Some More Love

It rained that night when you held me close.

Close enough to hear my fears scream

I had fluttered like a bird enchained, till

You hugged me to a lull in a thespian moment

Fear melted away, giving way to the rhapsody of pain

I loved you some more that day

I remember that winter when we hiked in snow

My fingers turned pale in the icy chill

You sat me down on a ledge and breathed me warm

Then you secured my palms deep in your pockets

And we walked a crazy walk..

I loved you some more that day

When we crossed busy streets

You'd dread an erred judgment

And with a firm clasp you would

Steer me around and manoeuvre my being

As if I was your most precious slave

I loved you some more those days

As you ate your meal, I fondly remember,

You'd plunge your fingers in the curry

My nurturer was now a child aged three,

And I'd silently smile at the sight before me.

You were adamant on your eating style

And I loved you some more those times

Once in a secluded corner, you whispered to me..

Beseeching from me an amorous kiss

I was cruel enough to torture you my love

And all I granted was a faint peck on the cheek

You sighed, were tormented - but acted gay

I loved you some more that day

I recall a time, when we had fought

Over a bitter discord on a political thought

Three days of lonely, lonesome nights had passed

Fourth day I noticed a white envelop.

Hidden beneath a green potted shrub

It was a letter wrote in prose to say-

"I love you more each passing day".

---might or might not be continued.. who knows?


:)

Maternal Mortality and Morbidity

A few days ago, the media reported an incident about a woman who lay dead on a pavement in Shankar Market, at Connaught Place, the heart of the Capital. The story illustrated the pain of a woman who went into labour and gave unassisted childbirth on a sidewalk, proving to be fatal. Prior to her tragic death, she was found by the owner of a nearby shop, who, having heard the wails of the newborn, came forward to help. Lying unkempt on a watered down, slimy pavement, the woman was hardly aware of the rainwater and the stray dogs lurking about her. She lay prostrate in a sordid state, with her baby girl pressed to her chest. As the story unfolded, the mother died four days later owing to severe weakness. Reportedly, the Police removed the body and took away the baby to a foster home.

In another such case, that surfaced a year ago, Fatima, a 24-year-old destitute girl delivered a baby girl under a tree in full public view. A patient of epilepsy, she simultaneously suffered severe fits at the time of delivery, making her condition critical. Frantic calls of help by her mother and repeated visits to MCD maternity home were not paid heed by the officers. The delivery took place unassisted and miraculously Fatima survived the ordeal. Fortunately for her, an NGO came to know about her and helped file a case in the High Court citing gross violation of human rights. It was through the medium of court and lengthy litigation that Fatima was awarded due compensation. If you happen to go past Nizamuddin Basti, you will still find her inhabiting under a lone tree with her mother Jaitun (Amma) and the daughter she calls Alisha. That tree is her only roof and it is her walls.

Such cases of maternal mortality and morbidity make one's insides churn, not only because these are outrageous and gross, but also because the same could have been averted and many lives saved. Maternal Mortality originally stems from social injustice obliterating access to right to survive pregnancy and child birth. Such deaths are rooted in women's subjugation, unequal status in society and lack of decision-making power. These women die, not because of some incurable illness, disease or heredity but of neglect and absence of health care amenities. In a country where childbearing is feted as 'taking forward of the family legacy', the mother herself is exposed to a risk to her life. When it comes to the duty of the family and the State towards making sure she lives through and after childbirth, the entire palaver fast loses steam.

We still record 63,000 maternal deaths every year, making India home to highest number of women dying during childbirth across the world. If launching of government sponsored schemes were the panacea, then India would have certainly reached the annihilation of maternal mortality by now. The reality is however, that despite the laws and the plethora of schemes, we remain a country where economic boom has left out and overshadowed the plight of its women.

The Central government launched the Janani Suraksha Yojna (JSY) under the National Rural Health Mission (NRHM) in 2005 which was introduced to cater safe delivery with the help of Accredited Social Health Activist (ASHA) and Auxiliary Nurse Midwife (ANM). The scheme aimed at providing cash assistance (ranging between `600-`1400) to all BPL women opting for institutional deliveries.

The service guarantees, as per the NHRM framework, promise minimum four antenatal check ups, iron and folic acid supplementation, tetanus toxoid injection, treatment of anaemia, minimum four post-natal checkups, transport and 24-hour access to emergency obstetric care. The National Maternity Benefit Scheme, Integrated Child Development Scheme (ICDS) and Antyodaya Anna Yojana (AAY) are other such schemes sponsored by the state to cater the nutritional, health and food-based assistance to destitute households.

The Constitution of India guarantees the right to life to the citizens of India under Article 21. In the landmark case of Paschim Banga Khet Mazdoor Samity & amp; ors v State of West Bengal & anr (AIR 1996 SC 2426) the Supreme Court held that the right to life includes the right to adequate medical facilities for preserving human life as well as the right to timely treatment in Government hospital. Article 42 (d) of the Directive Principles of State Policy guarantees the right to just and humane conditions of work and maternity relief. Article 14 (right to equality), Article-15 (freedom from discrimination) and Article 51(c) (respect for international law and treaty obligations) are further torchbearers of the right of a woman to a safe delivery as well as pre and post check up and assistance. Shockingly, 1,000 women are still dying daily from pregnancy-related causes in the country.

It is clear from above that there is no dearth of schemes or laws when it comes to maternal mortality and morbidity, but the implementation of the same is despondent. Most maternal deaths are caused by severe bleeding after childbirth, infections soon after delivery, blood-pressure disorders during pregnancy, and obstructed labour. Apart from these medical conditions, in many areas, health workers are not present or vaccines and medicines are not available. Patients are asked to purchase medicine from private chemists, which they cannot afford. The treatment of doctors and nurses is so harsh and insulting that women prefer unassisted childbirth with the help of dai (unqualified midwife) or quacks instead of qualified medical practitioners. Denial of pregnancy related entitlements, financial as well as medical, is quite common. In the absence of regular check-ups and physical examination, a pregnant woman's health deteriorates and chances of her and the baby's survival become slimmer. Reports of misrepresentation of facts and figures as well as corruption, when it comes to vaccine and medicine delivery, have further raised a question mark over state sponsored schemes and their implementation.

Though India has seen a fall in maternal mortality rate (MMR) by 59% between 1990 and 2008, the country is still grappling with one of the highest maternal death rates globally. According to the latest report, "Trends in Maternal Mortality", released jointly by WHO, UNICEF, UNFPA and the World Bank, India's MMR stood at 570 in 1990, which fell to 470 per 100,000 live births in 1995, 390 in 2000, 280 in 2005 and 230 in 2008 (see table). In contrast, the MMR of China is 37 per 100,000 live births.

There is a need for accountability and periodic assessment of facts at the ground level with strict scrutiny and a dedicated National Health Law. As per the Millennium Development Goals of 2015, India should bring down its MMR to 109 by the year 2015. If we are to reach anywhere near the promised target, the implementers need to pull up their socks and make sure the benefits of these schemes tenaciously percolate into the bottom of the social hierarchy, so that birth of a child continues to be a celebration and not a funeral.

Table:

Year	MMR (per 100000 live births)
1990	570
1995	470
2000	390
2005	280
2008	230

Neha Rathi

16.09.2010

Veiled

For so long I have been veiling what I feel. From myself, from those around me and from that one person. I have been living in a cocoon accompanied with the knowledge that the cocoon is not my world. And today, even without any incitement I can't stand not breaking the shell.

Life has been good to me. But saying it loud like this, makes it look like a discount and sound like a haggled bargain. And I hate to bargain. Asking for more seems greedy sometimes. But like everyone else here, I accept my avarice. The more you have the more you want, the more you want, the more you want to keep, the more you get to keep the more you want to better it all. I know the vicious circle too well. It has no beginning and no conclusion, just the odyssey.

Many people carry around this ultimate gospel which doubles up as their answer to everything - "its all about perspective", they say. It makes the incoherent seem simple. The illegible starts to look decipherable. To them. The haze lifts or perhaps they never see the haze. Have I started to sound like a cynic here? I betray myself.

I know the above doesn't make sense to you. I know but still I will say it. I don't want to be in love with what I don't want. I don't want to be in love with what I can't have. I don't want to become the cynic that I am fast becoming. I don't want to learn and unlearn each time that my heart flutters. I don't want to be what I am essentially not. I just hope it's a regular upset. 

---

I don't friggin' care who reads. Nor do I care what they think. Even if I care, I don't care enough. This is my land.

The Gotra-ization of Honour

As Khap Panchayats across the spectrum face flak in the media and beyond about their draconian and unacceptable diktats with regard same-gotra marriages, a recently held India/Independent People’s Tribunal (IPT) was held to bring to fore untold stories of shock and horror that stage themselves live in many families in India today. And as it appears, it is not just the Khap-rulings in a rural backdrop that are fuelling such barbarity. And neither does it all stem from the same-gotra debate that has polarised the issue. There are many incidents of such violence being reported from middle class educated households in cities like Delhi, Jodhpur and Faridabad where such crimes are being committed irrespective of the gotra or lineage. The focal point it seems is ‘defiance’ by the couples’ and exercise of their ‘right to choose’ instead of flouting of gotra norms by them.

The IPT, organised by Shaktivahini and Human Rights Law Network in collaboration with many state-based women rights groups, brought to fore astounding and gruesome testimonies from men and women whose only crime was that they fell in love and dared to defy the mandate of the ‘honourable’ samaj. Take this example. Delhi based Nikhil married his sweetheart Himani against her family’s wishes. Eight days into the marriage, and the police barged into their home and took Himani away. Their marriage certificate was torn off and he was further slapped with charges of abduction and kept behind bars for a month. By the time Nikhil filed a habeas corpus writ petition in the High Court and got a decree in his favour, he was informed that Himani was already dead. He was casually handed over Himani’s death certificate on the day he was to see her. While her family asserts she died from severe Pneumonia, the doctors concerned rubbish the same. His case remains pending in the courts.

In another case of the kind, Seema, a Delhi-based woman married one Satish in an Arya Samaj Mandir against the wishes of her family. Since after the marriage they were forcibly separated and she has not been allowed to meet her husband. Though her own family has taken her in, but her brothers wash their hands off her saying that she has brought this fate upon her self by choosing to marry of her freewill.

For Rajasthan Police staffer like Tannu, who fell in love with and married a boy belonging Scheduled Tribe, her marriage has taken a dramatic turn. Though the families have accepted the couple, it is the societal and self-styled guardians of Hindu dharma who have ostracised and threatened the couple to the extent that the duo has been keeping their marriage under wraps since two and a half years. One look at her and you understand why this girl is not wearing any bangles in her wrists and is bereft of the quintessential vermilion which is otherwise considered quite the hallmark of a married woman here. Her family is now concerned about the fate of her younger sister who is facing trouble getting married owing to Tannu’s ‘choice marriage’. Hence, the concealment. “The moment the groom’s side gets to know that I got married by my choice, they reject my sister and break the alliance. I have been trying to hide my marital status but how does one hide a five-month-old baby? The attitude of police officers who work with me is the same as they discourage me from any kind of advice that I may give to people who come to the police station seeking help. So many times I have been sent on duties away from jail on trivial pretexts so I may not be allowed to inform prisoners about their rights,” she says.

24-year-old Kailash tied the knot with Babita (23) in August this year. The couple did not inform her family as they knew their reaction would be inimical. After the marriage ceremony, Babita went home to talk to her parents who, furious with her marriage, have kept her under confinement at her home. Attempts made by Kailash to take his wife home have failed time and again. He fears Babita’s life and waits for Dalit Foundation, an NGO which has come for his aid, to help him get his wife back.

The gotra issue is only hogwash in order to push the underlying agenda of caste-based politics. The more a political organisation is seen as a preserver of societal norms, the more votes it aims to garner, oblivious of the fact that their harsh views spiral down to crimes and cause social banishment of the worst kind. The self-appointed custodians of this ambiguous entity have become so mighty that a daily mockery of ‘rule of law’ is being played out in the name of honour.

These tales of shock and horror smack of the urgency with a new legislation with regard such crimes needs to be formulated and implemented in the country. Hopefully, the law with regard honour crimes - in line with the provision of murder, hurt and illegal detention of the Indian Penal Code (IPC)- would take into account the issue of compensation to the victims and envisage proper record keeping of such crimes so that region specific action can be taken by the Government and NGOs. According to Haryana State All India Democratic Women's Association (AIDWA) president Jagmati Sangwan, honour crimes are such that unless a separate law is articulated and aggressively implemented, more and more people will fall victims to its hypocritical fangs. “Till now the police have not been maintaining any separate record for such crimes. AIDWA’s three month recording and survey has shown that within the 6000 odd villages in Haryana itself, five to six incidents of honour crimes are recorded in one village in a year.” 

What is really being penalised by Khaps is the right of individuals to choose their marriage-partners and the same is being portrayed under the subterfuge of incestuous relationships in order to seek majority support. Otherwise what is to answer the spate of cases where the girl and the boy belonging to different gotra are also killed or put through torture? Besides, Khap Panchayats primarily exist only in some parts of Haryana, Punjab, Rajasthan and western Uttar Pradesh although such cases are reported from all over the country. The need is to separate the gotra-issue from the issue of defiance viz-a-viz the reaction of families and community. According to data collected by HRLN, in most of the cases where diktats have been issued by the Khap, the couple in question was not from the same gotra but was punished nevertheless.

Though Khap and political satraps are to blame for this social bigotry but to hold them singularly responsible for all crime that takes place in the name of honour would be missing the woods for the trees. Right from forceful confinement, to beating up, to starvation and forcible separation of couples, honour crimes are being perpetrated even in average, educated middleclass households, away from realm of Khap. The need is to depoliticise the issue and sensitise people about the evils of the same and to help them broaden their outlook by way of progressive laws and proactive campaigning.

(Names of victims have been changed for privacy and security concerns)


-- Neha Rathi

It just so happens.

I stand at the edge of a cliff. Looking beyond the horizon. Where future meets destiny and a life is foretold. I try to look hard. But as always, I fail. I slog through the day. The night becomes my succour. My bed transforms into a lake and I swim and drown in a constant hiatus.

ek ashru ki boond

Ojhal hoti un aankho se..

Nikal pada main asehsa

Na gathri bandhe na saman liye

Main nikal pada kuch sehma sa

Mano kisi ka isharo ho

Kisi ne dhakka de mara ho.

Nikla main to zamee(n) garam thi

Bukhar na tha

Par tapish agam thi

Jo pag dhara to beh chala main

Aankho ke kone se gaalon ko chukar

Tumhare komal shareer se hokar.

Ek bar laga main reh jaunga

Tumhi mein kahin kho jaunga

Par zameen ne bula liya

Chhod chala main tumko

Tumhare tapte badan ko

Aura aa gira is dhool mein

Jo mujhe registaan si lagti hai

Chah aisi jagi jaisi

pyaase pathik ko pani ki lagti hai

Par main hi toh pani hu

Bhaav hu, barkha hu

Main hi to jeevan hu

Barf hu, badal hu..

Main hi to samudra

Main hi to khushi mein aankh mein basta hu

Main hi to dukhon mein sadev sajag hu

Main chal pada mujhe rok mat

Mere aane ko kos mat

Main aaya tha aur chala gaya

Main fir ek roz aaunga

Main ashruon ki boond hu

In aankhon se door kaha ja paunga

Jab chahogi, jab sochogi

Kisi yaad mein chupa paunga

Panther & I

Just watched Marley & Me and for the record, I only cried for half and hour but that was before I called Panther upstairs. Once he was up and in my arms, confused why his Neha was suddenly all sticky and wet on the face with tears, sitting on the dirty floor calling out his name while making strange cootchicoo faces, I ended up shedding stupid tears for another half an hour. The movie has that effect. We dog-persons can translate such cinema to our personal losses and gains and well, impending inevitable doom. (Sighs but then takes a deep breaths and gets on with writing.)

He takes my breath away, Panther does. He may do nothing but just be there laughing, frolicking about, looking at me with one ear dangling and the other slightly cocked up. His face stooping towards one side in a cute little 'hunnh?'. He actually totally melts me every time his big black hopeful eyes look at me with unabashed innocent greed and craving for yet another choostick or crunchy doggie biscuits that I keep stacked on my wall-unit table. I feel worst when he bids this silent goodbye near the main-gate every morning when I leave for college. His chin resting on a paw, instead of the usual space between his two paws, as if upset and deranged, as if asking me to return soon, or take him with me, or better still, not go at all. I sometimes turn back and kiss him goodbye, but I sometimes forget to do that in my haste to reach college on time. He waits for me anyway.

When I am home it's a joyride. He'd make funny sounds that a dog makes just before he is about to woof the hell out of my unsuspecting ears, it goes like the most impatient desperate 'unnnhhh unhhhnnn' groan. Earlier I used to mistake it for an urge to go pee but now I know better. ;) I'm well acquainted his myriad ways of barking. But when even I can't figure out, I trust my instincts about what he might be asking for, whether it's a walk-bark or water-bark, or a tasty-snack-bark or whether it's his irritate-neha-bark, the whole purpose of which is to make me take notice, even if that means waking me in the dead of the night.

Watching this movie made me recall the mad days when Panther was young. To him the world was a chewdom- a chewing kingdom; where he is the ultimate ruler- the Chewmaster. The Sovereign. And us? We figured no where! Except when he wanted us to run after him. He'd pick a shoe or a sock and would run about the house as if a railway engine has been let lose in the drawing room and kitchen. Round and round and round- with the speed of lighting. Running after him was NO option! Are you kidding me? The dog could give professional racers a run for their money. So, I used to take the other option which included a chant of: 'sit down'- 'relax' – 'try to forget the shoe ever existed'. Or if I could interest him in a treat, well that could solve the problem in a jiffy.

You know what's the cutest thing about him? It's his utter, unembarrassed, undiluted and firm belief that my (Neha's) world should revolve around his whims and fancies! And man, how I love it to make him feel that he is RIGHT. His belief keeps us going. I understand him when he is possessive and mean. When I hug my mom or sister I love to see him wag his tail impatiently, cz he's in line for the next hug. He can't see me snuggle with my mom, or my mom hugging me for that matter. In that he is so much like me. I am never quite at peace myself when my sister visits and my mom gives her a hug or compliments her more! I would squeeze myself in between them .. how bad of me.. but I do that .. and there I would wanna sit, in the middle of the two most important women in my life.. acting oblivious to the fact that either of them is breathless for want of some elbowroom..i mean literally.To see panther do the same is all the more hilarious. Cz he sometimes can't figure out why oh why he is not the centre of attraction. "What on earth have I done that you humans are cuddling each other! Why's not me instead!", he seems to think.

Panther likes bathing. Ever the water-friendly dog, he enjoys getting wet in the rain too. Just like me. So in a bid to make sure his coat is extra soft and so he gets a complimentary car ride, I have been taking my little angel to doggie parlour where they give him a medicated bath and then dry him off with something that looks like a vacuum-cleaner-in-reverse, in that it blows out warm air instead of sucking it in. He's shampooed, his coat is conditioned and then dry cleaned. Nice and smooth. I can see him enjoying the luxury, as long as I'm in sight. The second he can't figure out where i am, there he would go yelping, barking, all restless. I come back in sight instantly, and reassure my little baby.

But I know Panther is growing old. The black shiny coat that I'm so proud of, now shows streaks of white near the chin and roughly around his wobbly ears. He doesn't have that spring in his feet when I take him for walks and sometimes he gets tired when I go for the second run and wants me to halt. I see all that but then I forget it. I adjust as he wants me too. He wants to walk slow, so that's the way it is going to be.

All this banter about Panther, so well.. Maxie deserves a mention too. A reliable yet catty companion Maxie is as much fun as she always was! In love with Panther like a worshipper. And its amusing cz i have seen her getting real cheeky with other dogs.

And as I type this piece, sitting on a chair with my feet resting on the bed and the laptop on my lap, he's right here on my left-hand-side ..looking up and barking. For what? Beats me. :)

Holding on

Its tempting to fall back into the pit of misery, anxiety, helpless et al - the works, the ever-tempting decay. To be writing endless passages with emotions oozing out in prose from the deepest of wounds, flowing the way blood flows. Aimlessly, effortlessly and singular - 'bebaak' is the word. Its even more tempting to reminisce what's past me, to malign the present and pin up hopes for the future. As if that's the moksha to the death of today. What's now and here? Whattt?