Well. So the bitter-sweet journey comes to an end. SEWA today and Delhi, a week later. SEWA left me with absolutely no time on my plate to venture out in the unnamed streets of Delhi, which I'd have loved best. It was venturing in the slums this time, which I love no less. From appalling stories to inspirational women, all of which and whom, I am apologetic about being unable to document in entirety. I'll try to reproduce the best bits of my sojourn here. Firstly, yesterday being my last day with my field staff, it was heartwarming. Never knew there would be such profound attachment to them and that it'd be similarly reciprocated. From wet eyes to memorabilia, I have efficiently soaked it all in to last a lifetime!

Working in an environment that seems oppressed to me, I've learnt a lot more in these three months than I could have ever done in three years. I've met more people than I have met in the past twenty years of my life. And vivid personalities. With a plethora of diverse opinions all originating mainly from their repressed circumstances. Poverty is not a very pleasant thing, indeed. Worse is apathy. And even worse is that we function on apathy. And something I would acknowledge here is that it was fabulous working in the slums, for the people and with the field staff i worked with but my experiences with the organization have been particularly bitter. I do not approve of a lot of their functional structures the sole motive of which is to mint profit at the cost of ignorance of the slum dwellers. As a women's organization, the tab on women's clothing just seemed absurd to me and more pointless was the reason they chose to provide. But nevermind. Maybe I'll criticize them some other day. Right now, I only wish to share that these months, I'd carry with me forever for all they've imparted to me. Without their knowledge, I am taking a slice of all the lives I've shared my life with. Unintentionally, they too might have carried a slice of my life with them.

There's a lot to pen down but less time to articulate it into words. For now, I leave you with just the vibrancy and vividness we encounter and acknowledge. And sometimes, overlook.

My ground level staff is fabulous! Toiling in sweltering heat to meet targets for a tangible change, as opposed to the staff I meet above the ladder's rung. The ground-staff changes with the change in centres but I mostly enjoy the company at work, when on field. Therefore, today, I wish to introduce you to one of my favourite girls from one of these centres. It is in these centres that I've met some real-life heroines who stood rock-solid when cataclysmic afflictions tore their entire existence apart.I met many such women, all having exhibited commendable courage but the story i choose to share today is of my favourite girl. Read on!

She's the twenty two year old you meet when you travel far ahead of the "Kashmiri Gate" metro station to the SEWA information-centre inside the slums of Rajeev Nagar. She sits on the information desk to tend to a swarm of people who arrive everyday seeking information about myriad schemes launched by the Government of India. Her table effectuates the first step of implementation of these schemes. It informs.

Chandbi's story starts way back in time when she was merely fourteen and was coerced to discontinue her studies and barred from writing her Eleventh standard exams only so she could be married off to a twenty two year old. Her retaliations were rendered futile by her parents. Thus,she was married off at 14. Soon after, she was expecting her first child. Consequentially, was sent off to her paternal household to spend some time there. When she returned, she was six months pregnant. The in-laws weren't essentially loving towards her, ditto for the husband. The violence on her did manifest in various forms earlier but she endured,says Chandbi. However, this time, the husband and in laws tried to set her ablaze by pouring Kerosene oil on her. She pleaded them not to and with a few neighbours interjecting,the dispute settled and Chadbi's life was flung bountifully at her by her abusive spouse and in-laws. Various such instances followed. From structural violence to verbal harassment to physical abuse. But she held on. In her seventh month, she says, she had a particularly unexplained distaste for lentils(with all the hormonal changes she was going through,this wasn't an anomaly) and so one day she decided to finish her meal with some sugar. For this, he dragged her outside the house, to an open ground and battered her black and blue. The obvious threat to her life caused the neighbours to press upon her parents to take her away. They did. And it was transcending from one hell to another. There were taunts for her failed marriage. For her effrontery to exit those confines and enter these. Amidst all this mental trauma, she gave birth to a daughter. Then followed the rants that defamed her daughter's birth for it was a daughter and not son. The husband refused to take her in.

Tired,Chandbi lodged a complaint in the district court claiming maintenance for herself and her daughter if he doesn't plan to take them back. In response, the husband filed a case of theft against her along with a petition seeking divorce. He accused her of having stolen jewellery worth three lakhs from his household. The case went to the Delhi district court. Chandbi was financially dependent on her parents during this time and the lack of their support resulted in her inability to afford a lawyer. Finally,she decided to fight it out herself. She was now fighting a professional lawyer for her stance. She had claimed a sum of 3000 for herself and her child's maintenance. The sessions in the court had her husband assassinate her character badly and slander her in every way possible. Unprepared for such false allegations, she still managed to keep her calm throughout. She tells me that she never ever allowed the tears to fall inside the courtroom, despite all she went through. Profuse tears, however, followed once she was home. Also, no parental support meant no parental support. She used to leave her newborn home and traveled to the court alone. Coming from an orthodox family where she wasn't even allowed to peer outside the window, managing all that alone wasn't easy for her, she says. But she did.To counter the allegation of the theft, she demanded them to produce a receipt of purchase of all stolen jewellery. They couldn't. She could. Her jewelery that was still at his household. She demanded it back. Along with a property that was given as a part of her dowry. Everything summing up-to a good 3 Lakh,plus monthly maintenance.
The husband now agreed to take Chandbi back if she agreed to spend the rest of her life as his second wife. She vehemently denied. Now she wanted a divorce too. The husband then came up with his best shot. He denied all that maintenance and asserted that he wants his daughter back and that he'd bring her up. Chandbi had no defensive retort. Helplessly,she was sitting outside the court and crying after the hearing. That's when she overheard two lawyers talking about a certain case from where she learnt that the husband has no claim over the child if the wife, who is unable to maintain her child,has given it to someone for adoption. It rang a bell in her mind. She came home and pondered over it for two days. When she was sure about it, she decided to give her child to her own mother. She got two documents prepared, one stating that her daughter has been adopted by her mother and another stating that she can have her back whenever she desires. She then produced the first paper in the court.

The husband now proposed giving the demanded amount to her if she decided to return the child. Her choice. She says she gave this a thought till the next court date. The parents pressurized her to give the child off so it'd be easy for her to remarry. But she had different plans. She knew the fate of her daughter if she's given to them. She says, she did not want her daughter to face the same fate as her. She knew she'd be abused when she reaches there. Reduced to a mere domestic help. That's not what she wanted for her. In the court, later, she chose her daughter over Three Lakhs and maintenance. The judge urged her to rethink. He gave them two hours.At the end of the two hours, her decision remained unchanged. She chose her daughter. Also, she insisted that she wouldn't want any future contact with the man and neither would allow him to contact her daughter in any form. All of this at fifteen years of age. Soon after the court's verdict, the Husband tried to stab Chandbi at an occasion and to abduct her daughter at another. Failing miserably both these times,thankfully, he now has no contact with her and her daughter for over the past six years. This incident caused Chandbi, who's in-laws were based in Rampur, a district in Uttar Pradesh, just like her own family, to leave the place forever and migrate to Delhi, with her entire family.

Today, the daughter is eight years old. Chandbi wants her to grow up to be a doctor. She's studying in first standard and is very shy. And oh, her name is Sneha. Chandbi is now financially independent and her independence helps her fend for the both of them. Veiled in her lively smile is a gruesome past that terrifies most of us but does raise some very crucial question about the social standing of our women. And it isn't just Chandbi's story, I've met three more like her in the past two days but I'll refrain from discussing their stories till the next article along with pointing out the questions Chandbi's story raises.

For now, Chandbi found her little bout of happiness in the person who loves her. And her daughter. They are soon to get married. Hoping she'll receive all she expected from her first wedding. The fourteen year old had seen too much for her age. Let's at least hope this twenty two year old gets all she deserves. And more! The twenty two year old with an eight year old daughter.

My first few weeks at SEWA were bestowed merely with the task of observation to facilitate my understanding about its functioning. The observational bout lasted two complete weeks. Routinely, each day would involve an informal interaction with staff and members primarily for the excavation of details needing improvisations. Surprisingly, what caught my attention was the continual requests by various members emanating a keen desire to pursue their abruptly cut-off education during childhood. Many had only seen a school, never stepped in to even stroll inside it. All of them now, however, wanted to rectify their erroneous past by starting or continuing their education. A seventeen year old Sara had a fervent desire to read and write, to converse in English like she observes a lot of people do. Sara has never been to a school. There are many more like her. All of them with a single desire, to study. For the same, they wanted SEWA to intervene for help.

Yes, guessed it right. We're going to discuss female literacy here. And no, I am not willing to criticize the government vehemently. I instead will point fingers at ourselves.


Patriarchy is a dominating operational force in Sara's life. Add to it, penury.She was never allowed to exit the confines of the household to find herself a footing through her education. Education, in my opinion, being the most important tool of her liberation. Now let us generalize the situation. We all know education is similarly important for both sexes, thanks to the much recent propagation reaching every household through the television set. Still, with the ceaseless efforts, the literacy rate only grew by 9.4% in the past decade. With a 11.8% growth rate in female literacy, only as much as 65% women of the largest democracy in the world have been able to trudge towards literacy. Yes, there are governmental programs. Myriad of them have been launched to achieve the elusive figures aimed at during policy-making. Implementation, as we all know, is another story. All's been said and heard umpteen times. Let us now ask ourselves, what stops families from sending their daughters to school when in theory, we all seem to have grasped the importance of education for our girls. To me, it is the school education seeming to contradict the cultural imprinting. We are scared to liberate our own women. The thought of women starting to challenge male subordination by exposing themselves to the same life as that of their male counterparts still scares some of us. The some of us who still act as the carriers of patriarchy in the society.

In a society that begins the emotional, physical and psychological stereotyping of its females right from the point of their birth it is required that she submits to the male authority in all aspects of life to the extent of being coerced to give up her intellectual autonomy and individuality. The state insists upon the education of its females while the society is intimidated by this radical experiment, even today. Schools, thus born, are merely monuments of contradiction. The one that exists between the state and its society. The aim of a girl's socialisation at home is being challenged by the very concept of a school. Not instantiating from the slums, where the illiteracy plagues the parents, I am instantiating from my own experience of an acquaintance who was reprimanded by her parents for showing signs of independence. In stern voice, the twenty-three year old was being castigated and her education cursed for the parents claimed, it made her independent. No, I am not kidding. I am not using hyperbole. I am merely stating. And here, the girl belongs to a prestigious institution of the country. I'd refrain further details for the sake of anonymity but what appalls me is the thought that cripples us. Will the purpose of education ever be attained if independence of thought remain unattained by the scholar/student? We all know the answer. The customs that involve the careful tutoring of the female to evolve into a socially acceptable specimen stems from the idea of associating the family's honour to the females of the household. We need to get rid of it. And nothing but education will change it. Education of our women. Of our men. Now that the wall hoardings have theoretically pressed upon the importance of female literacy, we all need to put it to practice too. We're trying to practice it. The bunch of women who wanted to study, to be able to read and write, now manage to take a hour and a half daily out of their work and attend classes organised by SEWA. They know how to spell "Self dependence" and "Confidence" and somewhat discern and comprehend the phenomenon these words carry.

Last week, when Sara came and thanked me for the classes, there wasn't anything I was unwilling to do to continue what I was doing. Their smiling faces meant a lot. We need bring more smiles, all of us!

The slums present to me the most vulnerable populace of the country of India. A chunk of population that is prone to the slightest of catastrophe striking them. What would otherwise have been a manageable accident for the rest of the population is a cataclysm that could fling them below the poverty line in just one jolt. An illness could be one such thing amongst many other.
At SEWA, my work encompasses the linkage of Home Based workers to health services provided by them at nominal or free of charge. The arrangement is such where the doctor is invited to visit the workers who are all waiting to be checked under what is referred to as a ‘camp’. These Health camps and their regular organization for ensuring a periodic check on the member’s health are only helpful to the extent of diagnosis of the ailment, if any. The burden of procuring the subsequent prescriptions lies solely on the member. We’re attempting to alter this by trying to subsidize the medicines along with requesting the doctor to prescribe cheap substitutes as the members complain of inability to purchase the exorbitantly prized drugs. And then there are a myriad of other concerns that stem from one basic issue, being debated and altercated for too long now, denial of affordable and quality health services by the state. The primary cause of ill health in the area is financial inability to pay, indifference and lack of accessible medical services. In areas with a hospital, what is available is not affordable. Thus, the need of Universal Healthcare to all. Health being a basic need and a healthy population the foremost obligation of the government, the need to provide it to all, and not just the poor, vests on the state. However, the need for state-sponsored quality healthcare is deemed vital for the underprivileged chunk as the relatively opulent mass can easily avail it privately. The unchecked private expansion of healthcare where quality is proportional to the cost has merely exacerbated the prevalent inequality.The National Rural Health Mission by the Government did bring in an attempt for affordable healthcare, however, the mollification was only to the extent of covering 29% of total medical expenditure which excluded coverage for medicines, diagnostic tests and outpatient care.For abating the execrable situation, the dire need is the assignment of priority and the subsequent deployment of wealth in the same direction. We really need to deploy our wealth in the necessary areas, parks can be constructed later, the ailing population needs the funds. For the same, tax-funded health services could be a respite since contributory health services, again, would be inappropriate for India as 93% of its working population is unorganized. Needless to say, more part of our GDP needs to be veered towards health care services, we have one of the lowest spending on health.

To compromise for Government’s ineptitude, however, there are various functional non-governmental agencies taking the lead. We too are trying. Needless to say, however, that none of these organizations can completely outdo or replicate the role of the state. A private-public partnership can be a negotiation, however, again, a purely private venture would be unsuitable for the lower rung of the population due to what is referred to as the ‘informational asymmetry’ by the Kolkata committee led by Amartya Sen. The right to healthy living is a basic right and thus, must be facilitated by the state outside legal propagation.There’s work to be carried out on both, policy and implementation levels. Till the state breaks its slumber and assumes the much urgent role it needs to, we’d keep contributing our bit like we’ve been.Healthy living is everyone’s right and the access to it must not be proportional to one’s affluence. All lives are precious!

Chai main peeti nahi aur paani mujhe nuksaan karta hai was the biting response flung by her at the lucrative luring of Chai Pani. Sarita Behan, as she's fondly called, doesn't usually refrain when a spade needs to be addressed as a spade. The SEWA culture has a unique practice that encourages all its members/employees to address every other member/employee by suffixing a "Behan/Bhai" to their names. This, they say, is to encourage the equality of treatment and thought and successfully so. The sisterhood among the women working here can be evidently observed in the regular banters exchanged at the centres. I met Savita Behan yesterday. I was supposed to visit one of SEWA's offices in the far eastern part of the city. I often frequent this office but my visits to its adjoining centre are few and rare. This centre is a place where students enrolled in the SEWA education and skill development program are taught and trained. Additionally, this is also the centre that operates for the mobilisation and organisation of Domestic workers of the area. It is at this centre's Information desk that Sarita Behan sits and the request to prepare a fake birth certificate in return of "Chai Pani" was what garnered the above acerbity from her. The centre is always occupied with women of diverse age groups working in synergy. The bonds thus forged seem to have the capacity to transcend the barriers of age. The myriad innocuous banters by the elders thus, meeting the unfailing witty retorts of the younger.
Back to Sarita Behan. A scrawny woman with gaunt cheeks and sharp tongue taking down notes on the desk. That's her. And occasionally, an incident follows the introduction of Sarita Behan. One which coerces you to deem that if an iota of her effrontery was imbibed by every breathing human female, lives for all us females collectively would have been a little better. Sarita Behan hails from the slums of the surrounding area. One morning, like all others, she survived an entire queue of waiting women to fill her water containers as the State hasn’t yet been proficient enough to ensure the supply of free and clean drinking water to every household. The community tap thus being a respite. On arrival of her turn as Sarita Behan bent to fill her buckets, she felt a hand feeling her back. She straightened up to turn and saw a man much younger to her standing there. To ensure that it wasn't an accident, she bent to fill her buckets again. The hands repeated their actions too. This time, she turned around and questioned "Kya Chahiye, what do you want?”. "I want to fill my buckets, what else", came the quick retort. The still calm Sarita Behan then ordered the women to make space for him to fill his buckets first "Sab hato zara, pehle ise bhar lene do paani, let him fill his buckets first." The man then drooped himself to the tap and filled his bucket. Thereafter, he started to scurry home. Sarita Behan quickly instructed a fellow woman to watch over her filled buckets while she started to follow the scumbag to his residence. All along the way, she kept swearing at him. This caused him to turn and question if she was following him to which Sarita Behan agreed with an air of cultivated nonchalance. When requested by the man to stop swearing, she replied with a curt " Jab maarungi toh chup ho jaaungi ,I'll be quiet when I hit you". Upon knowing his residence, she returned to her buckets, shoved them inside her home and sternly instructed her children to be home until she arrives. Thereafter, she walked to his house and brought him out from inside, then without any explanation, she took off her slippers and started to continuously hit him in the face with it. This continued for about fifteen minutes and by then, a swarm of people had crowded to spectate Sarita Behan's continual pounding in awe. Then quietly, Sarita Behan told him "Dekha, bola tha na, jab maarungi toh bolungi nahi".The few people from the crowd stepping forward to stop Sarita Behan were quickly warned by her, "Stay out of it, it's between me and him". Sarita Behan then dragged him to the police station and lodged an FIR against him on account of eve teasing. That's Sarita Behan. I hope you know her a little better now.
A little bit of Sarita Behan in all of us would have warded off a lot of street harassment we put up with. All it takes to put an end to it is a little courage on our part. Anyhow, I really started to look up to Sarita Behan's fiery courage and effrontery. Seriously. She, however, says that SEWA gave her the courage and opportunity to cross the confines of her doorstep and venture in the outside world. Ironical. And most women I come across at work are no different from Sarita Behan. All having their own stories that help them stand out. When contrasted against their circumstances, their act of stepping outside the houses and sitting where they are was an act of immense difficulty in itself. Yet the ease with which they've blended into SEWA and with each other is remarkable. The knowledge of the support of "Behans" is so profound that it has emerged as a source of inspiration and confidence amongst many women. Thus, no denying the collective strength of these women. Of us women. All it takes is that little effort. The effort that all these women attempt at making. Are making. The effort that we have yet to make. SEWA’s strength lies in the collective strength of its members. Come to think of it, there’s hardly an objective that collective strength can’t achieve and yet peculiar that oppressing minds are fewer than the oppressed ones. We’ve yet to identify our collective strength as a society. The dynamics of misguiding a mass are easily attainable, sadly. However, hopefully, one day we’ll get over our thrifty grievances to realize what we truly deserve. At work, with the likes of Sarita Behan around, managing many laughs daily is not so tough. It’s a tough life for most but we manage to seep in a few smiles on all our faces.
And it is here that I truly realize what Ela Bhatt meant at SEWA’s inception when she asserted “We’re poor but too many”. Indeed, we’re poor but too many. And that’s all we ever need. Each other.

So exactly a month of my stay in Delhi completes itself. Without a doubt, it was horrible. A few good moments, nevertheless but mostly horrible. My part of the city is at its loathsome best. Anyhow, since i am done cribbing about it copiously to every enthusiast earnest in giving my Delhi life an ear, I'd refrain from the same here. Delhi has been hideous in many ways but had it not been for Delhi, I'd have been forever starved of the amazing perspectives it has bestowed me with. The lesser delved facet of life and people, at least for me. To begin with, the reason for my Delhi stay is my short internship with the Self Employed Women's Association(SEWA) and in particular, their operations in Delhi .Phew!

Wasn't so easy for me initially,I'll admit. Regardless of my ardent willingness to work with them, the field visits to the slums weren't easy. The intolerable filth around, the puddles of foul smelling black water every three steps, excrement and what not! To top it, the completely umplumbed locality. The gawking eyes and the fixated gazes everywhere I went. The unsafe outskirts. Everything completely efficient in discouraging me from walking my way to work the next morning. But somehow i sailed through it for a month and it is now in retrospect that the keenest of lessons learnt from these brief visits strike me. I work for and with women who are Home Based workers. Albeit, such workers produce myriad of artifacts, my association is particularly with the women who weave/stitch/embroider. They embellish fabrics in an attempt to embellish their lives. All kinds of women from 15 to 60 are involved in this work. We at SEWA work towards unionizing them, linking them directly to national/international producers/markets in an attempt to obliterate the role and presence of the contractor/middleman chiefly responsible for their exploitation.We also try and link them to other policies of SEWA that benefit them such as banking and health care,to mention a few. There's much more we do for them(or at least try to!) but I'd let that be. For me to obtain a first-hand grip of things around here, I was exposed to extensive field work. Thus, I had an opportunity to see how their world functions. Much like mine, yet very unlike. Needless to say, what's provided to me almost effortlessly is a struggle for them. To be able to get out of the confines of four walls and work with us was not the first of their struggles but after the boundary was crossed a lot did change in their lives. And ours. For me, it was another standpoint in observing the zest to live life so closely. A set of three sisters who had not much crossed the threshold of their shanty have now taken control over their lives by their new found financial independence. However, the threshold is still uncrossed for some,sadly.

For the rest, it's the vivacity of the laughter as they all weave hope together with their tiny hands is what attaches them to SEWA. The smiles that I come across as I hop around from one worker to another, talking and questioning washes off all that muck that I so whined about. Below what you see are hands of Fareeda, weaving her life with little beads. She does this for a living. With a month spent with workers like her, their spirit is amazingly infectious. And this is not even a fourth of what I saw. There's a lot more to come. In pieces. Operating within the societal constraints and working towards achieving their little piece of freedom, what they do is truly awe-inspiring. And oh, will keep periodically whining about Delhi too!

Picture Courtesy: The SEWA Delhi website(http://sewadelhi.org/)
And here's the SEWA website, just in case: http://www.sewa.org/