tells me that lazy oaf has been harassing her for money. He beats her up to get money so that he can have his drink. In front

of me he is like a mouse. These men! When will they ever have sense?

Life seems so disgusting.

I have to realize all this! These are my problems. Nobody would come forward and help me. I need to take charge of my life. I needto take care of my family. I need to be the man of the house. Even when there are two! Huh funny

P A R T I C I P A N T S


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College of Law & Leagal

Studies, IP University

Reeva Gujral

Vasudha Sen

Geet Priya Jha

Megha Sharma

Akshata Goel

Neeti Shikha

Divya Shree Dhimaan

Namrata Pahwa

Rai University

Devika Dayal

Anushree Agarwal

Mritunjay Devvrat

Abhijeet Chhabra

Siddharth Gautam

Divya Kothiwal

Mansi Goel

Saurabh Kumar

Jamia Milia Islamia &

Ramjas College

Chandrakesh Bihari Lal

Tanvi Jain

Himani Singh

Shatabdi Chakraborti

A. Ravi Kiran

Delhi College of

Engineering

Aditi Shukla

Amber jain

Aman Verma

Anuj Dhawan

Nipur Arora

Rajat Vashishta

Lady Shri Ram College-I

Natasha Jha

Shruti Dua

Aali Kumar

Suman Sharma

Adita Singh

Shaivya Saxena

Shymaine Panday

Sameen Siddiqui

MCRC (Jamia Milia Islamia)

Amit Madhesia

Shirley Abraham

Stuthi Raghavan

Charulata Menon

Manak Matiyani

Delhi College of Art

Sugandha Gaur

Shruti Soharia

Charu Monga

Amandeep Bakshi

Rajesh Duggal

Surendra Kumar

Kapil Kumar

Rajiv Chauhan

Lady Shri Ram College-II

Kanika Samra

Sheema Sharma

Tenzin Nyima

Gayatri Mishra

Shivani Kapoor

Aashita Tayal

Surabhi Sharma

Prerna Jain

P A R T I C I P A N T S


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Jesus & Mary College

Ragini Singh

Niti Dhingra

Parul Bhargava

Vanessa

Deepanshi Chaudhary

Shalini John

Ann Philipose

Rahi Goswami

National Institute of

Mass Communication

Arshad Rasool

Neha Uppal

Kanika Suri

Harneha Gulati

Nidhi Aggarwal

Tabassum Sofi

Hindu College

Kanika Gupta

Chetan Pathi

Praveen Prashant Jha

Akshay Chopra

Pranav Prakash

Umaid Vikramaditya

Naveen K. R. (Kirorimal College)

Shri Venkateshwara College

Ghazal Javed

Siddharth Pathak

Ravi Ekka

Shalini Rajaram

S. Ashwath Venkatesh

Shiva Kumar

Nandita Gupta

Anuja

St. Stephens College

Nida Ali

Saba Joshi

Nishita Jha

Triranjan Radha krishna

Pallavi Raghavan

Mathew Mathai

Nitin George

Jawahar Lal Nehru University

Mansi Singh

Piyali Sarkar

Rukmini Gohain

Malini Bhattacharya

Ziko

Cooshali Samuel

Probir Gupta an awardee of

the 10th Triennale India is an

artist and a human rights

activist determined to take art

to the masses. He combines

art practice with community


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and development work for the

marginalised. For the past 8years he has been deeply

involved in sensitizing

adolescents against various

issues, such as trafficking and

sale of organs of infants, child

labour and violence against

women. He is nominated to

the General Council of the

Lalit Kala Akademi by theGovt. of India.


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