ZAHID RAFIQ
NEW DELHI , MAY 2
For Ravi Kazi, a lawyer in Delhi court, a bail application of his
client has become, by far, his most important case these days. Kazi, a
Kashmiri Pandit, represents Mirza Iftikhar Hussain, who was acquitted
in the 1996 Lajpat Nagar bombing case after 14 years of imprisonment,
for a fight which Iftikhar had while in prison. Since Iftikhar’s
aqquital on April 8, Kazi has been trying unsuccessfully to get the
bail; today was another failed attempt.
“What will I tell his sisters and mother today? They will think I am
not getting him out because I am a Kashmiri Pandit and am not helping
him,” Kazi says to SAR Geelani and another Kashmiri Muslim friend, who
were also waiting for Iftikhar’s bail. “The judge is on leave today.
Inshaallah, I will get him, free on May 4,” Kazi finally told one of
Iftikhar’s sisters on April 30, the last hearing date.
A bail application was made for Iftikhar in which the court of
Additional Sessions Judge, Nivedita Anil Sharma granted the bail in
the sum of Rs 15000 with one local surety in the same amount, a surety
bond of SAR Geelani, an Arabic lecturer at DU, was put before the
court but after enquiry, it was dismissed on default.
“I then got my friend, a senior editor of an Urdu magazine, to submit
the bail bond but the court rejected it on the ground that he has no
command over the accused’s conduct in Kashmir while himself sitting in
Delhi,” said Geelani. “How can we get a local surety in Delhi who has
command in Kashmir also,” Geelani said.
Then, another bail bond of Geelani was filed which the court sent for
enquiry and when the charge sheet was filed that the accused’s Kashmir
address was not written on the file. “We said that the address should
be confirmed from the prison authorities where the accused was for 14
years,” says Kazi. “But the court decided to send an IO physically
from here to Kashmir to confirm the address and when he has come today
after all confirmations, the judge is absent,” Kazi says.
“It never takes so long to get a bail in these cases and especially in
a case where the accused has been acquitted after 14 years. There was
no justification for adopting the procedure. It seems that it is
simply to delay his delay his release,” Kazi said.
In 2008, in Tihar (Jail No. 1), Iftikhar, while in 12 th year of his
under-trial imprisonment, had a fight with another inmate Satinder
Singh Pal alias Twinkle who was serving time under MCOCA. Iftikhar had
hurled a paper weight at Twinkle which hit his head and resulted in an
injury which two MLC termed as ‘simple’ injury. Iftikhar, too, had
been attacked by a ‘bladebaaz’ Mohd. Idrish, a friend of Twinlke,
before the incident, according to a submission by the prison
superintendent to Additional Sessions Judge SK Savaria, which he had
reported to the authorities.
Iftikhar, 25 at the time of his arrest, had rented a shop in Missouri
and police ad clamed the involved in the blast. Iftikhar, the least
visible charecter in the judgement, according to police, was arrested
at the New Delhi Railway station while on his way to Gorakhpur with
another co- accused Naushad, who was convicted in the case. Police
claimed to have recovered from Naushad a currency note of Rs two which
they claimed would be handed used by Iftikhar to recieve a payment of
Rs one lakh. The court after 14 years acquitted Iftikhar for want of
evidence saying the two rupees note was in no way different or
special than other notes.
For Iftikhar’s family, the court dates first give them hope and then
crash it, making Iftikhar’s absence more prominent than in the last 14
years. “Since he has been acquitted, our mother waits everyday for
him. It is hard to tell her that he wont come tomorrow as well. I hope
she sees him one of these days or she will die of longing,” says
Gulshan Mirza, Iftikhar’s sister.
And for Kazi, Iftikhar has become the litmus test. “This Pandit is
having some sort of a revenge, his mother will think if there are more
of these strange procedures on the next date,” Kazi whispers to
Geelani. “And their house isn’t far from where we used to live in
Kashmir ,” he ends.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Two Cars and a woman...
In Mangolpuri in outer Delhi, this morning, a Scorpio first crossed over the road divider breaking the cement railings and then rammed into a still Bullet motorcycle throwing down 25-year-old Sanjeet Khatra on the road. The white Scorpio, with four people in it, then reversed back and accelerated to hit him again. It kept ramming into him till Khatra was bleeding and dead on the road. A minute later, Pawan Garg came running out of the drivers seat and stood beside Khatra’s damaged body. “I have won the battle,” he shouted in anger.
Pawan Garg, 30, was then beaten by the people, who were walking on the road and saw it all happen. His wife, sister-in laws, and father came out of the Scorpio when people started breaking it and kept crying on the pavement. “He was beaten for a long time and the car was broken too but then police van came and took him away,” says Vijender, a betel leaf seller on the same road. Khatra was rushed to Sanjay Gandhi hospital where he was declared brought dead. Garg, according to police, was also taken to a hospital by the Police Control Room van, where from he absconded later.
In Kiradi, few kilometres from the spot, houses of Khatra and Garg, separated by a lane, stand facing each other, their shadows merging. Garg's house is locked and surrounded by policemen, and Khatra’s are mourning. “He was my best friend, we went to school together, college together and shared everything. My friend is dead,” Savita, Khatra’s sister said. Khatra had applied for a teacher’s job recently after after doing a course in Primary Teacher Training from a college in Janakpuri.
The family says that they had no animosity with the Garg’s except that there had been a couple of arguments over parking space in the lane. “There was a fight last year in November between them over their cars and since then there has been nothing. I don’t know why it happened,” Khatra’s mother, Shankuntala said. “My son used to tell me that Pawan always gave him spiteful looks and I used to tell him not to look back at him.” Outside, in the lane, Khatra’s silver grey Alto is parked.
Police sources, however, say that it was Garg's wife, Parul, who lay at the heart of the animosity. “It seems that the two had illicit relations and Garg had come to know about it. It is a crime of passion and there of dozens of eye witnesses who saw it happen,” said DCP Outer Delhi, Atul Katiyar. Khatra’s mother says that her son had no relation with Garg's wife and the two families hadnt talked to each other in a long time. Khatra’s older brother, Sudhir, however, said that Garg had doubts about his brother’s relation with Parul. “He sometimes used to say that my brother has some relations with his wife and sometimes even said that he had relations with his children but I used to tell him that it was only in his head,” said Sudhir Khatra.
Garg and Parul had a son and a daughter and Garg owned a utensil shop just outside his house.
Parul has recorded her statement with the police and so have other members of the family. Police are looking for Garg, who absconded from the hospital. “We are looking for him but it is highly shameful that he could abscond from the hospital and the police had no idea,” Katiyar said. Police sation Mongolpuri had earlier registered a case of death due to rash and negligent driving but later changed it to murder.
----------ENDS---------
Pawan Garg, 30, was then beaten by the people, who were walking on the road and saw it all happen. His wife, sister-in laws, and father came out of the Scorpio when people started breaking it and kept crying on the pavement. “He was beaten for a long time and the car was broken too but then police van came and took him away,” says Vijender, a betel leaf seller on the same road. Khatra was rushed to Sanjay Gandhi hospital where he was declared brought dead. Garg, according to police, was also taken to a hospital by the Police Control Room van, where from he absconded later.
In Kiradi, few kilometres from the spot, houses of Khatra and Garg, separated by a lane, stand facing each other, their shadows merging. Garg's house is locked and surrounded by policemen, and Khatra’s are mourning. “He was my best friend, we went to school together, college together and shared everything. My friend is dead,” Savita, Khatra’s sister said. Khatra had applied for a teacher’s job recently after after doing a course in Primary Teacher Training from a college in Janakpuri.
The family says that they had no animosity with the Garg’s except that there had been a couple of arguments over parking space in the lane. “There was a fight last year in November between them over their cars and since then there has been nothing. I don’t know why it happened,” Khatra’s mother, Shankuntala said. “My son used to tell me that Pawan always gave him spiteful looks and I used to tell him not to look back at him.” Outside, in the lane, Khatra’s silver grey Alto is parked.
Police sources, however, say that it was Garg's wife, Parul, who lay at the heart of the animosity. “It seems that the two had illicit relations and Garg had come to know about it. It is a crime of passion and there of dozens of eye witnesses who saw it happen,” said DCP Outer Delhi, Atul Katiyar. Khatra’s mother says that her son had no relation with Garg's wife and the two families hadnt talked to each other in a long time. Khatra’s older brother, Sudhir, however, said that Garg had doubts about his brother’s relation with Parul. “He sometimes used to say that my brother has some relations with his wife and sometimes even said that he had relations with his children but I used to tell him that it was only in his head,” said Sudhir Khatra.
Garg and Parul had a son and a daughter and Garg owned a utensil shop just outside his house.
Parul has recorded her statement with the police and so have other members of the family. Police are looking for Garg, who absconded from the hospital. “We are looking for him but it is highly shameful that he could abscond from the hospital and the police had no idea,” Katiyar said. Police sation Mongolpuri had earlier registered a case of death due to rash and negligent driving but later changed it to murder.
----------ENDS---------
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Sellling 10 rupees for 12- this is Old Delhi.
EXPRESS NEWS SERVICE
NEW DELHI, JUNE 9
On the side-walks of the congested Chandni Chowk, the old curiosity shop is selling new glittering coins. Sitting on the pavement, Arun Aggarawal, 31, sells Indian money to Indians and is making profit out of it. And he is not alone; all the money changers and old coin sellers are onto this new business and it is thriving. The new ten and five rupee-coins from the RBI which haven’t yet been seen in the open are being sold in Chandni Chowk for Rs 12 and Rs 7 respectively as a dozen policemen book some illegal bike parkers just metres away.
The till-now-unseen ten rupee coins dated as 2006 and 2008 issued by RBI have not been circulated till now and when people see the shiny steel and copper coloured coin all along Chandni Chowk, they can’t resist buying it. “It is unique and I will show this coin to everyone because no one has seen it yet. It first thought it was a fake but now I know it is real but that doesn’t mean I will spend it,” says Vineet Bhardawaj, 24, an Employee in a MNC, moments after buying two coins worth Rs 20 for 24. “I know it sounds stupid but this is a collector’s item.”
The ten-rupee-coin has been minted in 2006 but not yet seen in the market. The 8 grams bi-metallic coin with Nickel- Copper on one side and ferrous steel on the other designed by National Institute of Design, Ahmedabad with the theme of Unity in Diversity is the black markets open heaven right now. When asked by The Newsline why the coins had not been circulated properly in the market, Raghu Raj, spokesperson of the RBI said he had no idea that this was happening and refused to comment .
Outside the Geeta studio in Chandni Chowk, a thickset man in his fifties squats besides two bowls full of these new coins perched on a small table. First, the coins attract few people and the people attract more people and soon the entrance to the studio is barred and curiosity shop is in bloom. The discoloured Victoria’s are pushed back, Lincoln’s semi hidden and even the rusted ones are discarded. It is the new coins which are attracting crowds.
“Which country’s coin is this”? asks a interested Waseem Ahmad while looking at the bowls. His hands fiddle with the coins and he finally picks up one. “India ke hain, kaheen aur nahi milenge. Sirf hamare paas hain. (These are Indian and you wont find them anywhere other than me).” Ahmad, 31, a software designer buys one.
“We have never done so much business as we have in the last 20 days. I must have sold 10,000 coins till now and I am selling,” says an equally busy Aggarwal.
Aggarawal buys the coins from an agent for Rs 10.50 in bulk and sells it for 12 in retail. “The person who sells me the coins is an RBI employee and now everyone has his own agents and we are earning good money,” says Aggarwal.
----- ENDS-----
NEW DELHI, JUNE 9
On the side-walks of the congested Chandni Chowk, the old curiosity shop is selling new glittering coins. Sitting on the pavement, Arun Aggarawal, 31, sells Indian money to Indians and is making profit out of it. And he is not alone; all the money changers and old coin sellers are onto this new business and it is thriving. The new ten and five rupee-coins from the RBI which haven’t yet been seen in the open are being sold in Chandni Chowk for Rs 12 and Rs 7 respectively as a dozen policemen book some illegal bike parkers just metres away.
The till-now-unseen ten rupee coins dated as 2006 and 2008 issued by RBI have not been circulated till now and when people see the shiny steel and copper coloured coin all along Chandni Chowk, they can’t resist buying it. “It is unique and I will show this coin to everyone because no one has seen it yet. It first thought it was a fake but now I know it is real but that doesn’t mean I will spend it,” says Vineet Bhardawaj, 24, an Employee in a MNC, moments after buying two coins worth Rs 20 for 24. “I know it sounds stupid but this is a collector’s item.”
The ten-rupee-coin has been minted in 2006 but not yet seen in the market. The 8 grams bi-metallic coin with Nickel- Copper on one side and ferrous steel on the other designed by National Institute of Design, Ahmedabad with the theme of Unity in Diversity is the black markets open heaven right now. When asked by The Newsline why the coins had not been circulated properly in the market, Raghu Raj, spokesperson of the RBI said he had no idea that this was happening and refused to comment .
Outside the Geeta studio in Chandni Chowk, a thickset man in his fifties squats besides two bowls full of these new coins perched on a small table. First, the coins attract few people and the people attract more people and soon the entrance to the studio is barred and curiosity shop is in bloom. The discoloured Victoria’s are pushed back, Lincoln’s semi hidden and even the rusted ones are discarded. It is the new coins which are attracting crowds.
“Which country’s coin is this”? asks a interested Waseem Ahmad while looking at the bowls. His hands fiddle with the coins and he finally picks up one. “India ke hain, kaheen aur nahi milenge. Sirf hamare paas hain. (These are Indian and you wont find them anywhere other than me).” Ahmad, 31, a software designer buys one.
“We have never done so much business as we have in the last 20 days. I must have sold 10,000 coins till now and I am selling,” says an equally busy Aggarwal.
Aggarawal buys the coins from an agent for Rs 10.50 in bulk and sells it for 12 in retail. “The person who sells me the coins is an RBI employee and now everyone has his own agents and we are earning good money,” says Aggarwal.
----- ENDS-----
son kills father: father nails him after death.
ZAHID RAFIQ
NEW DELHI, JUNE 15
When Satish Prakash, 30, bludgeoned his reclusive father Raghubir Singh, 65, to death three days ago in Alipur area believing that his father had an extra-marital affair; he didn’t know that his father’s diary would help police to nail him out soon. In his small room, alongside perfume bottles, fairness creams, pornographic magazine, Singh maintained a diary recording everything that happened to him but there was no mention of any women. Alipur Police have arrested the son charged him with murder.
On June 13, police received a call from the Singh home saying that their father had been murdered and was lying dead in his room. When police came, they found blood splattered on the walls and dried up on the sheet. Sigh was lying dead on his bed with several injuries on his head, neck and ears.
Singh, a retired clerk with Comptroller and Auditor General’s office, lived his own home as a recluse. “His room had a separate entrance, and he cooked for himself even though his wife and family lived in the same house,” a police official said. “We came to know that he hardly ever talked to anyone in his family.”
The Singh family had a dispute over property among themselves and there were regular fights and quarrels before the night when Singh was finally murdered. Police often received calls from the family and usually from Singh himself who felt that his family wanted to kill him. “He called some days ago pleading us to come to his home because there was a quarrel. We went and he said that his family and he are at odds and they would kill him. We said that this is a family mater and what else could we do,” says the police official.
Some days later, Singh was murdered. Police found his well maintained diary, in which he had written who in his family were trying to kill him. “He thought that his son Satish Prakash might kill him but in the last entry in his diary, he was afraid of his grandson LIkesh, who he felt would kill him,” says police. When the police questioned the sons and other relatives, they say, they were already sure that someone among them had killed him. “His youngest son, Prakash, broke down soon and accepted that he along with his friend, Salim, had killed his father because he never cared for his mother and had an extramarital affair,” says Atul Katiyar, DCP Outer. Prakash and Salim convinced two more of their friends who entered into Singh’s room that night and covered his face with a pillow and bludgeoned him with a musli. Singh stopped resisting and breathing but his son didn’t stop till he was sure that his father was dead.
Police have registered a case of murder against the son and his friend Salim and are hunting for the other two accused.
IN his home, there is mourning for the son but none for the murdered father and in diaries, there is no hint of an extramarital affair but police believe that he might have skipped the part out.
------ENDS
NEW DELHI, JUNE 15
When Satish Prakash, 30, bludgeoned his reclusive father Raghubir Singh, 65, to death three days ago in Alipur area believing that his father had an extra-marital affair; he didn’t know that his father’s diary would help police to nail him out soon. In his small room, alongside perfume bottles, fairness creams, pornographic magazine, Singh maintained a diary recording everything that happened to him but there was no mention of any women. Alipur Police have arrested the son charged him with murder.
On June 13, police received a call from the Singh home saying that their father had been murdered and was lying dead in his room. When police came, they found blood splattered on the walls and dried up on the sheet. Sigh was lying dead on his bed with several injuries on his head, neck and ears.
Singh, a retired clerk with Comptroller and Auditor General’s office, lived his own home as a recluse. “His room had a separate entrance, and he cooked for himself even though his wife and family lived in the same house,” a police official said. “We came to know that he hardly ever talked to anyone in his family.”
The Singh family had a dispute over property among themselves and there were regular fights and quarrels before the night when Singh was finally murdered. Police often received calls from the family and usually from Singh himself who felt that his family wanted to kill him. “He called some days ago pleading us to come to his home because there was a quarrel. We went and he said that his family and he are at odds and they would kill him. We said that this is a family mater and what else could we do,” says the police official.
Some days later, Singh was murdered. Police found his well maintained diary, in which he had written who in his family were trying to kill him. “He thought that his son Satish Prakash might kill him but in the last entry in his diary, he was afraid of his grandson LIkesh, who he felt would kill him,” says police. When the police questioned the sons and other relatives, they say, they were already sure that someone among them had killed him. “His youngest son, Prakash, broke down soon and accepted that he along with his friend, Salim, had killed his father because he never cared for his mother and had an extramarital affair,” says Atul Katiyar, DCP Outer. Prakash and Salim convinced two more of their friends who entered into Singh’s room that night and covered his face with a pillow and bludgeoned him with a musli. Singh stopped resisting and breathing but his son didn’t stop till he was sure that his father was dead.
Police have registered a case of murder against the son and his friend Salim and are hunting for the other two accused.
IN his home, there is mourning for the son but none for the murdered father and in diaries, there is no hint of an extramarital affair but police believe that he might have skipped the part out.
------ENDS
Finally, the long novel of daryaganj ends in a sad way...
ZAHID RAFIQ
NEW DELHI, JUNE 22
This Sunday, Daryaganj just wasn’t its usual self. There were no yellowed texts stacked against the walls, no literature scattered and littered on the pavements, no hawkers shouting names of authors and no book lovers pushing their way through the bookish pavements. Daryaganj just wasn’t its usual self this Sunday and it might not be the same way ever again. As Daryaganj police decides to bring down the instances of pick pocketing and traffic congestion and MCD distances itself from the issue, the 45-year-old-book market for which people come even from other states faces the brunt.
“Police can close the market anytime if there is a law and order problem because of it. It is 45 years old but if state has the permission for the market once, it can as well take it back,” says DCP Central Jaspal Singh. Singh did not know that his subordinates had closed the market on Sunday though.
The around one-kilometer stretch of Delhi, which is the book lovers ‘Perian spring’, does not have any official permission but the book hawkers had been allowed to sit there every Sunday for the last four decades. But now, the Daryaganj police decided that it would not allow the market to be there in its present shape because of the traffic jams and crimes like pick pocketing and teasing of women.
The police say that it is hard to manage the market on Sundays because of so much rush. The SHO of Daryaganj police station is on a leave and the Additional SHO closed the market saying he was short of staff. “It is not only the book sellers but the cloth sellers and others have also come there. There are regular jams and eve teasing and they have started to use even the road for their goods,” says Adnl SHO, Daryaganj, Madan Lal.
The customers, many of who buy books only from here, some collect books, some art, and some even plan their visits to Delhi in a way that they could buy books here on Sunday left without a whimper this Sunday. Customers asked each other on the pavements as there was not even a single hawker to ask and when they heard that police had cleared the market, it is an immediate heartbreak. “This was one place where we could buy books really cheap and those books which we cant find anywhere. How can the police just come and close this market? We have come from 20 kilometers just to buy books,” says Pradeep Sharma, an MBA student.
Infact, the police hadn’t even told the hawkers that they would not be allowed to sell books on Sunday. “We came out in the morning with our sacks and an hour later, police came over and asked us to empty the pavement as it was because of us that the crime rate was increasing,” says Subhash Aggarwal, President of the Sunday Daryaganj Book Bazaar Association. The book bazaar employs around 250 people who sell books there.
There have been questions on this market even in the past and the issue is currently subjudice. The MCD says that it has nothing to do with this market and police can do what ever it wants to if it is a law and order problem. “We are not even in the picture. This market has no documents and is illegal and it has been allowed to be there only on humanitarian grounds. The police surely can close it,” says MCD spokesperson Deep Mathur.
For the ignorant customers who might be planning to come next Sunday, and the hawkers who have a stockpile of books in Godown, the future is uncertain.
-----------ENDS-------------
NEW DELHI, JUNE 22
This Sunday, Daryaganj just wasn’t its usual self. There were no yellowed texts stacked against the walls, no literature scattered and littered on the pavements, no hawkers shouting names of authors and no book lovers pushing their way through the bookish pavements. Daryaganj just wasn’t its usual self this Sunday and it might not be the same way ever again. As Daryaganj police decides to bring down the instances of pick pocketing and traffic congestion and MCD distances itself from the issue, the 45-year-old-book market for which people come even from other states faces the brunt.
“Police can close the market anytime if there is a law and order problem because of it. It is 45 years old but if state has the permission for the market once, it can as well take it back,” says DCP Central Jaspal Singh. Singh did not know that his subordinates had closed the market on Sunday though.
The around one-kilometer stretch of Delhi, which is the book lovers ‘Perian spring’, does not have any official permission but the book hawkers had been allowed to sit there every Sunday for the last four decades. But now, the Daryaganj police decided that it would not allow the market to be there in its present shape because of the traffic jams and crimes like pick pocketing and teasing of women.
The police say that it is hard to manage the market on Sundays because of so much rush. The SHO of Daryaganj police station is on a leave and the Additional SHO closed the market saying he was short of staff. “It is not only the book sellers but the cloth sellers and others have also come there. There are regular jams and eve teasing and they have started to use even the road for their goods,” says Adnl SHO, Daryaganj, Madan Lal.
The customers, many of who buy books only from here, some collect books, some art, and some even plan their visits to Delhi in a way that they could buy books here on Sunday left without a whimper this Sunday. Customers asked each other on the pavements as there was not even a single hawker to ask and when they heard that police had cleared the market, it is an immediate heartbreak. “This was one place where we could buy books really cheap and those books which we cant find anywhere. How can the police just come and close this market? We have come from 20 kilometers just to buy books,” says Pradeep Sharma, an MBA student.
Infact, the police hadn’t even told the hawkers that they would not be allowed to sell books on Sunday. “We came out in the morning with our sacks and an hour later, police came over and asked us to empty the pavement as it was because of us that the crime rate was increasing,” says Subhash Aggarwal, President of the Sunday Daryaganj Book Bazaar Association. The book bazaar employs around 250 people who sell books there.
There have been questions on this market even in the past and the issue is currently subjudice. The MCD says that it has nothing to do with this market and police can do what ever it wants to if it is a law and order problem. “We are not even in the picture. This market has no documents and is illegal and it has been allowed to be there only on humanitarian grounds. The police surely can close it,” says MCD spokesperson Deep Mathur.
For the ignorant customers who might be planning to come next Sunday, and the hawkers who have a stockpile of books in Godown, the future is uncertain.
-----------ENDS-------------
Friday, June 12, 2009
It rained here last afternoon after a long time. It wasnt the first time though, but strangely it felt so. I walked out and sat on the little ashy verandah with my feet against the rusted railing, and smoked. The sky turned grey, and the white Delhi summer light changed to those old kashmiri kerosene lamp lights. The cigarette felt hotter nnear my fingertips. I lit another.
The rain fell on the railing and broken drops flew over to me, wetting the cigatte. I dint mind. The leaves rustled and the sky gargled and for a moment i believed i was in Kashmir. A few girls walked by, and the wind blew, revealing a few already revealed legs, rumaginga few already rummaged thoughts and dammpning a few few already damped souls. I was in delhi, i remebered. And i remember Sohail's dilemna who was now standing by my side and talking about Kashmir too. His girlfriend left him, he told me one ight. "because she wanted to have sex," he said with a surprised look on his face. "You should have done that before her even asking for it," i replied shrugging my shoulders and sypathising with the girl.
How can you say this, zahid?
Why? What wrong did i say?
If you kill one man, you kill the whole humanity... If you fuck one woman, you fuck the whole humanity...
I spurted out my smoke and he laughed. We both did, for a long time afterwards.
"Wasnt i right?"
Of course, i said.
Now sohail was standing, his arms pressed against the railing, as if about to to do pushups. O yea, he has recently joined and gym. He loves it. Its unisex, and hez even made a few friends.
The rain fell on the railing and broken drops flew over to me, wetting the cigatte. I dint mind. The leaves rustled and the sky gargled and for a moment i believed i was in Kashmir. A few girls walked by, and the wind blew, revealing a few already revealed legs, rumaginga few already rummaged thoughts and dammpning a few few already damped souls. I was in delhi, i remebered. And i remember Sohail's dilemna who was now standing by my side and talking about Kashmir too. His girlfriend left him, he told me one ight. "because she wanted to have sex," he said with a surprised look on his face. "You should have done that before her even asking for it," i replied shrugging my shoulders and sypathising with the girl.
How can you say this, zahid?
Why? What wrong did i say?
If you kill one man, you kill the whole humanity... If you fuck one woman, you fuck the whole humanity...
I spurted out my smoke and he laughed. We both did, for a long time afterwards.
"Wasnt i right?"
Of course, i said.
Now sohail was standing, his arms pressed against the railing, as if about to to do pushups. O yea, he has recently joined and gym. He loves it. Its unisex, and hez even made a few friends.
Friday, April 24, 2009
A night in the maternity hospital in Srinagar
ZAHID RAFIQ
SRINAGAR, FEBRUARY 23
There is no crowd pushing forward to gate crash, no fake excuses by attendants to get inside, no obstinate denials by the security and no bribed entries later. The gates are flung open, men smoke on the porch and the benches. The dark moonless night has fallen and Lal Ded (LD) hospital, the valley’s biggest maternity hospital, is silent except for the dogs and few far away voices.
Pale light floats through the long corridors narrowed by people leaning against the walls, some sleeping on green, blue and red Styrofoam mats, and some chatting in whispers on the wooden benches. In the labour room on the first floor, women moan rhythmically in pain, calling their mothers and fathers as they would have called them once as children. The high pitched shrieks woven together with subtle moans float through the entire floor, and attendants pace uneasily through the corridor.
Saleema Jan, 62, squatting and leaning against the wall gently rocks herself, her palm covering her forehead as she mumbles a prayer. Her daughter Mehtab Bano is inside the labour room, crying out her name in an agonizing pitch. Saleema Jan is in pain outside.
“Adamas adam phatun, yehai che, gubra, qayaamat aasan (a human growing in a human and then separating: the pain, my son, is beyond words),” says Jan, the tips of her fore finger and thumb anxiously rubbing the corners of her dry lips, her tongue flickering out to wet the tiny fissures. “If my daughter sees that I am even weaker than her, she will loose all strength and can’t face this ordeal.”
Jan remembers the old days when she was afraid of going through the pain again after giving birth to two sons. But, the desire for a daughter made her bear all the agony again. “I used to be happy that I will have another child but then I would remember this moment when every muscle twitched in pain and my hands would shiver with the thought,” she says.
Twenty years ago, the rate of Caesarean deliveries was much less. Women would bear children without surgeries and sections. Jan delivered four babies, but never by a Caesarean section. “Back then, boad operation (major operation) caesareans were looked down upon and women who delivered after cesareans were thought of as lazy and weak,” she says. “But today most deliveries are by an operation in the theatre.”
According to a report published by a doctor in 2006, 85 percent of the deliveries in LD happen by caesareans. As per the WHO guidelines, not more than 15 percent of the total deliveries should happen by caesarean. The report cites “Adequate trial of labour not given to the pregnant women” as the main reason for the high cesarean rate in the hospital.
“If a woman gets a cesarean in her first delivery, it is almost sure that her second delivery will also come by a cesarean and the chances of a third child being born to the woman are negligible,” says a female gynecologist. The gynecologist says that women now demand cesareans because they do not want to go the pain. “I write on the medical records that the cesarean was demanded,” she says. She has herself had cesareans for her deliveries.
On the second floor, above the labour room, families wait on benches, and blankets. Cups of tea pass around. There are no shrieks, no moans here. Only faint sounds of occasional steps come from inside the Operation Theatre.
Fahmeeda Akhtar, 47, waits with a soft mink blanket on her lap. Her daughter is inside too, but under the knife undergoing a caesarean. “Vani gaeses bahaar haavun aemis shur sund (Now God should show her the blossoms of this child),” Fahmeeda says, her hands buried under the tiny mink blanket. Her son- in- law has gone out to buy a baby feeder and other things they would need in the post operative ward.
There is no waiting room for attendants to wait for their patients. It looks like a hostel corridor, young boys striking up old chats.
Outside the post-operative ward, Mohammad Shafi Dar, 29, removes his ankle-high fur shoes. He wears no socks. The skin of his toes is dead and white, and his feet smell. The woman sitting next to him pouts her lips and slides a couple of feet away. “I have removed my shoes after three days. My wife had some complicacy and I have not had a wink of sleep for the last four nights,” says Dar. Dar lives in Pulwama where government doctors denied treating her wife and he had to come here in the middle of the night three days ago. “They (government doctors) have started a nursing home near the hospital and they asked us to come there and pay 18000 rupees. They said they cannot do anything if we did not come to the nursing home.” Dar became father to a son this evening. Under creases of weariness and oil, his brown face lights up with the mention of his son. “Only women have the patience to undergo the childbirth. But, we have our own responsibilities and they are also painful too. I cannot share my wife’s pain, or I would have already done,” says Dar.
The bathrooms are stained and messy, and water trickles from the tap. The ceramic is yellowed and rusted: it should have been white once. Someone forgot to flush the commode.
Inside the wards, the lights are dimmed, and patients sleep on the beds- two on a bed. On some beds, husbands sleep with wives.
The floor is packed with the attendants, some sleeping with their lips agape, some hidden under the blankets looking like a sac, some snoring loudly and other irked by the grumbled noise. It is midnight and the warm corridors, by now, are covered with bodies of slumping old fathers, frail younger sisters, ageing mothers and anxious husbands- all sleeping on each other. It is warm, quiet and cozy.
The staircase back to the labour room is like an elevator to war zone- women holding their bellies up with both their hands, walking slowly, as if walking on water. A male nursing orderly carries around a pregnant woman in a wheel chair, her head thrust back, her teeth biting on her lower lip in pain, her hair open with slight traces of an old knot.
Two male orderlies walk in and out of the labour room, carrying in drugs, injections and other supplies. Mohammad Yousuf, 37, a male nursing orderly has been working in the labour room for five years. He doesn’t tell his friends that he works here- only his immediate family knows. “What should I tell I tell my friends that I work in labour room all day? They will make fun of me,” says Yousuf. Yousuf remembers the time when he first came to the labour room and he would carry the moans and agony with him to his home and his life outside. “Back then it was different but now I have seen so much. The moment I leave this room, I forget everything. I don’t even hear the shrieks anymore here. I have become used to it,” Yousuf says. “If I remember it, then, I won’t be able to do anything. If a woman remembers it, she will never give birth again.”
A young girl rushes out of the corridor, crying for her father. Inside, life is conceived of an agonizing ordeal. “Papa, sister gave birth to a boy,” she cries.
In the side corridor, Saleema Jan is still sitting, now on a blanket, chatting with two other mothers. They talk of old times, of village nurses and of their own pain, but with smiles. All of them are all grandmothers now.
--------ENDS-----
SRINAGAR, FEBRUARY 23
There is no crowd pushing forward to gate crash, no fake excuses by attendants to get inside, no obstinate denials by the security and no bribed entries later. The gates are flung open, men smoke on the porch and the benches. The dark moonless night has fallen and Lal Ded (LD) hospital, the valley’s biggest maternity hospital, is silent except for the dogs and few far away voices.
Pale light floats through the long corridors narrowed by people leaning against the walls, some sleeping on green, blue and red Styrofoam mats, and some chatting in whispers on the wooden benches. In the labour room on the first floor, women moan rhythmically in pain, calling their mothers and fathers as they would have called them once as children. The high pitched shrieks woven together with subtle moans float through the entire floor, and attendants pace uneasily through the corridor.
Saleema Jan, 62, squatting and leaning against the wall gently rocks herself, her palm covering her forehead as she mumbles a prayer. Her daughter Mehtab Bano is inside the labour room, crying out her name in an agonizing pitch. Saleema Jan is in pain outside.
“Adamas adam phatun, yehai che, gubra, qayaamat aasan (a human growing in a human and then separating: the pain, my son, is beyond words),” says Jan, the tips of her fore finger and thumb anxiously rubbing the corners of her dry lips, her tongue flickering out to wet the tiny fissures. “If my daughter sees that I am even weaker than her, she will loose all strength and can’t face this ordeal.”
Jan remembers the old days when she was afraid of going through the pain again after giving birth to two sons. But, the desire for a daughter made her bear all the agony again. “I used to be happy that I will have another child but then I would remember this moment when every muscle twitched in pain and my hands would shiver with the thought,” she says.
Twenty years ago, the rate of Caesarean deliveries was much less. Women would bear children without surgeries and sections. Jan delivered four babies, but never by a Caesarean section. “Back then, boad operation (major operation) caesareans were looked down upon and women who delivered after cesareans were thought of as lazy and weak,” she says. “But today most deliveries are by an operation in the theatre.”
According to a report published by a doctor in 2006, 85 percent of the deliveries in LD happen by caesareans. As per the WHO guidelines, not more than 15 percent of the total deliveries should happen by caesarean. The report cites “Adequate trial of labour not given to the pregnant women” as the main reason for the high cesarean rate in the hospital.
“If a woman gets a cesarean in her first delivery, it is almost sure that her second delivery will also come by a cesarean and the chances of a third child being born to the woman are negligible,” says a female gynecologist. The gynecologist says that women now demand cesareans because they do not want to go the pain. “I write on the medical records that the cesarean was demanded,” she says. She has herself had cesareans for her deliveries.
On the second floor, above the labour room, families wait on benches, and blankets. Cups of tea pass around. There are no shrieks, no moans here. Only faint sounds of occasional steps come from inside the Operation Theatre.
Fahmeeda Akhtar, 47, waits with a soft mink blanket on her lap. Her daughter is inside too, but under the knife undergoing a caesarean. “Vani gaeses bahaar haavun aemis shur sund (Now God should show her the blossoms of this child),” Fahmeeda says, her hands buried under the tiny mink blanket. Her son- in- law has gone out to buy a baby feeder and other things they would need in the post operative ward.
There is no waiting room for attendants to wait for their patients. It looks like a hostel corridor, young boys striking up old chats.
Outside the post-operative ward, Mohammad Shafi Dar, 29, removes his ankle-high fur shoes. He wears no socks. The skin of his toes is dead and white, and his feet smell. The woman sitting next to him pouts her lips and slides a couple of feet away. “I have removed my shoes after three days. My wife had some complicacy and I have not had a wink of sleep for the last four nights,” says Dar. Dar lives in Pulwama where government doctors denied treating her wife and he had to come here in the middle of the night three days ago. “They (government doctors) have started a nursing home near the hospital and they asked us to come there and pay 18000 rupees. They said they cannot do anything if we did not come to the nursing home.” Dar became father to a son this evening. Under creases of weariness and oil, his brown face lights up with the mention of his son. “Only women have the patience to undergo the childbirth. But, we have our own responsibilities and they are also painful too. I cannot share my wife’s pain, or I would have already done,” says Dar.
The bathrooms are stained and messy, and water trickles from the tap. The ceramic is yellowed and rusted: it should have been white once. Someone forgot to flush the commode.
Inside the wards, the lights are dimmed, and patients sleep on the beds- two on a bed. On some beds, husbands sleep with wives.
The floor is packed with the attendants, some sleeping with their lips agape, some hidden under the blankets looking like a sac, some snoring loudly and other irked by the grumbled noise. It is midnight and the warm corridors, by now, are covered with bodies of slumping old fathers, frail younger sisters, ageing mothers and anxious husbands- all sleeping on each other. It is warm, quiet and cozy.
The staircase back to the labour room is like an elevator to war zone- women holding their bellies up with both their hands, walking slowly, as if walking on water. A male nursing orderly carries around a pregnant woman in a wheel chair, her head thrust back, her teeth biting on her lower lip in pain, her hair open with slight traces of an old knot.
Two male orderlies walk in and out of the labour room, carrying in drugs, injections and other supplies. Mohammad Yousuf, 37, a male nursing orderly has been working in the labour room for five years. He doesn’t tell his friends that he works here- only his immediate family knows. “What should I tell I tell my friends that I work in labour room all day? They will make fun of me,” says Yousuf. Yousuf remembers the time when he first came to the labour room and he would carry the moans and agony with him to his home and his life outside. “Back then it was different but now I have seen so much. The moment I leave this room, I forget everything. I don’t even hear the shrieks anymore here. I have become used to it,” Yousuf says. “If I remember it, then, I won’t be able to do anything. If a woman remembers it, she will never give birth again.”
A young girl rushes out of the corridor, crying for her father. Inside, life is conceived of an agonizing ordeal. “Papa, sister gave birth to a boy,” she cries.
In the side corridor, Saleema Jan is still sitting, now on a blanket, chatting with two other mothers. They talk of old times, of village nurses and of their own pain, but with smiles. All of them are all grandmothers now.
--------ENDS-----
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