Tuesday 21 April 2015

Why we love to hate Smriti Irani

The youngest minister in the Narendra Modi cabinet, human resource development minister, Smriti Irani's recent interview with Arnab Goswami on Times Now has raised another round of hullabaloo for the minister. Goswami begins by pointing out to her how she has been looked down upon as a "political lightweight" and one who has always being embroiled in controversies. During the course of the conversation, two seminal issues emerge; first, test of Irani's ability to prove her competence against all kinds of attacks - mostly personal - and second, the opening up of a debate on how educational policies are being determined in our country.
The attacks are not new for Irani. Photographs of her in swimsuit did titillating rounds in the media soon after she was sworn in. Ace academicians and intellectuals commented on her TV career to obfuscate her abilities as an education minister. We look back and find that she has been accused of pandering to powers that be in order to justify her position in politics. All these and many more, merely reveal the subconscious layering of misogyny inherent within the patriarchal psyche. After all, how else can a woman make it, for this male chauvinist world, than by mis/abusing her femininity?
Syllabi in educational institutions are meant to prepare a student not just for exams but for a life beyond classrooms. With studies and research showing the huge gap between education and employability, a culture very intolerant to alternative beliefs, an insensitive and abusive social media which has cost lives of influential thinkers and activists like Khurshid Anwar, there is an urgent need to have a systemic reform in the education system. This reform - the more holistic and comprehensive it is - the better it will serve to create tolerant minds.
I remember as a kid, when we were introduced to NCERT textbooks, the first thing one learnt in laboratory manuals was to experiment, observe and infer. When in college, while the layers of ideological schooling were skinned, one was left to wonder, where is it that we experimented? We were made to believe through brilliant logic and argumentation that Manu Samhita was evil, that Bible or Quran or Ramayana are patriarchal fables. But there was a disconnection here. Where did I read Manu? Where did I read the Bible? It was never a part of my course.  It came sifted to me and sieved through a very lopsided version of a western and anglophilic intellectual discourse. I do see a need and an urgent one at that to simply overhaul the mandate of educational foundations.
It is true that for the first time in the history of modern India, the HRD ministry has done something that has traditionally been considered the privilege of an elitist few. The ministry opened itself up to suggestions from common citizens in setting the curriculum for students across the country.
It is important that in a democratic culture like ours, we have a space for intellectual tolerance and dialogue. It is extremely problematic as a democratic nation to show the kind of derision we do in discussing anything intellectual that does not belong to the "left" and/or of the "liberal". Ironically, this treatment comes from the "liberal" clan which is the most authoritarian, totalitarian and almost fascist, in rejecting the overall discourse outside the realms and limits of its ideological "-isms". Today the left in this country is more right wing in its absolute disregard for theory alternate to what it proposes.
It might be true that the ministry receives requests from many organizations not quite 'left' and/or liberal' in their leanings. It might also be true that there have been pressure groups trying to assert their influence on the ministry - but why does it come as a surprise? All those left and liberal intellectuals who swear by Foucault's theorisation on "power" also know of Althusser's ideological state apparatus which explains the impression of dominant ideologies while defining policies and plans. Just as a certain workbook defines the syllabi and curriculum while Congress is in power, so does another while BJP rules the roost. Why is this disproportionate cry in the media then? Why this preferential treatment?
Why is it that the "right" in India has been constantly demonised as only "saffron" and only about "cultural resurgence"? Why is it that we never hear of a debate between the right economics of focusing on building capabilities versus the left which argues for doling out token subsidies and freebies?
As a nation that elects its representatives every five years, it is extremely important that decision making in the country is increasingly decentralised. It is pivotal that citizens involve themselves beyond mere participation to meaningfully engage and influence the various stages of policy cycle - agenda setting, policy development, policy implementation and policy evaluation. In a country that constitutionally mandates and grants freedom of speech and expression as a basic fundamental right, this engagement will invariably have inputs from citizens all across the ideological spectrum. Are we to deny this space to those who think differently from us, however revolting to our intellectual consciousness?
Smriti Irani's fidelity to constitutional norms and due processes, her dexterity to listen to the pulse but also step back, neither dictating nor being dictated, has led to some historic moments - the FYUP and DU impasse being broken, for instance. In the words of Smriti herself, for a "political non-entity" who is not a "Cinderella", transforming education as a ministry of "political friction" to "political consensus" at the young age of 39 is a task that only a "tough nut" can crack.
It is important that in a reaction to the first ever interview by the much written about HRD minister, we give Irani's views their due and not label and stereotype a woman making it so far. Let us debate and dismiss rather than wax rhetoric, be averse to dialogue and asphyxiate anything which is not "left" and not "liberal".

Wednesday 15 April 2015

What do sex workers dream of?

"I lost my mother at a very young age. I was three then. My father molested and raped me for 15 years. I had no clue if what was happening to me was right or wrong. I just felt uncomfortable and dirty. I met my boyfriend when I was 20. We eloped from a small village in Karnataka and came to Delhi. I was promised the moon and stars. Later, within a week after our honeymoon, I was sold off to a brothel here, on GB road. After almost 30 long years, it feels like home. It at least gave me an identity, where I take care of myself and don't depend on someone to fend for me." — Sweety
"I came to Delhi looking for work. But an uneducated woman on the Delhi streets makes a better living by selling her body than by doing odd jobs. Gradually, I chose this. My family back home, in Madhya Pradesh, thinks that I work as a maid and stay with the family I work for. I send them money and that's that." — Reema
"I ran away from home thinking my boyfriend will follow suit as promised. I reached Delhi but he did not. I was scared. It was a new city for a girl from a very small village in Assam. Later, after being drugged and raped at the railway station itself, I was sold off here."— Baby
"I was married into a family that tortured me for dowry. I ran away to Kolkata first. My husband tracked me down. One thing led to the other, I was trafficked several times till I finally landed in Delhi."— Dolly
These stories and many others unfolded as I made my way up the numerous flights of stairs that lead to places that we partially get to glimpse at through cinema and literature.
"Encounter rooms", as these women call the tiny, dingy enclosures within rooms, can barely host a house mattress, a pillow, a small stool that doubles up as a table, and a water bottle. Beyond living make-believe lives in these encounter rooms for their clients and customers, these women live another life populated by the friends they have made here - sharing the kitchen, a washroom and an "aangan". They also share laughter over the movies they watch, their pain and trials of living the lives they do; bring up the "illegitimate" children they have mothered – sometimes because they were forced to, or because they wanted to.
"My mother belonged here. She was helpless and perhaps made this choice for me. I will not. My daughter is two years old and I want her to study. I can't dream of giving her an almost dream-like life that you live, but I will ensure that she stays out of this mess," Saima said.
"I had no option, didi. Now when I look back, I see that I don't know anything else to fend for myself. Sewing, knitting – all this will take time. And how much will it earn me in this place I live. And who will accept me outside? Why do I go back to a ruthless world which has no value or compassion for its people? If I asked you to do something else, against that which you already knew and earned your living with, didi, would you do it? The money, which I agree comes easily, is money that has helped me build my house in my village. I will return to it when I grow old. Anyway, even this profession is ruthless. There is nothing you can do when you grow old," Reema's voice trailed off.
"I send my son to school. It is right here, near the railway station. I know the company he finds here is bad. I also know that he will not be able to escape his past that easily. But that is the best I can do for him. I cannot see him becoming a pimp, a part of this muck," asserted Baby.
Before I left the company of these women, I was left with baffling questions. Who are we to deem them victims? Why do we think we have the authority to grant them an alternate life when most of us making those suggestions come from elite classrooms and air-conditioned conferences?
Most of us slip from one surname to the other, choose the least risky of professions that gives us the "grace" and "stability" to comment on something that is so far removed from mere academic and intellectual constructions.
These women with abused bodies, broken trust, subjects of their circumstances, know what they are doing; they know that it's part of a larger system and social phenomena, and they have been taking corrective measures to ensure that their futures are secure. They take pride in their efforts and their conviction, if not in their profession.
It is time we moved away from the Umrao Jaan depiction of these women, stopped seeing them only as victims, and stopped treating them as titillating "stories" to be written. It is time we acknowledged women in red light areas as resilient agents of change and hope.
(The women at Kamathipura, a red light area in Mumbai, sent one of their daughters, Shweta Katti, to the US to study Psychology at Bard University. Shweta wishes to come back and work in the red light areas of the country.)