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Name: Zainab
Country: India
Metro: Mumbai
Birthday: 2/28/1979
Gender: Female
Interests: Drawing, Writing, Music, Art
Expertise: Space-alist - I love writing and musing on spaces and I am looking forward to designing and conceiving innovative city spaces!
Occupation: Student
Industry: Art
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
11/4/2004
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| Moved ...Dear all,
I have now moved my blog to http://wbfs.wordpress.com in the hope that I will find some words (and in the process, myself ...)
Love,
CB
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| PapammaHi! she said to me and then asked me the usual question of whether I had eaten food. I tried explaining to her that I had eaten, but somehow, I seemed to have something to her in our last conversation which makes her think that I don’t eat properly. She asked me to share food with her. I said I had eaten and would come back to her house after I had completed the works that I had set out to do in Ambedkarnagar.
Her name is Papaamma. She is dark, slim, slight wrinkles on her face and so far that I have seen her, she wears bright coloured sarees. I have no idea what does. But she lives in Ambedkarnagar and is like my local guardian there.
This afternoon, as I was passing by her house, I noticed that the bathroom in her house was curtained with a plastic sheet that was an advertisement for a bus company which runs buses for people to travel to places in the South.
By the time I got back, she had finished eating her food. She had thrown away some because she did not feel like eating. I told her it was too late to eat lunch and that she should eat earlier. She smiled. Then I said I have to go. She said, ‘yeah, come’ and then held me by my wrist and asked me to come inside the house. She directed me to sit and then went away. She came back with a glass of tea and as usual, she took some and asked me to take the rest. “You don’t eat properly anyway, so you must drink the tea properly and more of it than I have taken.”
Papamma’s house has a little bathroom, a kitchen area and then a bedroom which also serves as a living room. She has a television in the house, two bulbs and a fan. She said that the electricity was cut off for three months because she could not pay the bill and then it resumed again after she had paid back. “Bangalore is expensive,” she said.
I looked around and asked her if she goes to the Infant Jesus Church which is nearby. She looked puzzled. Then I pointed out to the photograph Christ and Mother Mary which was in her bedroom-cum-living room and immediately she understood. She exclaimed, “I am original Pentecostal, original. My husband is diluted Christian. This Infant Jesus Church is diluted Christianity.” “Original huh,” I exclaimed back. “Yes, original. Come, let me show you our Bible.” She took out a Kannada version of the Bible. Then she asked me whether I believe in God. I said no. She said, “Who do you think gives you food? How do you think you acquire work? And then you say you don’t believe in God? How come? Here, I will read out a verse from the Bible to show you how much trouble the Lord has undergone to ensure that you are taken care of.” She read two passages. Then she reiterated her point about how God is the provider and we must believe in him. “How did I come to Bangalore? How do you think I got this house? So what if the bathroom is small and there is problem with the toilet? What are you? Hindustani? No, no, I mean Hindi/Hindu?” I said I am Muslim. Then she said, “So you have a God. Then why don’t you believe? Believe, believe.”
I laughed out. She laughed too. then I told her I needed to leave. She asked when I was coming back. “Wednesday.” “Okay, I will see you then,” she said!
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| Muslim or Marwari?
18/07/2007
“So, what are you? Muslim or marwari?”
For a moment, I did not know where the either-or choices were coming from? Why only either Muslim or Marwari? Why not some other either-or combination?
“Muslim,” I replied immediately, without feeling any sense of insecurity, apprehension or fear.
“Okay,” they said. These are women who are part of a sangha in the Ambedkarnagar slum.
I went along down along with them when their weekly sangha meeting was over. Sujeetha, the only bachelor member of the sangha was also walking down with her cousin who has just come to Bangalore from their village beyond Chennai. I joked with Sujeetha asking her why she is not married. She laughed and asked why I was not married. I asked her then,
“Why did you ask whether I was Muslim or marwari?”
“You see,” she began, “most of us women work in Koramangala. I work in the National Games Complex. Now most of the house owners here are Marwaris. So I asked if you were marwari. You say you are from Bombay. So you have also come from outside like the marwaris. So you are also a migrant.”
I smiled. I remembered what Murthy had said to me on my first visit to Ambedkarnagar. He had mentioned that “15% of the people in this slum are Hindi” and by Hindi, he meant not North Indians, but Muslims “who had stayed back in India when the rest of the Muslims had gone away to Pakistan.”
I was amused at Sujeetha’s analysis, not because I thought she was naïve or something. But rather because she had a very straightforward analysis of how things are in Bangalore and how I get viewed in her worldview.
Muslim or marwari? Aha! The contests are beginning to show up!
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| 16/7/2007
I am still struck by that revelation of the concept and the practice of ‘local’ – the way I discovered it through Murthy, the cable operator in Ambedkar Nagar. The mazes, the cables, the houses, Murthy makes connections through all of these as he sets up his cables and transmits the satellite programmes into people’s houses.
I am also fascinated by the idea of the map which I discovered in my last trip to L. R. Nagar. The very concept of the map takes on a different meaning in the slum. Murthy explained the boundaries between L. R. Nagar and Ambedkar Nagar by pointing out to the garbage dump that separates the two slums.
Yesterday, I went walking around Ambedkar Nagar to find my way through the maze of houses and shops in the slum. I walked and walked. But I could not make sense of the direction in which I was walking. I followed any path that appeared to lead to some place. The experience was absolutely fascinating because even though I was not getting my path right, I discovered something new with every step I took. The lanes were made pucca with concrete while the roads were still mucky and uneven. I hit the end of Ambedkar Nagar to find myself facing the National Games Complex in Koramangala. For two minutes, I stood with bated breath. I felt a strange kind of urban schizophrenia – I am standing at Ambedkar Nagar and watching the National Games Complex from the other side. At that moment, I realized immediately why the four slums are such a contested space – they are ‘occupying’ the area which is prime real estate in Bangalore – Koramangala. At that moment, I felt some kind of strange ecstasy. I am now beginning to discover Bangalore for myself. I am beginning to make connections with this city.
[I am finding my words, once more, once again, yet again …]
Walking back, through yet another different, unknown route, I found myself at the garbage dump, the boundary line that separates L. R. Nagar and Ambedkar Nagar.
[I am finding myself, founding myself, founded myself, finding, found, lost … delirious, drunk on my experiences and words …]
It’s time to fall in love once again …
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Filth
Muck
Terd
Open Drains
Garbage
Stench
Filth
Muck
Terd
Open Drains
Garbage
Stench
Filth
Muck
Terd
Open Drains
Garbage
Stench
I entered Lakshman Rao Nagar (L.R. Nagar), walking and sensing with my feet. There was a sudden burst of rain. The muck that lay (perhaps an unfinished road) came alive. I looked down as I walked. Every hair on my skin stood up as I experienced the filth, the muck, the terd, the garbage, scattered all around. People live in L. R. Nagar, open drains outside the doors of their houses. I made notes:
Sewage – very poor
Sanitation – non-existent
Yes, people live in L. R. Nagar, amidst
Filth
Muck
Terd
Open Drains
Garbage
Stench.
I walked further into L. R. Nagar, attempting to find the offices where I needed to get some information. The boundaries between L. R. Nagar, Rajendra Nagar, Ambedkar Nagar, Shastri Nagar are all very, very fluid. Murthy, the local cable operator, explaining the boundaries of L. R. Nagar said to me,
“See, you see that pile of garbage. That is where L. R. Nagar ends and Shastri Nagar begins.”
I immediately noted the landmarks (literally!) and the ways in which people create maps of their own localities.
The offices were closed. Murthy could understand and speak fluent Hindi. I asked him:
“Sir, what is the population of this slum? Is there majority Kannada people?”
“Tamil majority. 60% Tamils.”
“Remaining 40% Kannadigas?”
“No, no madam. 60% Tamils, 25% Kannadigas, 15% Hindi.”
“Hindi? You mean people from North India, Uttar Pradesh?”
“No, no madam, Hindi peoples are everywhere in India. Hindi.”
“Hindi?”
“They are Hindi Muslims.”
“Muslims? Hindis? But surely, these Muslims would have come from parts of Tamil Nadu or Karantaka? They must be Tamilian Muslims or Kannadiga Muslims?”
“Illa, no madam. You see, they are Hindi. Now, some are in Pakistan. Those who decided to stay behind, not go to Pakistan, they came here. So they are Muslims, Hindi Muslims.”
I am struck by this revelation. Hindi Muslims. I noted the category.
Murthy is a cable operator. He ‘supplies’ cable to Ambedkar Nagar. He began his business fifteen years ago, the time when you inserted the ‘cashette’ into the VCR and broadcasted the movies to everyone’s homes through the cable network. Then came the era of the satellite television. Murthy became a distributor for Ambedkar Nagar.
“The big guys get people to buy the set top boxes for 3,000 rupees after which the subscribers have to pay 250-300 rupees per month to receive the channels. Here it does not work like that. I go up to the terrace and have my man go over to the terrace of the next building. We throw the wires and make the connections. The big companies cannot come and do this here.”
“Yes, because you the local fellow. You know the local system here.”
“Exactly, because I know the locality here.”
My eyes sparkled as I discovered the idea of locality through this complex maze of wires and cables. Murthy knows the ‘local’, how to make the connections, something which the big companies cannot do because they simply do not know the ‘local’. I make a note.
I leave Murthy, fascinated, hoping to return back. I go over to the next office for data collection. I am directed to a rose-coloured building, but I do not understand from where to enter to get to the office. I am pointed to a house. Someone calls her out, saying,
“Come out. She needs something.”
Out comes she. She is old, wrinkled. I explain to her what I want. She has a morsel of food in her hand which she rolls into a ball and throws into her mouth. She washes her hands, holds me by my arm and wraps her arm around my shoulder and directs me. The local boys are asking me what I want. She shoos them away, holding me by my hand and taking me in a direction.
“Baa, baa. Banni.”
She is barefooted. I watch that carefully. My hair starts to stand up as each sense on me begins to experience all the
Filth
Muck
Terd
Open Drains
Garbage
Stench
which her feet are traveling through. I almost want to give up my footwear, over to her. She is comfortable (or so it seems). I am not.
It is Saturday and everything is closed. I decide to come back on Monday. On my way out, I notice the open drains. Two children are running boats in the sewage waters. At that moment, I am horrified. My senses come alive.
People live here, here in L. R. Nagar. There is
Filth
Muck
Terd
Open Drains
Garbage
Stench.
These are also cityzens. They also have legitimate claims.
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