At a book launch earlier this month, Javed Akhtar, the poet and film lyricist said, “No one of us has only one identity. We are a collage of different identities.”
In these times of heightened religious sensibilities, while this is a brave thing to say, to act upon these convictions is an entirely different matter.
But this is precisely what Kolkata’s Bethune College has done.
In its undergraduate admissions process, under the section titled ‘religion,’ the oldest women’s college in Asia has offered applicants the option to choose ‘Humanity’ besides Hinduism, Islam, Christian, Sikhism, Buddhism, Jainism and others.
“We have realised that some students are reluctant to mention their religion in the admission form. We appreciate their views as we feel that ‘Humanity’ is the true religion of mankind. So we have deliberately kept this category in the religion section. It was a unanimous decision on the part of our admission committee,” said Mamata Ray, principal of Bethune College, in a conversation with The Millennium Post.
Not only does this give students a way out of declaring their religious affiliations, which are just one facet of a person’s identity, but it also allows them to affirm a broader identity—their humanity.
More importantly, according to college authorities, if students do indeed choose ‘Humanity’ as an option, it will not come in the way of availing scholarships provided, if she meets the other requisite guidelines.
It isn’t the first time that this women’s college in Kolkata is blazing a trail.
Screenshot of the admission form.
The story of its very origins is closely tied to the Bengal Renaissance and the arrival of a certain John Elliot Drinkwater Bethune, who was sent to India in 1848 Law Member of the Governor General’s Council.
Besides his official duties, we worked closely with like-minded Bengali social reformers like Ramgopal Ghosh, Raja Dakshinaranjan Mukherjee and Pandit Madan Mohan Tarkalankar; he initiated the cause of women’s education.
Devoted to getting Indian women out of the throes of illiteracy and social oppression, Bethune was instrumental in setting up Kolkata’s first school for girls in 1849 called the Hindu Female School, which subsequently came to be known as Bethune School.
Unfortunately, the man passed away just two years later.
In 1856, the colonial administration took over the reins at the school and later renamed in Bethune School. The legendary social reformer Pandit Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar was appointed Secretary in the school’s management committee.
Students at the Bethune College campus. (Source: Bethune College)
“It was in 1878 that Bethune School had the honour of sending up the first woman candidate for the Entrance Examination of the University of Calcutta. When Kadambini Ganguly (née Basu) cleared the examination, college classes were arranged for her in Bethune school to enable her to pursue her studies for the FA examination. This is how the college started. And for many years to follow, this college remained the only institution offering the scope of higher education for girls in India,” says this description on the college website.
Joining Kadambini Ganguly in 1881 was Chandramukhi Basu, and together, both women ended up becoming the first women graduates of the Calcutta University in 1883.
Kadambini would go on to take admission in the Calcutta Medical College and becoming India’s first practising female physician, while her contemporary Chandramukhi took up a lecturer’s position in Bethune College, and subsequently became its first woman principal. Also Read: The Phenomenal Story of Kadambini: One of India’s First Women Graduates & Doctors
Since its inception, the college has produced a host of luminaries. They include Pritilata Wadder, the first female martyr of India’s freedom struggle; Asima Chatterjee, an organic chemist and first woman scientist to be awarded a Doctor of Science from an Indian University; Ila Sen, the first Bengali woman to be selected for participation in Olympic Games, amongst others.
Even 140 years later, the college remains in reasonable shape, and the National Assessment and Accreditation Council (NAAC) granted it a Grade A in 2015.
(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)
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A big dollop of snow-white rice lands on the plate. The steam swirls up into the air, only to be doused by a few drops of lime. A slight poke to release the heat, and a blast of one-of-a-kind citrusy fragrance transports the senses to an era long gone.
Meet the king of aromas, Gondhoraj—a reclusive member of the lime family and a distant cousin of Kaffir lime—known for its esoteric qualities of pushing people into a paroxysm of happy memories.
From livening up an insipid, watery dal to complimenting a flavourful helping of fish or meat, or even the world-famous Phuchka, Gondhoraj lebu, eastern India’s best kept culinary secret, has constantly been pushing Bengali cuisine to newer heights—transforming a gastronomic experience into much more than taste.
A king true to its soil, literally!
Often mistaken with its more popular cousin, Kaffirlime, Gondhoraj likes to rule from behind the curtains. One without an English name or a dedicated Wikipedia profile, this bright green oblong lime, also known as the Rangpur lime, originates in Sylhet and the picturesque hills of Chittagong, Bangladesh.
“Don’t you dare call a gondhoraj a nimbu in front of a Bengali. It’s a matter of pride. It’s a million times more than a mere nimbu,” says Anjan Chatterjee, a foodie and Indian hotelier. He owns Mainland China, Oh! Calcutta, Cafe Mezzuna, Sigree Global Grill, Hoppipola, Asia Kitchen and more.
A love child of mandarin orange and common lime, Gondhoraj lebu comes with a thick skin, hard enough to repeal a nonchalant squeeze that is usually enough for its relatives.
Scarce in juice but not in fragrance, the lebu is cut lengthwise to expose pale insides, which when properly squished, lets out a few paltry drops of ambrosia strong enough to waft around the house, inviting all to the dining table.
What’s even more endearing is that Gondhoraj can be used to resurrect any dish to its full potential. From its leaves squashed into a shredded mixture of shutki (dry) fish with generous helpings of green chillies, to using its zest in fresh or dried form on kosha mangsho (spicy chicken or mutton curry) or bhetki paturi (Barramundi Fish cooked by wrapping in banana leaf), Gondhoraj gains full marks in versatility.
But this culinary love affair with Gondhoraj comes to an end, once you step out of the borders of Bengal, because the King is indeed true to its soil, refusing to grow in any place than Bengal.
While in our backyard in Kolkata, its plant grows generously bearing the white flowers in plenty along with the oblong fruits hanging from its soft shoots; attempts to grow the plant from its seeds in Bengaluru and elsewhere have been repeatedly futile.
And, it is this feature that makes it exclusive to Bengal and thus, contributes to its anonymity, as opposed to the Kaffir lime from Thai cuisine, Key limes of the Caribbean or the Canton limes of the Chinese.
“Fine-grain rice—steaming hot—with a good serving of golden moong dal, crispy potato fries and gondhoraj lime is that happy refuge in my head,” is how Purnendu Bose, owner of a Mumbai-based Bengali restaurant, Iti, recalls his tryst with the lime.
“We serve gondhoraj lebu complimentary and I’ve seen fathers watching over excitedly as their de-Bengalied kids inhale what, for these grown men, is a natural extension of their roots,” he adds.
However, despite its rooted relationship with Bengal, its fragrance has never failed to bewitch food connoisseurs in and around the world. And that is how its tantalising fragrance travelled across the seas to England to birth the unique Rangpur-flavour gin, by the famous British gin brand, Tanqueray.
Well, it is increasingly looking like the answer to this question depends on where you are, what you do, and whether you support the message of the current political establishment.
The story of Mihir Sen, a man who went onto show the world that Indians were capable of greatness by becoming the only man to swim across oceans of five continents in one year, is both an inspirational and cautionary tale of how one hero was eventually let down by the very people he sought to champion.
Born prematurely on 16 November 1930, in a small village in Purulia district, West Bengal, there were fears that this sickly child would not survive very long.
However, his parents, Dr Ramesh Sen and Lilbati had other ideas. To seek better educational opportunities for their son, the Sen family moved to Cuttack where Dr Ramesh started his own private practice. Nonetheless, money was hard to come by for the family since his practice revolves around treating poor patients.
Lilabati decided that this wasn’t going to let that come in the way of getting her son a decent education, and began selling chicken eggs and milk from the livestock she kept in her backyard.
The years passed by and Sen passed school, entered college and eventually, picked up his law degree from Utkal University.
He had ambitions of studying law in the United Kingdom even though his parents didn’t have the money to send him there. Seeking assistance, he reached out to future Chief Minister Biju Patnaik, who had a reputation for helping youngsters from impoverished backgrounds fulfil their professional ambitions.
Patnaik had initially rejected Sen’s request for help, but after six months of persistence and perseverance, the latter managed to board a ship to the promised land. With a suitcase, £10 in his pocket and a one-way third-class ticket, this 19-year-old made his way to England in 1950.
To support himself in the UK, he took up the job of a night porter at a railway station. After many sleepless nights, he was eventually sacked from his position. Fortunately, he had heard about Indian students finding work at the India House, which housed the High Commission of India in London.
After a landing the job, he enrolled at the Lincoln’s Inn, a prestigious society of barristers, on 21 November 1951, to study law.
The job at the India House was a very rigorous affair, and Sen barely found the time to attend class. Instead, he taught himself law by borrowing textbooks from the library.
His life changed when one day he came across a newspaper report on the achievements of Florence Chadwick, an American, and the first woman to swim across the English Channel in 1950.
Inspired by her feat, he was determined to do the same, showing the world that Indian were capable of such remarkable achievements as well. This was just a few years after Independence and many Indians wore their nationalism on the sleeve.
Sen was no different. While he had passed the bar exam on 9 February 1954, he had also begun training to become the first Asian to swim across the English Channel. Barely knowing how to paddle, he enrolled in the YMCA, where he practised for hours till he became top class freestyle swimmer with incredible endurance.
After many months of intense training and an aborted attempt at crossing the Channel, he successfully swam the 32 km stretch on 27 September 1958, finishing within a time of 14 hours and 45 minutes.
Mihir Sen: Remembering India’s Greatest Long Distance Swimmer. (Source: Twitter/All India Radio)
“The English Channel is a unique and demanding swim, considered by many to be the ultimate long-distance challenge. It isn’t just the distance that is the challenge, but more, the variable conditions that you are likely to encounter. These may vary from mirror-like conditions to wind force 6 and wave heights above 2 metres. The water is cold, and you are strongly advised to acclimatise to it, there is a good chance of meeting jellyfish, seaweed and the occasional plank of wood. It is one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world…”
In the following year, Sen was awarded the Padma Shri by Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru for his achievement.
However, what he set out to do next was even more remarkable.
He wanted to swim the oceans of five continents, starting with crossing the Palk Strait between India and Sri Lanka. With financial and logistical assistance from the Central government, which sent out of Navy boats to accompany him, he crossed the Palk Straits in 25 hours and 26 minutes on April 5-6, 1966.
Subsequently, he went onto cross the Straits of Gibraltar (Europe to Africa) in a little over 8 hours on 24 August, the Bosphorous in 4 hours, the Dardanelles Straits (Gallipoli, Europe to Sedulbabir, Asia Minor) in nearly 14 hours and the entire length of the Panama Canal in 34 hours and 15 minutes across nearly two days—from 29 to 31 October.
This incredible feat earned Sen a place in the Guinness Book of World Records and in the following year, he won the Padma Bhushan award.
Mihir Sen, who swam the English Channel, being presented a certificate by Lord Freyberg on behalf of the Counsel Swimming Association at a function held at the India House, London. (Source: WIkimedia Commons)
Why did a man specialising in criminal law, but now a thriving silk exporter venture out to conquer the seas?
“His motive for swimming the seven seas was primarily political. Being a young nationalist of uncommonly strong views and unorthodox ambition, he wanted to show the world what Indians are made of, to set for young Indians an example of courage and to tell them that one of the best things to do with life is to risk it. In this way, he hoped to prepare them for what he saw as their destiny,” wrote Supriya Sen, his daughter, for The Telegraph.
It’s a motive which Sen himself highlighted after crossing the Palk Straits.
“I had undertaken this perilous swim not to gain fame or trophies but to prove once again to the world that Indians are no longer afraid. To the youth of India, this triumph will have dramatically demonstrated that nothing is impossible for them — all they have to do is believe and persevere, and the goal will be theirs,” he wrote.
In other words, what he wanted to show was that Indians were more than capable of achieving greatness at a time when the country was just coming into its own.
However, his life took a turn for the worse in 1977, when eventual Chief Minister of West Bengal Jyoti Basu approached Sen and asked him to campaign for the Communist Party of India (Marxist).
A non-believer in the diktats of communism, Sen rejected the offer and instead decided to stand against Basu as an Independent candidate.
He lost to Jyoti Basu, but opposing the eventual chief minister came at a terrible cost. Trade unions loyal to the CPI(M) ran his silk export business to the ground, and Sen was eventually forced to shut down his business.
Besides going bankrupt, a slew of frivolous legal cases were filed against him with a pliant police regularly raiding his residence, seizing his assets and eventually freezing his bank account.
The establishment in West Bengal crushed him into poverty. Amidst all this trouble, he also suffered a stroke, which he survived, but later on, in his life was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s diseases.
He eventually passed away a broken man in 1997 at the age of 67.
Did a national hero deserve such a fate? Where were the people who once lauded him for making the country proud? Well, they went missing for the most part except for his own immediate family.
Having said that, Sen’s enduring legacy remains his will to show the world that no matter the obstacles, Indians could dare to dream and achieve great things.
(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)
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Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle – these are the fundamentals of waste management. If we all practise this in earnestness, then the scope is endless. 37-year-old Range Officer Papan Mohanta from Midnapore in West Bengal has been encouraging people to upcycle waste plastic bottles by practicing it himself since 2016.
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“The first time I was posted here I saw that all the items people discarded were strewn around and I did not like what I saw. I wanted to create a space where I would like to come to and also attract others to,” he says. Mohanta says that wherever he has been posted in the past, he has tried to change the area around him just so that it would look beautiful.
So what does he do?
Mohanta’s pride
Mohanta started collecting all the waste plastic bottles from his friends and neighbours and turning them into planters. What started on a small scale has today filled the entire front yard of the quarters where he resides with his family. “I have more than 1500 plastic bottles which I have converted into planters and other decorative items. It is amazing because now people bring waste plastic bottles to me and ask me to use them. It has also inspired a few schools in the locality to follow suit,” he tells me with pride.
Mohanta says that he also often goes to schools to talk to the students about reusing plastic bottles. He says, “I tell them that plastic takes forever to decompose and dumping it is of no use, so we should reuse them.”
Mohanta also actively encourages local school students to visit and see for themselves what he has created. “Seeing it will inspire them to do the same in their homes and schools,” feels Mohanta. He also shares how his 5-year-old son helps him.
He is growing up here amidst nature and whenever I am tending to the plants he comes to help. He loves filling the bottles with mud and never shies away from getting his hands dirty.
Mohanta’s 5-year-old son.
Speaking about the flowers that he has been growing in these bottles, he says, “Winter is the best time for the flowering plants. Petunia is one flower that is best grown in containers or hanging baskets, and I have a variety of colours as well.”
Other than that something we refer to as Sada Bahar (Periwinkle) also grows very well in these bottles, he says.
Mohanta’s beautiful handiwork.
Mohanta also works with various other discarded materials; discarded tyres, for example, also make for great planters. “There is a workshop here from where I get all the discarded tyres and I have grown some petunia in them.” When asked how he manages to find time to do this, he says, “If there is a will, one can always find a way. The time we spend in gossiping with each other can be used for all this,” he says with a smile.
“Seeing the appreciation that my work is getting makes me want to work harder at it and also inspire many others from different parts,” he says to me as we end our conversation.
In a city like Bengaluru, pretty much everything is available on mobile phone apps. From hailing auto-rickshaws and cabs to buying your groceries, clothes and electrical appliances, life has become remarkably convenient for salaried urban dwellers in the city.
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For three friends, Ashish Mittal, Hemant Pandey and Lehsang Bhutia, who had made this city their home for a decade, this convenience had embedded itself in their daily lives.
However, whenever they came back to their respective hometowns of Gangtok (Ashish), Kalimpong (Lehsang) and Shillong (Hemant) for their holidays, the bubble of convenience, burst.
Tired of having to choose between stuffy and uncomfortable shared cab rides in a Tata Sumo from Bagdogra airport to Siliguri and subsequently, another taxi to reach Gangtok or paying through their nose to hire a single cab, the trio came up with Wizzride, an online cab booking platform for the Northeast, in 2017.
“People couldn’t hail an economical yet comfortable cab ride from say Bagdogra airport to Siliguri, and going further to Gangtok. The only inexpensive option available was a shared cab, and those are very uncomfortable. Moreover, if you wanted a cab all to yourself, it was too expensive, especially for people who do not travel in large groups. Why must we choose between comfort and pricing? Why can’t we balance the two? That was the basic idea behind Wizzride,” says Lehsang, Co-Founder of the Siliguri-based Wizzride, speaking to The Better India.
Wizzride Core Team (L-R): Ashish Mittal, Hemant Pandey, Lehsang Bhutia (in the back), Vijay Gurung (Head of Operations, Quality Management, Ajay Singha (Admin-Head), Reema Bhutia (Customer Service Manager), and Jolden Lama (Client Relationship & Experience Manager).
Its objective is to make travelling in the hill towns smarter, cheaper and more convenient for the average consumer. They want to ensure that local taxi operators do not have a monopoly over critical modes of transportation across the hills in places like Sikkim.
There are occasions when these taxi drivers quote five times the standard fare for passengers during peak season. This state of affairs, they believe, needed to change.
So, how is Wizzride different from Ola or Uber?
Although Ola has an ‘Outstation’ facility, apps like these are primarily focussed on intra-city rides. So, within Siliguri, for example, Ola is functional but not very economical.
“Cab rates in these parts here depend on return journey fares. So, the fares for Ola Outstation, for example, will take into consideration the fact that the driver will come back empty-handed, and thus is more expensive. From Siliguri to Darjeeling in hatchback, the rate on Ola would be Rs 3,000. If we go by the market standards, we know we can get the same cab at a much cheaper rate. If you book a cab from Gangtok to Siliguri but assure the driver that you’ll be travelling back to Gangtok on the same day, you’ll get a discounted rate,” explains Lehsang.
Wizzride Cabs (Source: Wizzride)
So, the founders at Wizzride worked out that if they can develop a module that offers drivers bookings on a to and fro basis so that he doesn’t come back empty-handed, he would give them a discount. This, in turn, they can pass onto the customers at a much lower price.
Right now, Wizzride is operating in the North Bengal and Sikkim region, although recently they have also started to cater to tourists who want to travel to Bhutan as well.
“About 150 passengers travel on our shared rides, daily. That’s where we began the business. With good reviews on Tripadvisor and other online platforms, there was a demand to start a full reserved cab booking facility as well. Then users began asking us whether we could offer them a sightseeing service in Gangtok, Darjeeling, etc. So, we added that service to our roster as well. We are on the verge of starting a shared sightseeing service as well for solo travellers who don’t mind sharing a cab for a full-day tour of Gangtok, Changu Lake or Bara Mandir and Nathu-La. Once again on popular demand, we started a taxi package for five nights and six days as well,” adds Lehsang.
Despite its relative early success, the founders did face some considerable challenges, particularly in getting customers, vendors and cab drivers to believe in their vision.
“Our shared cabs, for example, depart on the scheduled departure time even if there is only one or no passenger. This means the passenger may get a whole car at the price of one seat. There is no cancellation from Wizzride, no matter the number of seats booked. Making both driver and passengers believe that the ride would go through irrespective was a real challenge initially. There were trust issues that had to be resolved,” says Hemant.
A Wizzride driver partner, also knows Wizzride Trip Captain. (Source: Wizzride)
Meanwhile, there were other fundamental challenges, as well.
“In Tier-II or III cities, setting up a startup is a little difficult. People did not believe in the volume of people that we could attract to our business. Scalability is still a point of concern. We were earlier based out of Gangtok, and another issue we came across was that people weren’t the most tech-savvy. We had to visit places and teach people how to make an online booking and explain its advantages because most people here use the cash system. Initially, people didn’t believe in us, and it was hard getting driver-partners onboard. Having said that, we worked these issues out, and people have shown us the love,” says Lehsang.
And business is good. They have 35 ground staff, including the drivers and claim that they make a profit of 10-15% on every booking. They further claim to have made a revenue of Rs 1.1 crore during the first year, and Rs 2.71 crore in their second year of operations.
Unlike most startups, they have not sought any external funding and would like to remain bootstrapped.
What are the plans for the future?
“We plan to expand into other cities as well. The objective is now to spread our service across the Northeast and expand our current bookings,” says Hemant.
So, the next time you’re travelling to these picturesque parts of India, you know what to do.
Preyashi Majhi’s third pregnancy was the most difficult, not just because of natural causes, but also because of the prevalent idea that women can bear it all.
“What is so special about childbirth? Haven’t I given birth to four children? My mother-in-law did not stop me from doing regular household chores, even when I was pregnant. Why should Preyashi be an exception?” remarked her mother-in-law when a social worker tried to convey Preyashi’s deteriorating health.
At the time, Preyashi was only 25, living in a family battling poverty in a small village of Harua, in Murshidabad district of West Bengal. She was married at 18 and soon gave birth to a baby girl. Two years later, she had another daughter.
These pregnancies in quick succession took a heavy toll on her health, which declined further due to poor diet, leading to weight loss. With a family of six to support, including her two daughters and parents-in-law, Preyashi and her husband began to work in a beedi-rolling factory.
(R-L)Preyashi Majhi and her mother-in-law
Eight long hours of continuous duty in poorly lit shabby rooms, with frugal daily wages, only contributed to her deteriorating health. On top of this, after a long day, she would still have to do her routine household chores, take care of the kids, and her bed-bound father-in-law. All this while surviving on a single meal as her mother-in-law insisted upon half-a-day fast for the entire month of June, for religious reasons.
Owing to this strenuous routine, Preyashi’s weight rapidly reduced to only 35 kgs, all the while nurturing another child inside her womb. Despite taking all the preventive measures to protect her baby, regular check-ups and medicines, she was still at a severe risk of malnutrition putting the her own and her child’s life in danger.
It was then that a member of the Child in Need Institute (CINI) along with Anganwadi workers, came to her rescue.
A training session was organized with the ASHA workers, Anganwadi workers, ANMs and village SHG women. Like many other pregnant women, Preyashi was invited along with her mother-in-law.
At the session, the CINI volunteers used a unique way using a doll and a few sticks to spread awareness of how exhausted, and undernourished mothers may give birth to children with stunted growth.
The women were asked to sit in a circle holding ends of a few sticks, and a doll was kept at the centre. The doll symbolized a newborn baby suffering from ill health owing to the negligence of the society, represented by each stick. With a story narration in the background, each woman was asked to slowly remove one stick at a time, depicting the lack of support. By the end of the exercise, all the sticks were removed, and the doll fell to the ground.
Height monitoring of pregnant woman
Seeing the doll lying on the ground, the dark reality struck Preyashi’s mother-in-law, who was, by then, overwhelmed with tears. That was the moment, Preyashi’s life began to change for the good, and in the next couple of months, she gained over 10 kilos, and soon gave birth to a healthy baby girl.
Preyashi is one among the thousand lives CINI has transformed, with one basic principle — it takes a village to help bear and raise a healthy child!
CINI is a West Bengal-based NGO that is battling malnutrition by empowering mothers, and subsequently the communities, in remote parts of India. Since the last 45 years, CINI has been weaving a community-based safety net for better health of children in a country which continues to grapple with the issue of malnutrition.
In the Global Nutrition Report 2018, India topped the list of countries with the maximum number of stunted children — a condition caused by long-term insufficient nutrient intake and frequent infections. India was said to have 46.6 million stunted children, while Nigeria had 13.9 million, and Pakistan 10.7 million.
Home visit of pregnant woman by service providers(L);Community based game on team building(R)
Despite the overwhelming wave, CINI continues its efforts to combat malnourishment by bringing together various stakeholders, like central and state governments, donors, NGOs, local communities, and various corporates.
They call it, the CINI Method.
Speaking to TBI, Ranjan Panda, Chief of Programmes for CINI, explains, “The method involves a micro-level process divided into four stages — prevention, setting accountability duty, participation and convergence of all stakeholders. In other words, all our stakeholders, the government, the individual or collective donors, panchayats as well as the communities, come together on a single platform, fully involved in all the four stages, to initiate substantial change from a grassroots level.”
Through this, CINI ensures improvement in the health of the community, especially expectant mothers, by combating malnutrition in the region, and forge a long-term relationship with them, so that there is a regular follow-up through the community to a family-based safety net.
He added that while the devastation of malnutrition triggered the inception of CINI, the founders realized that it is a single piece of a larger puzzle. “There are various socio-economic aspects that contribute to it. Be it lack awareness, illiteracy, social taboos, etc.; we realized that it all could not be addressed in silos but more like as a network where one comprehensively contributes to another,” he adds.
Immunisation at VHND camp
Over the recent past, CINI has undergone a methodological shift in its policy and action through the adoption of a human rights-based approach in the development work. CINI’s rights-based approach aims at creating child-friendly community, where families, schools, police stations, social and physical settings are committed to respect, protect and fulfil children’s rights in the spheres of health, nutrition, education and protection from all forms of abuse, exploitation and violence. Owing to this, as critical rights-holders, children and women are encouraged to participate in making decisions that affect their lives.
However, much like every path towards transformation, there have been a few hiccups along the way for CINI changemakers. Apart from on-ground issues of convincing communities, a significant challenge, Rajan says, has been convincing donor communities to have patience with respect to impact. “This is not the kind of work which provides quick results. It’s a slow, in-depth process of change and evolution. And, that’s where we found great support for HCL foundation under HCL technologies, which contrary to other donor companies, has a more long-term approach,” he adds.
Back in 2017, HCL Foundation recognized the CINI Method with a Rs 5-crore-grant running across 5 years under its flagship programme, HCL Grant, towards a comprehensive on-ground fight against the vicious cycle of poverty and malnutrition.
Nutrition week celebration at ICDS centre
“A couple of years of work has led to significant changes in terms of improving community convergence platforms, capacity building of frontline workers on RMNCHA (Reproductive, Maternal, Newborn, Child and Adolescent Health) and developed strong government collaboration at district and state levels. It is learnt that acting at the right age donned with proper strategies can make a big difference in the battle against malnutrition,” says Samir Chaudhuri, founder and director of CINI.
Elaborating on the collaboration, Nidhi Pundhir, Director, HCL Foundation says, “Anemia and malnutrition are severe problems among women in West Bengal which makes them vulnerable to an increased probability of complications in pregnancy during delivery, resulting in maternal death, infant death or both. We recognized CINI’s work in the region towards creating a community safety net to have access to quality healthcare with a focused intervention for pregnant women and malnourished children in the three districts of the state. This intervention has made a significant impact in strengthening Village Health Nutrition & Sanitation Committee (VHSNCs), leading to an increased level of awareness among the beneficiaries.”
After almost four decades of work, CINI has been able to leave a lasting impact on seven million lives, a number they hope to multiply qualitatively in the next few years.
We salute their exemplary work and extend our support to their ultimate mission—India’s healthier and whole tomorrow.
In the early 1900s, amid the ongoing socio-political turmoil in Bengal, one man silently revolutionised the concept of entrepreneurship. This was way before Mahatma Gandhi’s Swadeshi movement called for an umbrella boycott on all British goods.
Using his ingenious brilliance and business prowess, Hemendra Mohan Bose launched a diverse range of indigenous products—ranging from India’s first gramophone and bicycle to Bengal’s favourite hair oil and perfume.
Branded under ‘H Bose,’ these products came to adorn the shelves, dressers, living rooms and even garages of middle-class households in pre-Independence times.
Birth and early life
Born in 1866 in Mymensingh of undivided Bengal, Hemendra hailed from a family of accomplished dignitaries. His grandfather, Ananda Mohan Bose was the first Indian wrangler as well as one of the founders of the Brahmo Samaj.
His father Hara Mohan Bose was a High Court munsiff while his uncles were established lawyers and doctors. In fact, famous scientist JC Bose was his maternal uncle.
Hemendra was an exemplary student throughout high school and took admission in Calcutta Medical College upon JC Bose’s encouragement. However, tragedy struck within a few months. While he was performing an experiment, an acidic chemical fell on his eyes due to a momentary inattention.
Five months of critical surgeries and treatment later, he regained his eyesight, but he was adjudged unfit to pursue medical studies.
Not one to lose heart, he decided to put his business acumen to use. In 1894, he started a perfume manufacturing unit in the attic of his house and named it H-Bose Perfumers. His signature fragrance—Delkhosh—became widely popular and found admirers among the whos who of Bengal at that time.
He later branched into hair oils, soaps and toiletries like Eau-de-cologne, lavender water, rose water as well.
Kuntaline – The indispensable Bong hair oil
Among these items, it is a hair oil named ‘Kuntaline’ that skyrocketed to success and became synonymous with Bengali lifestyle at that time.
Rabindranath Tagore himself was a huge admirer, and wrote several limericks and jingles for its advertisement without charging a single penny!
(Oil your hair with Kuntaline, In your kerchief, pour Delkhosh Your paan must have Tambuleen, All blessings be to H Bose)
H-Bose Perfumers also presented Bengal with syrups, additives to enhance their homely dishes and herbal medicines to treat their ailments.
In 1900, Hemendra started a printing press and christened it ‘Kuntaline Press’ to cater to the extensive base of Kuntaline admirers. He even launched the famous ‘Kuntaline Purashkar’ in literature conferred annually to the best literary work of the year.
An essential criteria for participants was to include Kuntaline and other H-Bose products into the literary piece without making it appear like an advertisement. His unique idea was perhaps the first instance of affiliate marketing in India, and none other than JC Bose cinched the first instalment of the award.
An advertisement for H Bose products (Credits: LiveHistoryIndia)
His footsteps into the automobile sector began with him opening the H Bose Cycle Company, and its success prompted him to open a magnificent car showroom in Free School Street, Kolkata termed ‘The Great Eastern Motor Works.’
The showroom displayed and sold the latest international car models, and while European noblemen formed the crux of his customer base, Bengal’s aristocracy was not far behind.
Unfortunately, his flourishing car business met with a dead-end with the advent of the First World War and the drastically affected economy where basic necessities became exorbitantly expensive.
Bringing the gramophone to India
Hemendra’s most significant business achievement has to be in the domain of sound and music.
Around 1900, he imported Edison’s phonograph to India to add to his esteemed private collection and started recording songs and voices of eminent personalities in his leisure time.
His cherished collection would have proven to be the most magnificent audio archive of pre-independent Bengal’s history, had most of his records and equipment not been seized by the British police during a citywide sedition haul. The remaining ones were also later destroyed during the plague epidemic in Kolkata for fear of contamination.
Under the name ‘H Bose Swadeshi Records’, the spirited innovator-entrepreneur manufactured and marketed the gramophone for the first time in India. He also collaborated with French film tycoon and businessman Charles Pathé to convert the existing cylinder records into disc records— thereby launching the Pathephone.
The charm of sound had captivated Hemendra as much as the magic of light as he happened to be the pioneer of colour photography in India. In those days, he was perhaps the only Indian in the country to use Autochrome Lumière slides for photography. Many of his photographs have attained iconic popularity.
Hemendra managed to leave bits and pieces of his trademark influence, in every aspect of life. Fascinated with the British practice of having tea as an afternoon beverage, he adopted the custom and went on to own an entire tea garden in Darjeeling.
He passed away in 1916, after a prolonged period of harrowing pain from a flawed dental surgery. He was fifty-two years old at the time of his death.
Hemendra Mohan Bose is not a recurring name in the pages of history, but his numerous entrepreneurial ventures reigned in the daily lifestyle of Indians for a long, long time. Today, he is remembered today as a trailblazing entrepreneur as well as a pioneer of the Swadeshi movement through domestic products.
With her hand on her hip, a multi-pendant necklace around her neck and 25 bangles on one arm, the “dancing girl,” a tiny bronze statuette in Delhi’s National Museum, embodies Indians’ love for accessorising.
The bronze girl was made using the lost-wax casting technique, and interestingly enough, the 4500-year-old craft, known as Dokra, is still alive in West Bengal and a few other parts of the country.
Imagine the civilisations, empires and eras it has witnessed!
The earliest known method of casting non-ferrous metals, Dokra art deals with statues, wall decor as well as jewellery. Originally, the name was used to describe the nomadic craftsmen and women. Now, however, it describes the art form itself.
As intricate and detailed as the artform is, its place of production is usually quite humble, and it is the inherited talent, dedicated efforts and the sheer simplicity that has kept the rustic art alive so far.
Dokra accessories only make use of the abundantly-available natural resources. A mixture of riverside sand, clay and goat/cow dung or husk forms the base for the art pieces. After the structure dries, a layer of beeswax is applied to it, followed by another layer of clay.
This outermost layer is smoothened using a paste of cow dung and water, and all the finer details are carved into it. When the desired thickness is achieved, the sculpture or jewellery is heated to melt the wax. Holes are made in the clay layers to allow it to flow away.
Once all the wax melts, the clay structure forms a mould. Metal is poured in through the cavities, and when it dries, the outer clay layer is broken off.
This making of the mould and breaking it off means that no two Dokra pieces are ever the same. Tedious as it may be, it adorned ancient Harappan men, women and children.
For over five years now, Ujwal Das (35), has been growing and propagating extant folk rice varieties in West Bengal’s Koro village. On two bigha land (where three bighas equal an acre), he grows Sitasal, Kalobhat, and Kalamkati, for his eight-member family; and the remaining four bighas are occupied by a high-yielding variety (HYV) called ‘Lal Sarna’.
Das is a member of the 50-member strong farmer-run Amarkanan Rural Socio-environmental Welfare Society (ARSWS). Their efforts were recognised by Narendra Singh Tomar, the Minister for Agriculture & Farmers Welfare. He conferred on them the Indian Council of Agricultural Research’s Plant Genome Saviour Community Awards, which came with a citation and a cash award of Rs 10 lakh.
Most efforts to conserve folk rice varieties in India have been individual or institutional initiatives. That’s what sets the farmer-run ARSWS apart. It is led by Dr Anjan Kumar Sinha, a botanist and assistant professor with Purulia’s Raghunathpur College. The Society has so far conserved and preserved over 200 extant varieties, growing them on plots of land as tiny as an office cubicle, and sharing the seeds with fellow farmers so that they can be multiplied.
Of these, 106 varieties have been registered with the Protection of Plant Varieties and Farmers’ Rights Authority—an effective system for the protection of plant varieties and the rights of farmers and plant breeders.
Paddy varieties identified on a plot of land.
Once considered the rice bowl of India, West Bengal boasts of a large number of local varieties and landraces. According to an estimate, the State hosts over 5,000 varieties of rice, a majority of which have disappeared due to faulty agricultural practices. Interestingly, these varieties are of immense value in agriculture as they are a treasure house of innumerable genes that have evolved in the environment over millions of years. Development of disease-resistant newer varieties is possible only with the help of genes available in landraces.
Lured by HYVs, farmers have confined themselves to 15 such races and ceased cultivating folk or local varieties due to poor yield and lesser market demand, despite the scarce inputs needed to grow them.
A study conducted on 65 landraces in 2012 on small farm areas has shown immense promise from varieties like Kalamkati, Danarguri, Tulsibhog, Nagrasal, Bahurupi, Sitasal, Gobindabhog, Barani, Khajurchari, Keralasundari, Kabiraj, Chandrakanta, Daransal, Dangapatnai, Kataribhog, Badshabhog—all indigenous rice cultivars of West Bengal. What sets these varieties apart from the HYVs like Lal Sarna, IR 64, Jyoti and Lalat is their use, both medicinal and nutritional. They also possess several stress tolerant properties which act as positive factors in the retention of the rice landraces in the face of increasing propaganda for cultivation of high-yielding varieties. Traditional rice varieties therefore represent important genetic reservoirs with valuable traits.
In West Bengal, rice is associated with every step of life, beginning with mukhe bhat (introduction of the infant to a solid meal) and ending with an offering made to the departed souls. Besides being a part of the staple diet, it is also used for making foods, like piteh (rice cake), chire (beaten rice), khoi (puffed rice), chaler payesh or kheer (sweetened rice) and muri (rice bubbles). For instance, Dharansal is used for daily cooking; Sukalma and Bhootmori for rice bubbles, Tulsibhog for sweetened rice and others.
Paddy being dried in the sun for storage.
Rice growers of six villages in Bankura have formed the Ranbahal-based ARSWS. Seeds are stored in clay pots with dried neem leaves. The Society also runs a seed gene bank and distributes seeds to prospective farmers free of cost. The initiative being an on-site conservation, seeds of the varieties to be conserved are grown and multiplied on farms with the desired traits refined through adaptations to changes in the natural environment.
With each rice-planting season, the number of farmers propagating the folk varieties has been growing, although at a slow pace, as there is a lack of awareness among consumers about these indigenous varieties.
According to Dr Sinha, farmers can become members of the society by expressing their willingness to cultivate the traditional paddy variety in their field without the use of chemical-based farming inputs.
Before transplanting the folk varieties of paddy, most farmers replenish the soil using leguminous green manure crop as Sesbania or Gliricidia, which are ploughed down and crushed with the soil. Both the roots and stems host the friendly Rhizobium bacteria, which trap atmospheric nitrogen—their decay releasing large quantities of nitrogen in the soil, along with organic matter, thus enriching it.
Paddy seeds stored in clay pots.
Every farmer-member is offered 500 g-1 kg of seeds, which is cultivated for 3-3.5 months, to end up with 1 kg of seeds following harvest. Most farmers grow these for their consumption due to their aromatic and nutritional content. A kilo of seeds yields between 300-500 kg of rice and can get premium rates in the market compared to HYVs. To further increase consumer awareness, farmers attend krishi melas along with their produce and educate prospective consumers.
Of the several farmers is 51-year-old Biman Sinha of Ranbahal village, 28 km from Bankura town, who has been growing aromatic varieties like Gobindobhog, Danarguri, Badshabhog on five bighas of land for the past nine years using organic methods. “The yield from the folk varieties may be less, but we are compensated with the price we get,” he informs.
Efforts of farmer groups like ARSWS play an important role in providing us with the opportunity to tap into its germplasm to develop new varieties that can mitigate climate change, issues like erratic increase/decrease in temperature, and humidity, resulting in the appearance of new pests and diseases.
So far, ARSWS has shared the seeds of a folk rice variety with research institutions like Bidhan Chandra Krishi Vidyalaya; the Department of Genetics and Plant Breeding, Vishva Bharati University; the Department of Botany, University of Burdwan; Rice Research Station, Bankura; and the Department of Botany, Vinoba Bhave University.
Folk varieties, adapted to local ecologies over centuries, have proven hardier against pests and droughts, unlike modern varieties designed for intensive agriculture and large doses of chemical fertilisers. Farmers conclude that modern varieties are unsuited for variable conditions and increasingly unpredictable weather. In this scenario, while sharing of seeds of folk varieties is a good thing, it is important to remember that breeding takes years.
Actions, it is said, speak louder than words. In the case of what Paschim Medinipur Superintendent of Police (SP) Dinesh Kumar did, it is certainly true. Kumar has been a catalyst of change in Medinipur, and for all good reasons. Not only has his team implemented many pro-people initiatives and inclusive schemes especially for the differently-abled, they have been able to turn the tide in case of people’s perception of the police force. In this conversation with The Better India, Kumar explains some of these changes and how people have reacted to them.
Project Sugam Police
Ramp at the stations.
The project Sugam Police means — ‘accessible police’. And this is exactly what the intent is behind this project. Kumar has been instrumental in constructing ramps for the wheelchair-enabled in as many as 53 stations.
Additionally, some of the stations also have wheelchairs to ease movement into the station. Twenty three wheelchairs have been procured from the civil administration and as Kumar mentions, they are now trying to get the rest of the stations also equipped with the same.
“In many of our survey visits we were told about this need. Ours is a service-oriented sector after all and our first priority is to ensure that the people are taken care of,” says Kumar.
Going a step further, Kumar also mentioned that all 53 units would have the designation and names of the police officers in braille for the blind.
Gansmpark
Interacting with the locals.
Another pro-people program undertaken by Kumar is Gansmpark, an innovative project to sensitise people on road safety. Through Gansmpark, the police personnel interact and sensitise people about reckless driving by showing them real-life video footage of road accidents. Furthermore, Kumar’s team regularly interacts with the victims, and their family members to assure them that the police department cares.
Besides this, in addition to the protection mandated under the Good Samaritan Law, this program also incentivised good Samaritans by felicitating them. “This is a big boost to the citizens,” says Kumar.
Unnayana
At the job fair.
A one-day job fair aimed at the family members of the police personnel was organised at Medinipur police lines by the Paschim Medinipur District Police as part of police welfare scheme. The fair saw the participation of around 27 companies and had 200 plus job seekers. At the end of the day 43 people received offer letters after various interview stages.
“Besides that, 41 candidates were called for follow up interviews and 52 were selected for job oriented training/internship programmes,” informs Kumar. Due to the overwhelming response seen at the job fair, the administration is planning to organise other camps too.
Besides these schemes, the District police have also started a 24*7 women police helpline for women and girls in distress. Many have come forward to express their appreciation for this helpline, informs Kumar.
While these may be small changes, their impact is large. The silver lining for Kumar is the change of perception among the populace regarding the police.
“The intent behind making these changes is to build a certain level of confidence that the citizens have in the system. People in the district are now beginning to feel that the police are accessible and this, for me, is a huge achievement,” smiles Kumar.
If you wish to contribute a wheelchair or know someone who might be keen on doing so, please reach out to the Dy. SP at +91-90832 69507.
Subhasree Raptan from West Bengal’s Sunderbans district, was merely 19 when she solved her first human trafficking case.
It was in 2013, and Subhasree, who was in her first year of college, learned about a minor who was forced into prostitution by her brother-in-law. The minor had reached out to Goranbose Gram Bikash Kendra (GGBK), an NGO founded by Subhasree’s father, Nihar Raptan.
“My father was involved in another case, and so, I was asked to keep in touch with the minor. The brothel abandoned her after she got pregnant, and her family refused to take her back,” Subhasree recalls in a conversation with The Better India.
Subhasree Raptan (centre)
“I was studying fundamental rights in my Political Science class, and here was this minor girl, whose rights to life and education were in danger,” she adds.
With Nihar’s help, she approached the local police and registered an FIR. Not stopping there, she admitted the young girl to a shelter home where she was introduced to a doctor and psychologist.
“Healing was slow, but it happened over time. Today, the survivor conducts awareness workshops on child trafficking in villages, schools, colleges, and universities and actively helps the NGO in rescue operations. She and her baby are healthy, and live in their own home,” smiles Subhasree.
Seeing the girl’s life improve was Subhasree’s biggest motivation to take forward her father’s project even if it meant giving up on her dreams of joining the IAS.
“I completed my Masters in English and joined my father’s NGO as a full-time employee. Along the way, I also completed a course in combating human trafficking from TISS, Mumbai, and Trafficking Prevention from NIPCCD, Assam. I also completed a special course to improve the NGO’s rehabilitation services, from the International Youth Centre, Delhi,” she mentions.
In the last 35-odd years, Subhasree and Nihar’s NGO has successfully rescued and rehabilitated 2,500 girls, including minors.
“I was preparing for Civil Services to serve people as an IAS officer. My goal still has not changed, except that now I serve people differently,” she says.
How It All Started
GGBK was started in 1985 in the aftermath of a devastating cyclone that hit Nihar’s village, Goranbose in 24 South Parganas district. Agricultural fields were damaged, and farmers were forced to migrate to other regions.
Nihar was among the very few graduates in his village, so he collaborated with a few friends and started post-cyclone relief work to help the village residents avail of government benefits. As they resolved issues of food and housing, another serious matter emerged.
Poverty had forced some families to trade their daughters or kidnap local girls for money. This was the beginning of human trafficking in the village, which eventually spread at the district level.
“A minor girl was trafficked to Mumbai via a train by a neighbour. Since we had helped the villagers in times of crisis, her mother approached me. Our aggressive investigation led us to this neighbour who later confessed to the horrendous crime, and the girl was rescued,” Nihar tells TBI.
Two years later in 1987, Nihar formally registered GGBK to prevent human trafficking and rescue and rehabilitate survivors.
Rescue Operations
Nihar and Subhasree undertake primarily two types of rescue operations—via networking and on-field.
They have developed a strong network in the district with the community, the local and state police force and NGOs working towards the same cause across India.
Working in unison with the community was the first step, the duo took to establish trust and a stronghold. “The biggest advantage of a community-led initiative is that the whole operation can be nipped in the bud. It is easier to catch the suspect while he is in the region,” shares Subhasree.
They trained a few local women in how to identify a business deal while being discreet, how to pass on the information to GGBK, how to stall a suspect till the police arrive, and so on.
Giving an insight into how people’s network helps, Subhasree says, “A few years ago, our informer got to know of a possible deal, and she immediately alerted other informers too. Around 4-5 people kept an eye on the suspected family. We contacted the police, stopped the deal and saved the girl.”
In another example, networking saved a mother-daughter duo from the district who were trapped and tortured in a Mumbai brothel.
“When we tried to contact the brothel owners, they warned us against any rescue operation and said if the mother was rescued, the daughter would be killed and vice-versa. We knew their family history and passed on the information to the Mumbai police and another city-based NGO. They were rescued safely.”
On-ground operations also work in a similar fashion where a tip from an informer is the starting point. GGBK volunteers then alert the police and conduct the mission. Meanwhile, lawyers and psychologists are kept on standby for remedial measures.
Since in majority of the cases, girls are transported to the city or states, it is vital to stop the victim and perpetrator before they leave the state. The NGO, thus, has to be vigilant on railways and within the communities.
To further its efforts, the NGO has also initiated Swayamsidhha, an awareness campaign for teachers, students, panchayat members and parents.
“We take workshops to inform them about the modus operandi of the trafficking chain in schools and tell students to inform us if they come across any suspicious movements. We have provided a box in 400 schools where staff and students can write without any hesitations,” says Subhasree.
Rehabilitation: Livelihoods & Legal Battles
Even after the human trafficking survivors are rescued and safely brought back home, other challenges await them.
They have to deal with the social stigma attached to their past after going through several nightmares and physical and psychological trauma of being forced into the sex trade.
Here’s where Bandhan Mukti, a survivor’s collective started by Subhasree comes in.
They provide support through counselling, litigation and compensation so that the survivors can rebuild their lives and livelihoods.
“If parents refuse to take their daughter back, we shift them to shelter homes. However, it is challenging for them to reintegrate into society. They don’t find jobs; men pass suggestive comments and psychological disorders further break their morale. But we try to help them through it, by getting them government benefits and compensation and providing them skill development training in tailoring and allied activities,” says Subhasree.
In the case of minors, due to their ‘dirty’ past, schools often refuse to give admission. So, Subhasree and her team of Bandhan Mukti approach the school authorities and convince them.
Human trafficking survivors also struggle with lodging FIRs, applying for compensation and demanding justice. “We have had cases where survivors are discouraged from approaching the court or filing FIRs to protect the name of the family. Sometimes, they even are threatened by the perpetrators. Never-ending legal procedures, the burden of providing proof and lack of trust in the legal system further worsen the situation,” Subashree explains.
The NGO has hired 3-4 lawyers who provide free counselling and support the survivors in legal procedures.
“Threat Don’t Stop Us”
“How can I be scared of someone who is threatening me to kill over the phone? My strategy is to never take the calls seriously and keep doing my work,” says Nihar who dedicated 35 years of his life to this noble cause.
The man has been attacked on numerous occasions, but it is a risk that he is willing to take if it means providing a life of dignity to girls who go through terrifying circumstances.
Over the years, he has learnt how to protect himself, but when his daughter expressed her wish to join him, there was some hesitation. “As a father, I may be protective of her, but when I see the work she is doing to keep so many women safe, it makes me proud.”
As for Subhasree, threats have become an everyday affair, “They are a validation that I am doing something right. I’m making an effort to break the social taboo that every survivor has to live with, and that gives me the power to continue the fight without getting scared,” she signs off.
On 22 August 2015, Indrani Sinha, one of India’s foremost crusaders against human trafficking, passed away at the age of 65 following a heart attack.
Tirelessly working for the most vulnerable through her organisation Sanlaap, she brought love, dignity and a sense of security into the lives of thousands of young women and children who were once trapped by the horrors of human trafficking.
Despite receiving multiple threats to her life, she never backed down. Nearly five years after her untimely passing, The Better India pays tribute to this unique soul.
Early life of struggle, finding her way
Born on 15 March 1950, in Kolkata, Indrani had to grow up faster than most. Her father, by all accounts a decent man, could never find a steady job. As a consequence, by the age of 17, she was compelled to balance her academics and run a household.
Married off at a young age of 23, she had a son the following year. Unfortunately, that marriage did not last long, and she soon left him, along with her young son.
“I met Indrani in 1979; we were both working in an international agency called the Mennonite Central Committee. At the time, she was providing not just for her son but also her parents, younger brother and sister. Before 1979, she had worked as a teacher in a private school and an organisation named TDH (Terre des hommes),” says her second husband, Pinaki Ranjan Sinha, who now serves as the Executive Director of Sanlaap.
After working with MCC for about two years, she joined the Oxfam India Trust. During her three-year stint in Oxfam, Indrani was working on women issues and women empowerment with various organisations throughout the country that were in partnership with the non-profit.
Following her stint there, she started her own consultancies that were mainly focused on women’s rights issues.
“In one of her consultancy assignments to South 24 Parganas, she was to ascertain the status of women who were fry catchers and stumbled upon the appalling economic condition of their families. The men almost did nothing to earn and took whatever little the women earned from selling fries to middlemen. She also found out that many young children (mostly girls) and women from the village had gone missing. They told her that most of them were taken to the big city (Kolkata) and were never heard from since,” he says.
Indrani Sinha (Source: Facebook)
Sanlaap: Speaking up for those who cannot
What followed was the creation of Sanlaap (‘Dialogue’) in 1987, a non-government organisation to combat trafficking in persons for any form of exploitation.
Formally established in 1989, Sanlaap was the medium through which she would speak for those who couldn’t. The NGO works for minor trafficked victims, women in prostitution, vulnerable women and young girl children in the red light areas and victims of commercial sexual exploitation in the various districts of West Bengal. It also works for the rescue, rehabilitation, restoration and repatriation of minor trafficked victims.
The first study she conducted in 1989-90 on sexually-abused children took her to the brothels of Kolkata and the city’s suburbs. There, she met hundreds of young women and girls, who spoke of their horrific plight and total lack of agency.
She heard their stories of exploitation, how they were deceived into the profession, poor health conditions and torture. She heard how they had little choice but to accept this misery because of the stigma attached to their profession, the lack of legal protections and fear of a tyrannical prostitution mafia.
In a 2006 interview, Indrani talks about what she learnt from her conversations.
“When I started in 1989, I did not have any role models from whom I could learn. Therefore, our mode of functioning was to learn from the women in red-light areas, listen to their needs and work on them. That is how we have moved on our path. Our philosophy has changed along the way. Now we do not call the women ’sex workers’, but ‘women in prostitution’. Now we know that they did not have any agency or choice to be there, and the traffickers have exploited their vulnerability and put them there,” she said.
Back in the 1990s, Sanlaap’s child protection initiatives were singularly focussed on children born in red light areas (RLAs). Initially, it was a community-based programme. After a while, the need for institutional care was felt, and a shelter home for vulnerable girl children from the RLA’s was established in 1992.
Since then this programme has continued successfully.
“At the end of 1995, a different need was felt; it was learning from the process. The idea of a holistic approach started being discussed. The significant event was [the] rescue of minor girls from forced prostitution in other states of India by the police, who were produced before the judiciary for restoration. The system was not at all encouraging. In many cases, the children were handed over to fake parents and were re-trafficked. As a recognised institution under the Juvenile Justice Act, Sanlaap started conducting Family Identification and restoration of these girls. A need was felt to reach the source areas, learn the trends of migration and trafficking and implement an effective prevention programme,” states the organisation on its Facebook page.
By the following decade, the non-profit began directly intervening in two districts—South and North 24 Parganas—through inspired volunteers trained by them. But there was a feeling among those in Sanlaap that they needed to reach places where each girl was restored.
“From our restoration records nine districts were identified, the (North & South) Parganas, Nadia and Murshidabad in South Bengal and Malda, Uttar Dinajpur, Jalpaiguri, Cooch Behar and Darjeeling in North Bengal. While choosing the intervention areas we had kept in mind the Indo-Bangladesh and Indo-Nepal borders and specific vulnerable areas like NJP (New Jalpaiguri) Railway Station, RLAs of Murshidabad, [the] island of Bhootni in Malda, tea gardens of Jalpaiguri and Darjeeling, Tribal Forest villages of Alipurduar, border entry points of Bangladesh, Bhutan and Nepal,” it adds.
Thus far, Sanlaap has rescued more than 2,000 minor trafficked victims and rehabilitated more than 10,000. Sanlaap has been running several shelter/rehabilitation homes in West Bengal.
During their stay before repatriation or restorations take place, these girls are given support for their education, vocational training, skill development, dance and music training, self-defence and working in various income-generating programs.
“Depending on the skills of each individual, Sanlaap admits them to mainstream schools. On attaining majority, Sanlaap provides employment opportunities to various institutions, also in-house to earn a living,” adds Pinaki Sinha.
In the 1990s, the organisation ran shelters in different parts of West Bengal. But later on due to administrative and other issues Sanlaap started operating from one shelter which is SNEHA at Narendrapur, South 24 Parganas.
“In this shelter, we house almost 130-150 trafficked girls. Additionally, we also run a crisis centre in the heart of Kolkata (Khidderpore) where we house almost 20 small children up to the age of 14 who are the children of women in prostitution. This is a 24×7 shelter, and they are given all forms of support so that they can continue to grow up in mainstream society. Sanlaap also has a very innovative project through which we run a shelter/hostel for survivors of commercial sexual exploitation, where they are now studying law, social welfare and the police service. This year our first budding lawyer will graduate and in the coming years, we will have more lawyers passing through our system,” says Pinaki Sinha.
Over the years there have also been thousands of girls who have been rescued, reintegrated and repatriated to countries like Bangladesh and Nepal thanks to Sanlaap.
Indrani Sinha (Source: Sanlaap India)
At the core of their work, however, is the power of collaboration, particularly with partner organisations that can reach and engage with those vulnerable communities, and of course collaborating with State and Central government agencies.
“We work very closely with them on the common issues related to our work and collaborating with them in implementing activities. Sanlaap also provides legal training on anti-trafficking to various law enforcing agencies like the police and BSF and SSB. We work with all the border areas of Nepal and Bangladesh on cross border trafficking issues,” he adds.
Speaking to The Better India, Hasina Kharbhih, the founder of Impulse NGO Network, a major organisation battling the scourge of human trafficking in the Northeast, talks about her collaboration with Sanlaap.
“Indrani and I regularly shared insights on both curbing trafficking and ensuring livelihood for rescued women and children to prevent re-victimization. She was always keen on establishing a partnership of the livelihood initiatives established by our respective organisations in order to arrest the plague of human trafficking. I am glad that even after her death, we have been able to honour her wishes and fulfil her dream. My visit to Sanlaap last year and my ongoing communication with the present leadership have paved the way for ISE and Sanlaap to work together. Currently, mapping exercises are being conducted and the conversation is being taken forward on broadening the economic initiatives,” says Hasina.
In its three decades of existence Sanlaap has received multiple accolades, ranging from the National Award for Child Welfare for the President of India in 1997 and a National Commission for Women award in 2000. In 2003-04, she was invited by the United Nations to work for their mission in Kosovo as well.
However, there were difficulties as well. Naturally, in challenging the might of the prostitution mafia in West Bengal, she received numerous threats.
“We were only 8 and 9 respectively when my sister and I were sent to a boarding school in Andhra Pradesh called Rishi Valley School because she often got calls threatening our abduction,” recalls her daughter Oindrila, in this moving Facebook post.
Unlike many advocates of legalising prostitution, Indrani believed that the very idea was a non-starter. “Would we advocate that child labour be legalised just because it exists? A form of violence cannot be accepted merely because it is there and has been for centuries; the basis of its existence needs to be challenged,” she said in the 2006 interview.
“Before we speak on the issue of legalisation of prostitution, we need to recognise prostitution for what it is: a situation which begins with rape and a choiceless choice, and continues with denial and exploitation,” she adds.
Indrani was a complete non-believer of legalisation of prostitution. She believed that if governments legalised prostitution, it would strengthen the hands of pimps and traffickers.
“She did not believe it to be ‘work’ and hence chose to never use the term ‘sex worker’ and always addressed them as ‘women in prostitution’. She professed anti-legalisation and advocated the same all over the world. She got a lot of support for the same,” says Pinaki.
A better life for children from RLAs. (Source: Facebook/Sanlaap)
Legacy
Till her untimely passing, Indrani continued working and travelling the world, spreading awareness about human trafficking and expending all her energy to help vulnerable girls and women.
“She had been involved in the fight against human trafficking longer than I had and admired her a lot for the work she was doing. I will remember Indrani as a strong and motivated woman who never gave up. Her energy, determination and far-sightedness have always resonated with me and her dedication to the cause remains an inspiration,” says Hasina.
“She wanted and somewhere from above still wants and hopes for everyone to understand and fight against human trafficking. And the fact that it is NOT okay. We strive to work harder and take her belief forward. She inspires us, and we know she will be proud of us for taking this forward,” says Sinha.
It’s a sentiment his daughter Oindrila, who also works with Sanlaap, echoes as well. “On 22 August 2015, she breathed her last, but that did not stop us from taking her work forward. We strive to work harder and hope that somewhere from there above, she is watching us and will be proud of us. She inspires us every day,” she says.
In the cramped bylanes of Rampurhat in West Bengal resides Kalam Patua, one of the last few remaining exponents of Kalighat painting, which draws on conventions from West Bengal scrolls and Indian miniature painting.
While the 58-year-old is a postmaster by day, by night, he silently strives to reinvent the lost art of Kalighat by giving it a contemporary twist.
Kalam’s artistic sensibilities were spotted by his uncle, Baidyanath Patua, and he learnt to draw and paint in the ancient patachitra scroll style at the age of ten under his watchful guidance. As he grew older, he became intrigued by and subsequently, taught himself the Kalighat style of painting.
Kalam Patua
Kalighat painting developed in the mid-19th century in Kolkata (formerly Calcutta). While it started with the illustrations of Hindu gods and goddesses, it eventually transcended into illustrating the lives of urban dwellers.
“I grew up making 13th-century patachitra or cloth paintings that depict the rural way of life in traditional folktales, mythologies. However, the Kalighat patachitra is a medium of urban satire that brings to light socially relevant issues which started disappearing with the advent of printed pictures and calendars,” Kalam tells The Better India.
Recreating 19th-century style of Kalighat paintings
Even though Kalam’s talent was obvious, his parents insisted on getting a stable job as the ancient craft was slowly dying. So, he completed schooling in 1981 and joined the local post office as a postman.
This was around the same time when he learnt that only a handful of artists possessed this unique technique, and took it upon himself to do something for the vibrant and beautiful art form.
Kalam started participating in state-level painting competitions and workshops to get in touch with like-minded artists and work towards preserving this style. In 1987, he won the third prize in a painting competition in Medinipur. He worked his way up for the next couple of years and went on to win several competitions.
In the last few decades, thanks to his practice and utmost dedication, he has established himself at the forefront of contemporary Kalighat painters.
Kalam at a Kalighat painting workshop. Source: Surender Sejwal/Facebook
His work has been exhibited extensively in national and international museums including the National Museum at Liverpool, the Museum of Civilization in Canada and the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.
He also receives regular invitations from fine art institutions, and collaborate with several government departments to organise workshops.
Kalam’s paintings (mostly on paper) have subtle use of colours and are infused with tension, unease and shades of humour, making everyday mundane life fascinating.
From drawing a couple watching the 9/11 tragedy on television to a middle-aged man admiring a skimpily-clad mannequin, Kalam’s themes incorporate socio-political tales including consumerism, dowry, feminism, communal harmony, historical revolutions and sexuality.
Kalam creates the same art that his ancestors practised for over 300 years, but because of the twist he imparts to them, he has gone beyond the pull of lineage to create art which is entirely his own.
Here is a look at some of his Kalighat paintings.
9/11: The breakfast. Kalam’s first attempt on 2/3 ft acrylic canvasIntolerance
Photography at India GateMungeshi templeThe arrival of Vasco Da GamaOpeningGanga KinareBeyond ReachBabu, copy of old KalighatRomance at post officeHoli at Vrindavan
Anindita Sarbadhicari, a Kolkata based filmmaker in her 40s, remembers the exact moment when she conceived her child.
“The date was 3 May 2013. I was inside the operating theatre, and Hariprasad Chaurasia’s soulful music was playing in the background. I had a second embryo transfer—I actually saw the little white dot entering my body—and it resulted in a successful IVF pregnancy,” says Anindita, speaking to The Better India.
Six months later, on 21 November 2013, the light of her life, Agnisnato, which means the one who has bathed in fire, was born. He was a few months premature but survived the ordeal of rushing into this world.
For Anindita, it was the culmination of a life-long desire to become a mother and raise her own child. But she brought him into the world entirely on her own. She wasn’t married and didn’t have a partner. Her decision to enter motherhood was a choice she controlled from the start.
It’s an attitude that has driven all her choices in life.
Anindita Sarbadhicari with her son Agnisnato, who is six years old today.
Born and raised in Kolkata until high school, she went onto study theatre at the National School of Drama (NSD) followed by a film direction course at Film and Television Institute of India (FTII), Pune.
Living what she calls an “extremely bohemian life,” she travelled the world on her own, made documentaries, feature films and even a couple of romantic drama series for Bengali television.
“Of course, I believe in love. I am an incurable romantic, and through my work, I do tell a lot of love stories as well. Admittedly, pure romantic love is never that good in real life. But I have not given up on the real thing and still am looking for love, commitment and a partner. But women have a biological clock as well, and I always harboured a dream of being a mother. As a woman, nature has given me a beautiful gift. While I can fall in love at the age of 70, becoming a mother after 40 is very difficult,” she says.
The Journey Towards Motherhood
Despite not having a male partner, Anindita began discussing the possibility of having a child from her early 30’s with her gynaecologist friend. Also considering the possibility of an assistive reproductive procedure, she did a lot of research on it.
“It was not like I was against adopting a child. But I wanted to experience the magic of creating a life within my body. I wanted to feel the heartbeat and the little kicks in my womb. Had I not been able to conceive a child biologically, I would have certainly chosen to adopt,” she recalls.
First, she tried a less invasive procedure called Intrauterine Insemination (IUI), a fertility treatment that involves placing sperm inside a woman’s uterus to facilitate fertilisation. However, things didn’t work out. Disheartened, she took a one-month break. Following that, she returned to her gynaecologist and told her that she wanted to try IVF.
By December 2012, she began her IVF injections. Although she got pregnant, everything fell apart once again in February 2013, when she had a miscarriage.
“When I started bleeding one day, I knew there was something wrong. I had no choice but to drive myself to the clinic through the pain and get myself admitted. The choice of not having a husband or a male partner has its downside as well. It can get very lonely. Yes, my parents, who were extremely encouraging and supportive throughout the process, were there. But they were old, and I didn’t want to burden them with my insecurities. Going through that journey required a lot of inner strength and self-belief,” she recalls.
Fortunately, all that self-belief finally paid off.
Anindita Sarbadhicari
“Like a Light at the End of a Tunnel”
Although during her pregnancy, both Anindita and her mother braced themselves for uncomfortable looks and judgement, what she underwent was a joyful and “humbling experience.”
“Since I am a filmmaker who is relatively well known in the city, the news of my pregnancy was broken by the media in great detail nearly five months into it. Today, I may have to explain the process through which I got pregnant, but not back then. There wasn’t a single person in the city to whom I had to explain my pregnancy since everyone knew about it either through reading the newspaper or word of mouth. And I was overwhelmed by my neighbourhood’s response!” she says.
From calls congratulating her to boxes of chocolates from her neighbours and letters from different corners of the state, the news had spread far and wide.
By the time Durga Puja came around, Anindita was visibly pregnant, and both she and her mother had their guards up. Although they were once again prepared for awkward looks and uncomfortable questions, the reaction she got from many women touched her heart,
“I was touched by how welcoming they were—we received so much of love and attention. One of them even took charge of bringing coconut water for me everyday because apparently, it’s good for pregnant women. Others would send chocolates, cards, write poetry, and it was all amazing. When my son was born, a septuagenarian even wrote a letter saying, ‘Your news comes like a light at the end of a tunnel,’” she recalls.
Agnisnato with his grandparents
First Stumbling Block
The troubles began when Anindita began trying to put her son in school.
“It was my (our) first school interview, and the principal of one of the topmost schools in Kolkata asked me, ‘So, Anindita, why didn’t you get married and why did you have a child this way?.’ Thinking about my child’s future, I did not get angry or aggressive. Instead, I patiently answered her question. My guess is that she was shocked by my profession and life choices, and my son did not get admission. However, I faced an even bigger humiliation in DPS Megacity, the next reputable school I tried,” she recalls.
Despite furnishing a birth certificate, a letter explaining how her son was born and the hospital’s discharge certificate, officials at DPS asked Anindita to provide an affidavit stating that ‘the child has no father and that he is born through IVF.’
This was a clear violation of a 2015 Supreme Court order allowing single mothers the sole guardianship of their children.
“When my son was born, it was the first time the Calcutta Corporation had issued a birth certificate without a father’s name. It took me just two hours to get it. Considering the ease with which I got the birth certificate even before the 2015 Supreme Court order, I thought getting my child admitted into a school in 2017-18 would be a walk in the park. But instead, all three reputed schools in Kolkata (which by the way had women principals) where I had tried to get my son admitted put me through such a humiliating experience,” she says.
On 30 November 2017, when she had first sought to get her son admitted into DPS Megacity, they had first asked her to write a letter to the principal explaining how Agnisnato was born and why the father’s name does not appear in the document. Six days later, the school’s admission office asked Anindita to furnish her private medical records. Although she was getting increasingly irked by their attitude, she still agreed.
“But two days later, the admissions office said that these documents wouldn’t be enough. They said I needed to submit an affidavit stating why the father’s name is absent and how he was born. That’s when I had it and put my foot down. All the documents they had sought from me for the past 8-9 days were not required as per the Supreme Court’s ruling. It states that my name on the birth certificate is enough,” she recalls.
In response, she sent an angry email to the school and forwarded the same to a journalist friend. This news was picked up by national news publications. Unfortunately, that became her undoing because the schools became more guarded.
Subsequently, she went to the state Child Rights Commission, and they wrote a letter to the schools expressing their objections. But the schools paid little heed to their letter because the Right to Education applied for children who are above the age of six. But she wasn’t going to back down.
With the family on Agnisnato’s first birthday.
“I fought this discrimination for seven months, and there were times when I felt for the first time in my child’s existence that I was failing him. As I reached June, which was two months into the school session, I got a little desperate. There were teachers in school who wanted to admit my child, but their administrations refused. They didn’t want my son admitted there because of who I was in life and the choices I made,” argues Anindita.
Fortunately, a friend, who was also a single mother, suggested a school that was a little far away, in South Kolkata.
Within 15 minutes of her meeting with the principal on 25 June, he asked when her son could join. On 27 June, Agnisnato started school. It was a long and hard struggle, but totally worth it.
The Challenges and Joy of Single Motherhood
Anindita doesn’t have a nine to five job, and can choose when she works. So, for the first few years of his life, she decided to exclusively devote her time to Agnisnato.
But just when she started getting back to work, her mother passed away, and Anindita had to take greater responsibility for her home, and her father, who will be turning 80 this year.
“My advice to prospective single mothers taking this route is to ensure that you’re financially very secure. I have never hired any help and do everything myself, and it has been a beautiful journey so far. I truly wanted him in my life. Everything I do is for him, and I love every nanosecond of it. I do not mind not working or earning less because he’s my priority. So, I can live without expensive cosmetics, designer labels, and just need enough for food and petrol. Fortunately, I have my own house as well, but I chose to cut down on my needs and prioritise my child completely,” she argues.
While Anindita insists that managing time to raise her child is not very difficult without a regular job, she also doesn’t get a paycheck at the end of every month.
Nonetheless, she has saved up money for him, which is “untouchable” no matter the circumstances.
“Even if I discover tomorrow that I have cancer, I will not touch that money. Thus, managing finances is critical because I don’t have anything to fall back upon like maintenance, alimony or child support. Since he’s little, what I also do is take him along when I am shooting. I don’t even need a babysitter. Seeing my work, he realises how hard his mother works and gets to see what I do for 14-15 hours a day. He understands the value of money and how much effort I need to put in to buy him things,” says Anindita with a hint of emotion in her voice.
After her film ‘Every 68 Minutes’ starring Adil Hussian was launched on 3 March, she could see the pride in his eyes.
Poster of her film ‘Every 68 Minutes’
“I can only thank my mother for this. She was a working woman herself and taught me to take pride in my work and ability to earn. I wanted to instill those values in my son,” she says.
Are there questions about the father? No. Agnisnato doesn’t ask about his father because he doesn’t know life any other way. In fact, he makes his mother ‘Father’s Day’ cards as well.
“Sometimes, he jokingly calls me ‘Mama-Papa’. It’s not like he doesn’t know everyone else has a father, but when I asked him ‘don’t you want to know about your daddy’, he replied ‘you’re my daddy’. His friend asked him during the last parent-teacher meeting ‘do you have a father at home’. He replied, ‘I have a dog and my grandfather at home,’” she recalls.
As he grows older, the tone of that question will change, but Anindita is confident that he will sail through because she was very transparent about her entire journey right from the start.
“All the parents of his friends in school know about my journey into motherhood. The world around him is already sensitised to his origins, and by the time he grows up, the questions would have been answered, because I wanted it to be like that, not just for my child and I, but anybody who is like us. Since the birth of my child, I have hand-held a lot of women undertaking similar journeys because their families would not support them,” she says.
Nonetheless, she is under no illusion of the challenges that single mothers face.
“In 2020, the strongest weapon we have as human beings is choice. A woman can choose to be, or not to be a mother, and that should be celebrated as well. Yes, I suppose some people sneer at me, but they don’t exist in my world,” she says.
It remains unclear whether the strong longing for a child is driven by our genes or a social construct. But for many women across the world, the choice of having a child is often driven by social convention or unforeseen circumstances like unplanned pregnancies.
Anindita bucked both situations, and chose to become a mother of her own free will. And she didn’t need an active heterosexual man to help her become a mother or raise her child, while successfully navigating the awkward corners of social convention.
(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)
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With The Positive Collective, The Better India’s COVID-19 coverage is available to regional language publications for free. Write to editorial@thebetterindia.com for more details.
Nanoor, in the Birbhum district of West Bengal, used to be an ordinary village, with most families socially marginalised and living below the poverty line. Led by the women of the village who showed the courage to join a support programme run by an NGO, Banglanatak dot com, it has undergone a sea change over the last decade.
A large section of the population belongs to other backward communities, mainly engaged in daily labour. The women here traditionally stitched kantha (a type of quilt stitched by joining fabric scraps, for covering oneself or children).
Today, the fashion world may have different names and applications for it, but in our childhood, we have all had hand-made kanthas in our homes, using torn and old sarees of our mothers and grandmothers, by the rural service providers.
To make ends meet, a few of Nanoor’s women used to stitch kanthas for sellers and customers in nearby towns. One of them was Tajkira Begum, who toiled to support her children and family, managing both her household and work outside the village.
Using her kantha stitching skills, she would bring orders from various sellers in Bolpur town and deliver the finished goods. She would often walk to work as she could not afford bus fare. Her husband did not have any stable source of income either.
While she was away for the day, leaving her four children and old mother at home, her eldest daughter would take care of everyone, even at the age of eleven.
She says, “My income at the time was Rs 15-20 per day, and even that was not regular. On many days, I would just eat puffed rice as I could not afford a lunch-meal for myself.”
Once Tajkira returned, she would cook, feed her family, finish her work, and finally take some rest to be ready to fight the next day.
Her free mobility was not acceptable to many villagers, who questioned her dignity and intentions. Despite such hindrances, Tajkira knew that she was special, and her strength held her family together. Her husband, who supported her work, did not do so from any sense of power or control. Rather, he showed partnership and companionship by understanding her, appreciating her, being by her side, and boosting her energy whenever she felt hopeless.
Tajkira emphasises that she was lucky. She says, “I could pursue what I wanted to only because my family supported me. My daughter helped me. Sometimes when I felt low and lost hope, my husband encouraged me. That kept me going.”
When she got the opportunity to pursue her skills more seriously, with support from the NGO, she grabbed it and did not turn back. Initially, she trained in diversified products and business intelligence; then, she started teaching some women who joined her.
Together, they formed several self-help groups. Tajkira, the entrepreneur of this group, brought orders from diverse markets and customers and distributed the work to more women in her village to generate a direct source of income for them, thus strengthening their collective.
In Tajkira’s words, this was like a dream come true in a village where women were previously confined to their homes and had no steady source of independent income. Hardly any girl children from the village went to school, and boys’ attendance was also sparse. However, the small steps taken by these women to change their lives led to a sea change in the community.
Soon, about 300 women joined Tajkira. She developed a strategy for distributing work based on their skills, need for money, motivation and interest, and sense of responsibility and accountability. She also ensured that all payments were made on time, even when client payments were delayed.
They made embroidered products as per orders, which included kantha, fabric for apparel, saris, and wall hangings. Many of these women earned a meagre Rs 80-100 over a month, or nothing at all. After joining Tajkira, and being trained on the job, they started earning about Rs 400-500 per month.
For making such timely payments, she sometimes had to pawn whatever little ornaments she had. She let go of her profit margins to help these women earn more. She realised that timely payment was essential to motivate and sustain the engagement of these women, which in turn was fundamental to their collective survival.
Tajkira also passed on what she learnt from her training and interactions with customers to those who showed entrepreneurial flair. Under her leadership, other women entrepreneurs started emerging, gradually expanding the work in the village. They understood that ‘togetherness’, ‘collaboration’, and ‘mutual support’ are the ways to rise above their marginalisation.
Recently, I had a chance to talk to Tajkira, and learn more about her journey. She recalled the time she visited Kolkata for the first time, to participate in an exhibition. She said, “It was like a fantasy. Never before had I gone out of Bolpur,” (the subdivision of her village), and the thought of boarding a train made her scared, anxious, and nervous.
However, there was no stopping her after that first visit, and today, she comfortably travels across the world – to Germany, France, USA, Denmark, etc – and communicates with foreigners through her craft. Boarding her first flight to Germany was a moment of achievement. During these visits, she sells her products in exhibitions and festivals, and also provides kantha training in local schools and art institutions.
She learned to enjoy her own life, drawing inspiration from the women she met and their friendships, and says, “I saw women much older than me working hard while also enjoying life. I thought, ‘I am much younger, so why should I lose hope for the future?’ I was inspired by them.”
In our conversation about her international trips, she mentions Paris as a city she really liked.
Recalling her experiences, she says, “All of us from India attending the event in Paris stayed together in an apartment. We cooked together and had a nice time. I also found that people in those countries do their own work, something I really liked. I also liked that they do not lie. There is no dishonesty in their daily lives. We stayed there for 23 days, travelling in and around Paris. I was often invited at the homes of my new friends and they all referred to me as their Indian teacher. I have never felt so proud and respected before!”
These trips made her more confident and it became her mission to contribute to the well-being of her fellow workers and women. The network she built through these visits helped her get directly linked with international buyers, who became loyal customers through WhatsApp. Her personality and skill attracted many, and through word of mouth, her clientele expanded.
Today, she is a brand in herself.
I asked her how many women she works with, expecting the number to have increased from three hundred. In a satisfied tone, she replied that it was hundred. I was taken aback but soon realised that of the 300 wage labourers, 100 had become small entrepreneurs and emerging leaders who worked with Tajkira.
Today, 600 women are engaged in paid work in their traditional skill of kantha. The wage artisans, who used to earn not more than Rs 500 per month previously, are now earning approximately Rs 2,500-Rs 5,000. Small women entrepreneurs earn between Rs 12,000-Rs 15,000 per month.
And Tajkira herself is a symbol of success and determination.
A few other women who joined our conversation enthusiastically stated that they felt confident as independent earning members of their families, ensuring good lives for their children. One of them says, “As a single mother, it was very difficult for me to support my children’s education and make a living in a closed society. Working with Tajkira-di has helped me earn a decent livelihood, and has also given me confidence to lead life in my way.”
A younger woman says, “Now I can buy the things I want without depending on my husband. I also have a voice in the family.”
Tajkira’s daughter-in-law, who presently looks into the operations of her enterprise, expressed immense gratitude for her mother-in-law. Excitedly, she shares how much she enjoys freely developing new designs and creative ideas, “I get inspiration to create new designs from whatever I see around me, in newspapers or magazines. I am often bored stitching the same patterns, which is an essential part of kantha work. So I often distribute that work to other women, and focus on design innovations to create samples, which we then show to our clients.”
Tajkira, however, does not consider the business as her success. Her satisfaction lies in what she has been able to give to her village. She has donated land worth three lakh rupees to a local Madrassa. She has been able to get most of the girl children to attend school. A village where only a few had completed secondary education, and no one thought of higher studies, today has almost twenty women who have completed their Masters. They now see education as a necessity, not an option.
Tajkira’s pride is in her band of economically and socially empowered women, the prestige and dignity that they have achieved, the trust she has been able to build, and the awards that some of them have received. She also shyly confides that her husband is so proud of her that he goes around telling others that no one can become like her!
Expressing her sense of fulfillment and happiness, she says, “My next goal is to go out and help train marginalised women in other villages, districts and distant places. I want to spread my knowledge to empower other women.”
She shares a memory which she uses to symbolise aspiration, which is a driver of self-development. During her initial days of struggle, on a hot summer afternoon, she felt like having ice cream but did not have any money. Now, whenever training sessions are organised in her house, she treats everyone with ice cream on the final day!
Amidst all the success, she has not lost her focus and empathy. Her goal is to bring more women to the frontline. She concludes, “I pursue business not only for my home but to pull up other exploited women.”
(Written by Madhura Dutta and Edited by Shruti Singhal)
With The Positive Collective, The Better India’s COVID-19 coverage is available to regional language publications for free. Write to editorial@thebetterindia.com for more details.
On the fateful evening of 20 May this year, the catastrophic Supercyclone Amphan tore through West Bengal affecting the southern zone including the capital city of Kolkata. Ground reports from the ravaged state show heartwrenching pictures of the devastation that claimed 80 lives.
While the extent of the destruction is beyond estimation at the moment, preliminary assessment suggests losses worth Rs 1 lakh crore. More than 5,000 trees, hundreds of lamposts and traffic signals were uprooted across the capital city. Many areas are still inundated, with no power, network or connectivity.
— Arvind choudhary chintu (@Arvindch1800) May 21, 2020
Hailing from the city myself, I have been trying to get in touch with my family for the past two days and thankfully, some emergency helplines came to my aid. A lot of us are still desperately trying to reach our families and friends back in Bengal. Here is a list of emergency helplines active at present.
West Bengal is undergoing one of the darkest days in history with Supercyclone Amphan striking the state amid the aggravating COVID-19 pandemic.
If you want to stand beside the affected people amid such a dual crisis, then here is a detailed list of organisations and individuals who have started relief efforts across the state in a war footing.
West Bengal State Emergency Relief Fund – This is the official relief fund of the state government. Disbursal will be done across affected districts through government officials and administration.
JU Commune – Jadavpur Commune, managed by Jadavpur University students, research scholars and alumni, has been operational since the national lockdown, manufacturing sanitisers and disinfectants, and distributing them in and around campus to guards, civic volunteers, delivery executives etc. After Amphan, they are now organising relief for the survivors in Kolkata and other districts while also operating a community kitchen serving around 600 people daily. Click here for donation details – https://www.facebook.com/sourav.sahoo.92
Humans of Patuli – This South Kolkata-based community platform is supporting Amphan survivors including the underprivileged people also affected by the lockdown.
Contact number – Sarmistha Dutta Gupta: +91 85828 74273
Books lost. So many pages… So many stories!
Scenes from College Street- the Book Lane of Kolkata. A kilometre-long stretch of road from lined with book shops on both sides. The eclectic collection on display can entice any connoisseur of books. All Lost! #PrayForBengalpic.twitter.com/5KJBsNyVuz
— Mayukh Ranjan Ghosh (@mayukhrghosh) May 21, 2020
Shramajeebi Swasthya – With support from West Bengal Doctors’ Forum, this organisation is providing medical relief to the survivors
Contact here – wbdoctorsforum@gmail.com
Contact number – Dr. Punyabrata Goon: +919830922194
Amphan Super Cyclone Response by Quarantined Student-Youth Network (QSY) – They are supporting survivors in West Medinipur and Sundarbans through people’s kitchens and medical camps. They are also looking for on-ground volunteers to join their emergency endeavour.
Mukti – The organisation has set up a relief and rehabilitation centre in the Sundarbans. They urgently need dry rations, baby food, sanitation supplies and tarpaulin for the people who lost their homes, among other necessities. Click here for donation details – https://muktiweb.org/
Helpp Association – Set up by a food delivery executive, this NGO is doing phenomenal work in reaching out to the distressed in Sundarbans and Kolkata after Amphan. They are distributing dry food at present.
Give A Litte (Ektu Deen) – This community welfare initiative started during the lockdown and will now continue to help the Amphan-affected. Know more here – https://www.facebook.com/GiveALittleEktuDeen/
Contact number – Aditi Roy Ghatak: +91 98300 22504
A small contribution from you can now help hundreds in the devastated state to restart their lives, amid this unprecedented crisis. Share this article with your friends and urge them to join in the #DoForBengal initiative as well.
“I have lived through a lot, but never have I witnessed something of this magnitude,” whispers my 81-year-old grandmother as she narrates the fateful night when Cyclone Amphan struck.
“Doors rattled, the windows broke. It was pitch dark everywhere, (we) couldn’t even keep a candle alight. It felt as if the roof will give in any moment. All I could think of was my family’s safety. But all you could hear was the fierce howl of the wind,” she recalls.
Despite the gravity of the call, I was relieved to see my family members over a week after the catastrophic cyclone tore through West Bengal.
Even in a metropolis like Kolkata, power and network connectivity took more than 168 hours to be restored – such was the extent of the devastation. Over a phone call intercepted by crackling bouts of network failure, I heard the terrifying narrative of the cyclone from my family.
The Eerie Calm Before the Storm
“Ekhane power nei onekkhon. Jhor utheche baire. Ki je hobe jani na. (No power here since a while. There is an intense storm outside. We don’t know what will happen,” my mother had told me over a frantic phone call on 20 May.
Sitting hundreds of miles away in Bengaluru, her words left me in a fit of panic. I could already hear the thunder rumbling in the background before the call disconnected. News channels were continuously broadcasting videos of the Kolkata sky on that day, overcast with layers of grey, angry clouds.
For me, it was one anxious night – as I tried to stay up to every-minute updates of the cyclone. With each passing hour and occasional news of a shattered home or broken electric wirings, my fear and anxiety grew.
Back home, my city was being battered. And my family, friends, relatives and a million others were enduring the devastation amid an ongoing global pandemic.
Later, when I reconnected with my family after days of nail-biting silence, they informed me how they had gone nearly a week without any power or water supply.
My grandmother – Atashi Nath – is a partition survivor, had seen famines and epidemics, major wars and countless natural disasters – from yearly floods to earthquakes. She has sailed through every crisis in her life with an indomitable spirit.
But, I knew she had been shaken the night I called my family.
“I saw the tin sheds being blown away from our neighbour’s house. One tin shed had hit one of our windows directly, breaking it into a thousand pieces. We are fortunate enough to have a concrete roof above our heads,” my grandmother says, “Imagine the plight of those living in mud huts in villages or tents on the roadside.”
So many of such families live in my neighbourhood. With no roofs over their heads, I could almost imagine the poor and the needy clutching their families close and praying for the rampage to stop.
“Trees were Falling Down like Frail Plastic Toys”
“A tree branch came out of nowhere and hit our main door, leaving a huge crack in the sturdy sagwan wood. It almost felt like there is no end to the night,” grandma recollects.
My mother added that several century-old trees in our area had been uprooted within just a few minutes of the cyclone, before breaking to me that we have lost the tall betel nut, mango and papaya trees in our garden. My grandmother told me that many of them had been planted by my grandfather whom we lost a year ago.
The cyclone had lasted around six hours, tearing through the state in this short while. After a sleepless night, cooped up in the house praying for the storm to pass, my family stepped out to a scene of devastation.
The basement and front yard were submerged in water. Electric wires lay astray everywhere, often turning several zones into dangerous electrocution points.
Photo: Arvindch1800/Twitter
From 20 May to 26 May, there was no power or water supply in my neighbourhood.
Thankfully, our home had a 2000-litre water reservoir which served as the only source of water for over 50 families in the neighbourhood for a week. Most of the families survived on one-pot meals and dry food to ensure the minimal use of stored water and rations. Markets, local grocery shops and even supermarkets remain closed for days together as there was no easy way to regain normalcy immediately after the disaster.
“When the water in our reservoir ran out, we had to lift water from the old well in the backyard. We filtered that water and used it for household chores and bathing,” shares grandma.
Over 5000 trees had been uprooted across the city, leading to the massive destruction of electric supply wires and power transmission towers. The restoration efforts received a setback due to the inundation.
More mayhem was in store for the state as another Kalbaishakhi storm barged in on Wednesday, claiming many of the trees which were spared by Amphan. The lesser privileged families who had just started to rebuild their homes from scratch were forced back to square one again.
A few days into the disastrous aftermath without power, water and other essential supplies, people across Kolkata erupted in protests citing government negligence and delay in the restoration work. Later, the Kolkata Municipal Corporation & NDRF personnel worked to get the electricity and network supply restored. Though the city is limping back to normalcy, the scars of that night are indelible.
Support the Survivors
Like thousands, Cyclone Amphan has left my family traumatised. But they know how fortunate they are to have had a concrete home. Which is not the case for those whose lives the cyclone has ravaged.
Coupled with the aggravating COVID-19 situation, Bengal now has a huge challenge ahead. Many organisations and individuals have volunteered to help save the cyclone survivors all across the state, including the remote interiors. Now you can also support their cause by a little contribution. Click here to donate.
Plastic is an indispensable part of our lives. It ends up in landfills and water bodies, taking years to decompose, inadvertently adding to climate change. In this scenario, it is essential to raise awareness among people and introduce them to eco-friendly, biodegradable or zero-waste options.
A deep-rooted concern for the environment drove one such duo to be batons of change.
Sidhartha Blone and Shweta Pradhan, a couple in their 40s, have been working towards a zero-waste and sustainable environment for almost eight years. The drive to reconnect with their roots had them converting some land they inherited from Shweta’s maternal grandfather to a permaculture-farm-cum-education-centre. It was located in the foothills of the Neora forests in Gorubathan village, 65 kilometres from Siliguri in West Bengal.
But before starting the farm, Shweta worked in advertising. Her job had taken its toll on her, and she quit, not wanting to be a part of the rat-race of the consumer industry where the products didn’t benefit buyers. The couple began questioning their food choices—the ingredients used, the preservatives added, and the unnatural shelf life of products.
“We were appalled with the available options. Sourcing products from stores meant consuming food laced with chemicals and dealing with a whole bag of plastic packaging. Frustrated with this, we tried reaching out to local farms, but that was when reality struck,” Sidhartha points out.
Shweta explains, “There were no healthy food options. We couldn’t find farms around that produced food and recycled their waste. We realised we had knots to comb out—fix the damage done by capitalism. This also came when we were both looking to engage in fulfilling and ethical work, and be of service to the community. That’s when we decided to take up the shovel and get to work.”
Engaging in permaculture brought them a step closer to nature, quenching a profound desire to care for the planet and its resources. Adopting natural farming practices exposed them to waste and apathy caused by humans.
There has been no looking back since.
Cultivating awareness within the local community
It wasn’t easy for them to convince the Gorubathan community to go organic, refuse plastic, and go zero-waste. It was demanding as it required the locals to leave their comfort zones and give up milk in tetra paks, instant noodles, chips, low-grade rice and pulses. Since these products are affordable, and easily available, the villagers opted for them. Doing so also required less work in terms of growing food, preserving, and storing it.
The couple approached the villagers differently. Instead of educating them about the perils of plastic or chemicals, and the unhealthy junk foods they consumed, they decided to instil ‘pride of place and culture’. This involved love and care for their land, the biodiversity, the forests, rivers, and streams around Gorubathan.
People have since become curious about foraging food and medicines. More women are showing interest in learning the local botany. Youth from the immediate and larger communities are being trained to become vernacular natural architects, using locally grown materials like bamboo. Farmers are using resources and waste from their farms to make bio-fertilisers that are good for the environment. They’ve even started using cloth bags and reusing bottles for their rations.
Even though Sidhartha and Shweta think it’s an upward swim, their efforts have had small yet significant wins.
“Our villagers don’t litter anymore. They have been provided with dustbins where they segregate waste, which is further sent to Siliguri to be recycled. They have started reusing their kitchen waste to compost, which ensures healthier soil.”
The greatest impact is how single-use plastic usage has reduced. “We have encouraged parents to pack lunch for school children. This means children get locally-grown nutritious food. They eat less junk, reducing the consumption of processed food and plastic waste. It is a win-win for everyone–healthy children and a healthy planet,” adds Shweta.
Over the years, the couple invested in the ethics of permaculture–Care for the Earth, Care for People/Species, and Fair Share. They make a living by conducting workshops, education programmes, permaculture design projects, and retailing organic produce and natural products. The profits are reinvested in the land, and the couple split their time between their family in Siliguri and the Gorubathan farm
Mamta Subba, a resident of Gorubathan, who was unaware of how her actions affected the immediate surroundings, shares her story. “We used to throw our garbage in our jhoras (streams), but after daju (brother) and didi (sister) talked us through the detriments of our actions, we are more conscious and vigilant. We throw our waste in the dustbins, resulting in cleaner streams. It feels good because the streams are our only water sources.”
She adds, “More importantly, we have rediscovered how to use our natural treasures—like the forests that surround us in Gorubathan. Everything we need comes from nature—food, medicine, homes, and clothes. Daju and didi have taught us to honour our resources and use them wisely without being greedy.”
Sustainable practises have reduced the need for store-bought things and shown them the path towards self-sufficiency and economic independence.
Working with the community during the pandemic
Being an agrarian community of small farmers, the pandemic has affected their livelihoods. With transport coming to a halt, markets becoming inaccessible, and a broken supply chain, there were no takers for their perishable farm produce. This was a setback for the farmers who depended on their produce for economic stability.
To help them in these tough times, the couple has been working with more than 60 families, teaching them practical skills. They are also teaching real-life skills like nurturing the soil, saving water, growing your own food, building homes, curbing expenses, to make them self-sufficient. These can be useful when farmers cannot push their perishable goods to the market. In such a scenario, there will still be enough food for the farming community to survive.
Shweta and Siddhartha have also been engaging the villagers in yoga, an important aspect of regenerative living that can be used as a healing tool for adults and children.
Shweta points out, “It’s better to teach them fishing than to serve them fish on a platter. Empowering them with skills and training will equip them to handle crises better.”
And that is why they have been conducting permaculture skills training and awareness programmes on sustainable and diverse farming methods. Community members are also being taught to make personal-care products like soaps, salves, medicines, and oils. By learning how to build environmentally-friendly homes, harvest rainwater, and reuse resources from the natural environment, they are becoming the future warriors of change.
Concluding, Shweta and Sidhartha add how a quest that started as a means of self-care ended up entwining with the ecosystem. “Irrespective of the challenges, it is important not to lose sight of the purpose—zero-waste, being sustainable while abiding by a true spirit of permaculture, and balancing out our actions with the capacity of our ecosystem.”
My mother strongly believes that the best things in life come simple — with a pinch of salt and a drizzle of lemon juice. While the philosophical undertones of this notion only became clear to me as an adult, it is also amazing how it seamlessly translates into the food she cooks — heavily influenced by eastern India’s overlapping culinary textures, it is the epitome of gastronomic complexity packed inside a rather simple platter. One such wonder that she and many mothers of the region lovingly create, is the Bengali panta bhat, a fermented rice dish.
Also known as poita bhat in Assam, geel bhat in Bihar and pakhala in Odisha, this simple yet flavoursome dish is a centuries-old recipe of fermented watery rice, served with a variety of sides like spiced mashed potatoes (aloo sheddo), onion or lentil fritters, smoked eggplant (begun pora), deep-fried fish, curd or just a dollop of kasundi, a paste made using fermented mustard seeds.
In Assam, poita bhat is consumed during the Bohag Bihu festivities in small portions after whisking it with a hand fan, as a symbol of welcoming the summer season. Almost every region in India, including parts of South India where it is popular as pazhaya sadham (also known as pazhaya soru) and chaddannam (Andhra Pradesh and Telangana), seems to have a variation of this dish, which is the ultimate cooling probiotic packed with various micro-nutrients including Vitamin B12.
Whatever the name, the simple combination of leftover rice, water, salt and lemon (preferably gondhoraj lebu) juice is not just breathtaking taste-wise but is also extremely healthy, and a rather useful tool to beat the scorching heat during the summers. Many elders, including my grandmother would often add, that consuming this in the morning would help in weight-control and enhance bone strength.
Traditionally fermented for almost 12 hours overnight, this easy-to-prepare rice concoction continues to be served as a quick morning breakfast in various households, especially the ones run by people whose livelihood depends on physical labour. It not only fills the belly on a budget, but also provides the much-needed nutrition for the strenuous job.
It is for these reasons that panta bhat is considered by many to be a poor man’s breakfast. However, it is entirely possible that they did not know about its proven nutritional benefits.
In an interview with The Telegraph, Madhumita Barooah, an Associate Professor in the Assam Agricultural University, explained the nutritional value of fermented rice over the usual cooked rice.
“About 100 gm of cooked rice has only 3.4 mg of iron, while for the same quantity of rice fermented for 12 hours, the iron content went up to 73.91 mg. Likewise, sodium, which was 475 mg came down to 303 mg, potassium went up to 839 mg and calcium went up from 21 mg per 100gm of cooked rice to 850 mg, after 12 hours of fermentation of the same quantity of rice,” she explained.
Barooah adds that despite rice being an important dietary staple for a majority in the country, it is not a good source of metabolic micro-nutrients, due to the presence of anti-nutritional factors such as phytic acid, which however gets considerably reduced through the process of fermentation.
“Cereal grains such as rice also contain oligosaccharides that are not easily digestible because of absence of an enzyme in the human intestinal mucosa. Fermentation allows for breakdown of this and easy digestion” she adds.
And because of this quality, in several households of India, this rice concoction is also served to the sick especially those suffering from constipation or fever, for speedy recovery. Rich in vitamin B12, Vitamin B and potassium, it is famed to prevent fatigue, cure ulcer and even reduce blood pressure.
Although usually made out of parboiled rice, another report by the Deccan Chronicle adds that if brown rice is fermented and consumed in a similar manner, the increase in magnesium and selenium levels helps strengthen bones and to a certain degree, even prevent the onset of diseases like arthritis and cancer.
From a “Poor-Man’s Breakfast” to a Fine-Dine Experience
Today, food enthusiasts, chefs and nutritionists have not only introduced several ways of making the humble panta bhat, but have also freed it from the shackles of social status.
Served as part of a fine-dine experience in several posh restaurants, food festivals and featured by food bloggers, panta bhat is now a super food, sought out by foodies both in India and abroad.
For instance, in West Bengal, both during the Bengali New Year, or otherwise, several restaurants are serving items like, ‘panta platter’, panta thali’ and ‘panta with fried fish’, at competitive prices owing to its rising popularity.
Even in Kerala, a zero-waste sustainable restaurant, Pappadavada, Kochi is now serving fermented rice known as pazhankanji in Malayalam, as a gourmet dish, with side of tapioca and coconut chutney, small onions, pickle, curd and green chillies. According to restauranteur, Minu Pauline, the sale of pazhankanji is heightened both by its rehydrating and health benefits as well as a nostalgia factor.
But, beyond this razzmatazz and under all the fancy garnishing, to the initiated, panta bhat is and forever will be a humble whiff of nostalgia filled with sweet and tangy memories at every single ‘gorash’ (morsel).
Born in 1944, in Muransole, a village located in the remote area of West Midnapore district, Gurucharan Murumu joined the Indian Police Service (IPS) in 1972, and in doing so, became the first ever Santal to have served in the Union Civil Service.
“Coming from such a place where Adivasis continue to be inhabitants of a republic of hunger, still stalked by malnutrition, poverty and underdevelopment, Gurucharan Murmu’s achievement remains an admirable feat,” says Maroona Murmu, an Associate Professor in the Department of History at Jadavpur University, Kolkata, and his daughter, speaking to The Better India.
Overcoming incredible odds, the former IPS officer served with distinction, honesty and integrity, which unfortunately also meant often clashing with vested political interests during the 34-year-long reign of the Left Front government.
This is his remarkable life story.
Maroona Murumu with her father Gurucharan Murmu, a few days before his retirement.
True Grit
On 25 November 1949, Dr. BR Ambedkar had delivered a stirring addressto the Constituent Assembly, talking about the immense challenges before the young republic.
“On the 26th of January 1950, we are going to enter into a life of contradictions. In politics we will have equality and in social and economic life we will have inequality. In politics we will be recognising the principle of one man one vote and one vote one value. In our social and economic life, we shall, by reason of our social and economic structure, continue to deny the principle of one man one value,” he said.
Growing up, Gurucharan would encounter constant denials by the social and economic establishment on account of his identity as an Adivasi. His father passed away before he even turned three, but his elder brother, Manik Chand Murmu, stepped up to earn for the family and ensure that he finished primary and secondary school at the Gandapal Primary School and Belpahari SC High School respectively.
By the time 1962 came around, he enrolled for his pre-university course at the Scottish Church College in present-day Kolkata. Despite his obvious intelligence, he was often seen as a misfit by both his teachers and fellow classmates.
In fact, his teachers would often advise him to return to his village and take up occupations ‘better suited’ for people from his community like fishing or agriculture. Fortunately, upon seeing his proficiency in Sanskrit, a language often associated with intellectual ability and high culture, a few encouraged him to not pay heed to those remarks, and instead pursue higher education.
But he knew that living in a society deeply entrenched in caste inequalities as a reserved category student, he would never be able to earn a respectable career teaching Sanskrit.
So, he studied history, and finished his Bachelors and Master’s degree in Modern History from the University of Calcutta.
He would go on to clear the notoriously difficult UPSC exams, and join the IPS in 1972. His career began as an Assistant Superintendent of Police of Lalbagh in Murshidabad district two years later in 1974 before becoming a Sub-Divisional Police Officer there.
Gurucharan Murmu, IPS
The IPS Officer Who Paid a Price for Honesty
When the Left Front government took office in 1977, Gurucharan was serving as Additional Superintendent of Police in Nadia district. However, he came into contact with a government that accelerated the politicisation of the police force.
“In 1979, [Chief Minister] Jyoti Basu had a brainwave: inject politics into a disciplined force by forming the Calcutta Police Association. It also paved the way for the formation of non-gazetted unions in the district police lines. With most promotions and postings defined by political equations, the personnel in uniform became an extension of the party. Handpicked officers were busy serving the interests of the government and the party, leaving corrupt and inept officers to call the shots in law and order management,” notes this scathing Telegraph assessment.
For the likes of Gurucharan, who was only concerned with the honest performance of his duties in upholding the rule of law, there was bound to be a falling out with the ruling government. From challenging the violence unleashed by the party’s cadre, political and bureaucratic corruption to standing his ground against unfair treatment meted out to him, his uncompromising integrity often came in the way of career progression.
“Like most parties in power, the tendency is to shield people who are close to the party or encourage corruption of various sorts that would benefit the party in power. My father did whatever he thought was beneficial for the people whom he served. He took up the job to serve the people of this country to the best of his ability and remained undeterred in this mission. Nothing could enfeeble his determination to do good to the people, not even the ire of the party in power. He suffered endlessly, not being posted in Kolkata till he filed a case against the state government at the Central Administrative Tribunal. He was posted to Kolkata only when I was about to enter college,” recalls Maroona, when describing her father’s plight.
During a farewell ceremony as Deputy Commissioner of Calcutta Police.
In fact, according to a 9 March report in The Statesman’s Kolkata edition in 2004, reporter Tanmay Chatterjee writes about how the IPS officer was denied his final promotion as an Additional Director General (ADG) which was due before retirement. Instead, he was superseded.
“Is an apparently upright IPS officer being punished for the diligence with which he pursued corruption in officialdom? That, at least, is what a section of IPS officers in the state believe. Now, there are ripples of protest among a section of IPS officers in the state over the State government not promoting Mr Gurucharan Murmu, the IG (Traffic) … Although he is reported to have earned the ire of bureaucrats for being ‘stubborn’, a number of his colleagues believe his ‘unpopularity’ stemmed from his Vigilance Commission tenure. He was transferred within 13 months. When he found that the Commission’s queries were not being answered by Writers Building on time, Mr Murmu started sending the queries directly to the vigilance officers of individual departments. Officials said that Mr Murmu went to the extent of sending a note to the former Vigilance Commissioner Mr RN Kali,” noted Tanmay in his report titled ‘Punished for Doing His Job Well?’
Gurucharan Murmu as the Principal of the Police Training College, Barrackpore.
In fact, another major Bengali daily Bartaman reported that during his tenure as Inspector General of the Vigilance Commission, the State government got him out of the door because he was going after some corrupt officials close to the ruling party.
“Today urban India cries her heart out if a member of the subaltern society is ill-treated. Well, I met Mr Murmu, the first Santal who became an IPS officer. Correction: I met a Santal who suffered for doing his job as a police officer….Her father was a brave man. A true Santal. Wish I could do something more worthwhile for him, but the press has limited powers,” says Tanmay.
He goes onto note how Mr. Murmu wasn’t very keen on portraying himself as a victim in the media, and for the most part suffered in silence.
Writing for Shillong-based publication Raoit, Maroona says, “I still retain the SIM card of my father which has bus numbers that would reach him to the Central Administrative Tribunal, Calcutta Bench. He indeed is an adorable man who never ceased to be rooted to the soil. But, he was struck down by a cerebral stroke soon after. I presume it was caused, at least partly, by the relentless persecution by the ruling party over so many years. The principled adivasi officer who had taken on the might of the ruling party of a province for years together, was finally held down to a literally vegetative existence, within a year of his retirement [in 2005].”
With the trainees in Police Training College.
Academic Pursuits
During his years of service, amidst all the turbulence, he found solace in academic pursuits, writing essays on the relationship between his native Santali language and other Austric languages with Sanskrit, a passion he left behind after college.
His essays were published in numerous Bengali magazines of repute. Moreover, he was among the founding members of the Paschim Banga Santali Academy and even co-authored Bibliography: Santali Literature published in 1998.
Speaking to The Better India, Maroona says, “He knew Santali, Bengali, English, Sanskrit and Farsi. But this passion for Sanskrit remained within him and he continued to explore the relation between Santali and other Austric languages with Sanskrit and Bengali in his academic essays. The same goes for his decade long engagement with the deciphering of Indus Script. His hypothesis was that the Austric-Santali language might have had some ancestral affinity with the language decoded by the Indus script. Most indigenous communities inherit traditional knowledge about medicinal plants and that is a part of their everyday living. This led to his unfinished doctoral research on ‘Santal Medicine Over Time and Space’.”
The family during a picnic.
Following his retirement, he went back to Muransole, where he envisioned building a rural development complex with a school, hostel and old age home. For this purpose, he even spent 30 per cent of his pension buying 13 bighas of land. Sadly, his vision remained unfulfilled.
“We found out that the person from whom he had bought the 13 bigha land had not registered the land in Jhargram court. My father had informed me that he had given the money for the land to be registered but I think the concerned person had come to know about his cerebral attack and cheated us. The complex remains his lofty unattained dream,” she says.
He eventually passed on 3 May 2012, spending his last few years in a vegetative state. It’s hard not to wonder if all those years of professional persecution finally caught up with him.
“Since the intensity of structural and symbolic violence is more powerful here in West Bengal, those under casteist scanners alone can feel the palpable hatred but evidence is hard to come by. Soon after adivasis enter academic and professional spaces, the process of social exclusion and institutionalized discrimination are set in motion. It is at best, a ‘discriminatory inclusion’ where these people are made to understand that these particular spheres do not “belong” to them and they are an ‘inefficient’ lot,” she argues.
Upon reading Maroona’s personal tribute to her father earlier this month on social media, his senior in the State police wrote, “Maroona, we all know that your father was discriminated against. He was never given charge of a District for which an IPS officer is selected. It is most unfortunate that these discriminations continue in society.”
To this day, the adivasi community remains criminally underrepresented in the State’s bureaucracy, educational institutions and politics.
Nonetheless, Gurucharan emerged out of all that and in his own way made history. He showed generations of young Santals in the state that it’s possible to make it against all odds if one has the determination to withstand hardship that would come by. That’s his legacy.
(All images courtesy Maroona Murmu)
(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)
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