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Joyce
Mitchell, when she makes her annual trip back to India over the winter
months, to spend time with her sister and family in Ratlam, keeps in touch
via e-mail with her friends in the U.S. and Canada. Her experiences while
travelling in India and her reactions to the political, social and religious
climate there are vividly captured in the following excerpts.
February
22nd, 2002
In the city [Bangalore] I attended an elegant cocktail party given by
my hosts, the Maliks. I was surprised at how little Afghanistan and Kashmir
featured in the conversations. Everyone I met felt a great compassion
for the USA but it became clear to me that India has lived a long time
with terrorism and heinous terrorist attacks and this remains an on-going
battle which has become part of every day life. If, as General Mussaraf
says, Kashmir is in every Pakastani's blood, it is under the skin of every
Indian, so there is no easy solution.
Letter dated March 9, 2002
Valentine's Day caused an uproar in Bombay this year. Bal Thackeray, the
leader of the Shiv Sena Party, suddenly got it into his head that this
holiday was another atempt by the Wicked West to corrupt Indian youth
- expressing love through the exchange of greeting cards and gifts was
"not Indian". Shiv Sena gangs followed his edict by burning
cards and looting stationary shops. Young people everywhere were enraged
and the newspapers and TV condemned this madness. "Cupid's bow of
love is rejected but Thackeray and his cohorts would welcome an offer
of F-16's which bring destruction", one disgruntled person observed.
.................
I accompanied my cousin Connie Brown to Dahod in Gujerat State, 80 miles
away to visit her daughter and family. We travelled by train in a 2nd
Class Sleeper for the 2-hour journey. One of our fellow passengers in
the overcrowded compartment was a transvestite who went from person to
person, blessing us by placing her hands over our heads and asking for
alms. To one prim matron who shrank from her touch and refused to contribute,
she admonished in a loud voice, "Thank God you don't have a child
born with my affliction where you are shunned by everyone. I have no other
way of making a living - why do you have to make it worse by despising
me?" As I fumbled frantically for my wallet, she absolved me and
flaunted her hips at embarrassed men as she strolled on.
On my way back, I bought a 1st class ticket on the Dehra Dun Express which
stops at every station and takes 3 hours. I joined two men who played
cards and went into the corridor to smoke. I observed the passengers were
mainly ticketless Bhils, tribal people who are being forced out of the
disappearing forests. The 3 year drought has reduced them into selling
dried cow dung for fuel which they must transport for miles. They pack
the cow dung cakes in plastic sacks and hang them outside the barred windows
of the train with iron hooks. They went from window to window and were
shooed away and shouted at by the men in the other two 1st class compartments
till they came to where I was sitting.
I also yelled and shouted, but seeing a lone woman they ignored me and
hung a bundle right under my nose. I tried to remove it but it was too
heavy so enlisted the help of one of the men who had just returned. As
the bundle fell to the ground the Bhils on the platform alerted the owner
who had already boarded the 2nd class cmpartment. I noticed a sullen woman
pick up a rock and take aim towards me. The train was about to start and
I could not release the latch to slam down the wooden shutters. I ducked
quickly into the corridor and warned the 2 men. There was no crash, no
splintered glass, but it was a terrifying experience.
When I recounted this at home and was indignant because the Railway Police
who accompany the train were nowhere on the scene, nobody was surprised.
They explained that this is a common occurance and I was lucky I was not
attacked with lethal curved knives or deadly sling shots. People shrugged
when I said I will write to the Railway authorities and newspapers. "What
good will that do?" When I simmered down I began to see how far apart
our worlds were: I wanted my rights as a 1st class passenger - after all,
I had paid to travel in relative comfort and security and I was not prepared
to be assaulted with an unpleasant odour for an hour. The Bhil woman needed
to get her precious cargo to the town where she could sell it and buy
food for her family to survive for - one week? 3 days? From her point
of view she was not encroaching on my rights, she was simply desperate.
Another Have and Have-Not experience.
.............
Politics and religion suffocate us. The ruling BJP Party have suffered
enormous losses in 4 States in this month's election, causing more chaos.
The Times of India, in an editorial, introduces us to the new "science"
of psephology (pollsters, who have replaced the soothsayers of ancient
times). It says "Unfortunately for the psephologists though, the
great Indian electorate, largely illiterate, has no great partiality towards
science. When they turn out to vote, they invariably make nonsense of
the psephologists' solemn predictions."
...............
Religion rears its head every day. Temple bells toll and drums beat loudly
to drown out the plaintive call of the Muslim pir to prayer (amplified
100 times by powerful speakers) 4 times a day to observe Bakri Eid. This
month Ratlam was "blessed" by the introduction, via TV, of a
strident Christian Fundamentalist station offered free to all cable operators
24 hours a day, with perks like the promise of up-to-date transmitters.
My family are agog with all the speeches, singing and "miracles".
Mrs. S. down the road touched the TV screen, begging the preacher to restore
sleep to her suffering husband. She claims the preacher identified her
immediately and granted her request. The husband sleeps like a baby. Chipoo,
our Jack-of-all-trades and assistant to Uncle Bertie, was the only one
to challenge her. "It was a tape, fed into a machine in Chennai and
was probably made in America months ago," he explains with a grin.
So much for miracles. When people have no hope, faith in something, someone,
is essential to suvival.
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