fhj

LISTEN UP ALL YOU NGOs

It was a dark yet pleasant night, spiced with the silent waves of the wind and the noisy banter of the stars. All in all, the 6^th of August 2010 was a good night. Till the stroke of midnight.

And then, all of a sudden, the clouds above split wide open unannounced and with a fury no one had seen before. The torrential sheets hammered down on every roof of Ladakh, the rich and the poor, the ground and first floors, all alike.

The result: destruction and devastation all around. While one lost the roof over his head, another lost her parents. Another lost an only child. And yet another, their entire means of livelihood. Everyone’s life had been uprooted in a matter of a few hours.

Choglamsar colony in Leh was one of the worst affected areas, with almost every roof getting buried with the force of the water, huge stones and a whole lot of mud that came hurtling down with it.

The time being half past midnight, it was only natural that Rigzin Chondol, Sonam Putit, Chatan Angmo, Thukjay Dolma, Chutzen Angmo, Dechen Zangmo, Tamchos Dolma and Tashi Tundup to name a few were asleep and caught unawares. While those who were outside, in neighbours houses or at relatives places managed to run to safety faster.

When these eight managed to get out, it was the same story everywhere. Either someone was searching for a lost family member or busy trying to get them to a safe spot. While Rigzin Chondol, her husband and two kids took refuge at the nearest Gompa, Chutzen Angmo and her family of three kids and a husband reached the Himank camp.

 Sonam Putit and family on the other hand landed up at the Road Makers organisation camp. While some were helped by monks, others were helped by the army. Still others by neighbours and other co-survivors.

With immediate relief pouring in from every quarter, food, warmth and a makeshift roof in the form of a tent came almost immediately. The people from Choglamsar stayed at the relief camps for around two days before they were contacted, scrutinised, grilled and finally deemed the most fit (being top of the list in terms of losses)for immediate roofs by the government.

What were these immediate roofs? A rehabilitation plan of the government that comprised temporary shelters from Hindustan Prefab Limited – in association with Public Sector Unit organisations like HUDCO, BMTPC, Coal India Limited, ONGC and SAIL. Not to forget, this shelter was accompanied by a sum of Rupees two lakhs as part of the PM’s fund.

Costing over Rupees five lakhs, the temporary shelter was to provider a roof for the people in the coming winter months while the two-lakh compensation was for the people to build an adjacent room. All in all, the people affected in the floods would be given a two-room house – one that people from all over India had probably donated a day’s salary towards.  The plan seemed fool proof.

Each wall of the prefab shelter is a sandwich board, being made from two metal sheets that are stuffed with insulation material in the centre. While the metal sheets werre intended to protect them from further water attacks, the insulation material was designed to keep the people warm.

And so the government sat back, content that they had met the PM’s compensation and rehabilitation deadline satisfactorily.

Despite protests from NGOs and other relief organisations that these shelters would not be able to face the harsh winters of this region where temperatures dip to -25°, the deal had been stamped on and trucks galore went bounding through the entrance of Solar Colony, packet with these prefab shelters.

Before anyone could make another move, the residents were stuck with a prefab shelter each and the 1^st instalment of the compensation money.

And so the residents abandoned their tents and moved into their prefab homes. It had started becoming hard to live in the tents, as cold winds had started descending down on the people right from September. So the prefab shelters were a welcome change from their cold tents.

 Almost immediately they realised that this was not going to work either. The metal walls chilled the air more than the winds outside. Sleeping in these shelters started giving people sore backs and headaches.

Certain that these were going to be no match for the coming winters, the panic-stricken people started running helter skelter in search of masons, labourers, mud bricks and wood needed to make another room. 

“These rooms, however they turned out, would definitely be warmer than these huts. At that time, all we could think of was a solid yet warm roof above our heads. The size of these rooms did not matter,” justifies Chatan Angmo.

And so the back-breaking work of getting their lives back on track began. Within a month, almost every resident of Solar Colony had built a room adjacent to the prefab shelter.

Sure enough, when winter started settling in, the metal shelters were worse than ever. To start with, the roofs have no vent, so heating a Bukhari to stay warm was out of the question. Then, the windows started freezing up with ice, making them almost impossible to open. One had to go outside, sickle the ice out and only then open the windows.

Coming to the roof, Tashi Tundup speaks up. “Every morning, we found it decorated with water droplets that had condensed on the inner roof and walls. This got everything kept in the hut damp, right from the blankets to pillows to clothes.”

So every morning, the people had to hang everything out to dry, take it back inside in the evening, only to have it damp again by morning. And so the cycle continued.

The icing on the cake of this brilliantly planned colony however is the toilet system. On entering the place, one sees no sign of toilets anywhere whatsoever. Answering this question, Chutzen Angmo raises her voice and quips, “Do you remember passing little STD booth kind of structures on your way here? Those are our toilets. We have no bathrooms and no privacy.”

Kindly donated by an NGO as makeshift toilets, the government while releasing over 150 prefab structures forgot one of the most basic essentials. Too smelly to even think of entering, the people here have resorted to going out in the open.

While some have a shower outside their meagre homes, some go into the plastic-fibre structures for lack of any other space available and drizzle a bit of water on themselves before the stench of urine and faeces drive them out.  Not to forget, their small sizes allow them to get clogged within no time and refuse to let go for a long time.

Another reason for the abandoned toilets is the scarcity of water in this region. Lack of a sewage system, taps and bore wells have forced these people to resort to the open. “What we need are traditional Ladakhi toilets. In winters, anyway all the taps freeze. How do they expect us to keep the toilets clean then?” questions Tamchos Dolma.

While they call for a tanker every two days to meet their drinking and cooking water needs, their pockets do not permit them to buy water for baths and the toilets.

Many ministers, media people and NGOs have come and heard their sorry stories. But nothing has been done in their favour, for the government has strictly cordoned off that land. They say that Solar Colony is their responsibility. No external body may enter and get their hands dirty in the sands of Solar Colony.

While the residents of Solar Colony seem to be getting used to this way of life, the government has long forgotten its errors. All except one.

In all this darkness, there still remains one tiny ray of light. Well understanding the plight of these people, the current CC has approached a number of NGOs to help build these people toilets. However, it remains to be seen how much of this finally-sensible plan actually materialises.

So while everyone waits to see what comes off the discussion of their toilets, at the same time they cannot help but fearfully await the return of the Waah Star – the one that presided over the skies last year while devastation struck.

Ladakh is known as a desert land. Forget downpours, even slight rain is pretty uncommon here. As a result, all the houses in Ladakh are built to withstand the 5-month cold winters where temperatures drop anywhere between -25 to -30°. Houses to withstand rain were never a necessity.

Until now.

“It is but natural, to fear a repeat 6^th August. I don’t know how many houses have the strength, how many people have the will power or to survive another such flood. Even this new land we have in Solar Colony is not 100% safe. As the 1-yr anniversary draws nearer, our fears grow larger,” concludes Rigzin Chondol.  

MAKING HASTE WHILE THE SUN SHINES.

6^th August, 2011, Phyang, Ladakh.

50-yr old speech-impaired Stanzin Dolma wakes up every day, makes her tea and sits around with the rest of the family. She doesn’t go to work. Instead, she helps with meals and other chores at home.

This home and family is her very own neighbour’s, who took her in when she lost everything she had in the flash floods last year. Till her house gets built again, they are her very own security blanket.

It’s the same case everywhere else. Those who lost their family and homes last year were all taken in with arms wide open by those in a better situation. Many are still living with their neighbours and relatives like Stanzin Dolma, while the struggle to get their lives back to normal is still on.

It’s been one year since flash floods struck the town of Ladakh with all their fury, taking lives and livelihood with it. Relief poured in from ever part of the country immediately in the form of tents, blankets, food, water, gas stoves, solar heaters etc.

Soon after, compensation and rehabilitation programmes were kick-started by the government and NGOs alike. For the winter months were fast approaching and the fear was those who had lost their homes would have nowhere to go during the cold months.

So saying, all flood-prone areas in the region were cordoned off. The government checked the extent of loss or damage and accordingly allotted land & compensation money to the people.

While one got Rupees two lakhs, sufficient land and a prefab hut courtesy Hindustan Prefab Limited, another got just Rs. 12,000/-, land and hut excluded. A third got none of the above.

And so houses started coming up even before the funds could be released by the government. The prefab tents were decorated with traditional Ladakhi beds and tables. Everyone was keen on getting their lives back on track.

Then it all came to a rude halt. Followed by a strong jolt. The prefab huts were proving to be impossible to live in. While the day made them too hot, the nights made the windows freeze up like popsicles while everything else got damp with the high condensation levels.

This was just the beginning of the problems. If prefab huts were causing a problem on side, the other side had no money. And the houses needed money to go forward. And money wasn’t being released as fast. Of the 125-crore relief budget, only Rupees 62 crores had been released. Some on the other hand had been promised but hadn’t gotten any compensation money at all.

So not only were the people who were forgotten or deemed unfit for compensation suffering because their losses weren’t high enough, but those who got land and money as compensation were suffering just as much. All because of one reason.

The whole nation including the government, NGOs and other organisations stepped on the relief and compensation gas pedal blindly. No research of the political structure, economic situation and fragility of the eco system was made before barging into the place.

Though everything was done in all goodwill, the result was a hasty, temporary solution that benefited neither the people nor put the government in good light.

After much observation, everybody involved in relief and rehabilitation of the flood affected victims will agree on one thing. The people didn’t really need our tents, prefab huts or mud houses that were built and put up wherever possible. All the people needed were time and money. The near and dear ones took care of the rest.

Ladakh is a place with a very strong social structure, one that can be seen to rise above every relief and rescue operation. Whatever their condition, the people did not abandon their own. Everyone stuck together, helping those in need. Even to this day, one year later.

Shelter was provided ungrudgingly. No rent was taken. Food was divided evenly. Land was restored by all. Crops were planted for a mourning neighbour after restoring the eroded top soil. Whatever their suffering, everyone shared it equally. Like one big family.

While the people still wait hopefully that this year will finally get them back on their feet, the mistakes made in this case cannot go unnoticed.

Taking this as a learning, we need to ensure these mistakes are not repeated in case of another disaster. We as individuals and as a nation need to be more aware of the ecology and better understand the economy of a particular place before blindly helping in the way we think is right. 

The Tricolour Still Flutters

Every year, on the 15th of August , flags are hoisted with the same gusto, trumpets blown with the same precision and marches led with the same fervour in every city of India, as they were in 1947. 

Everything, right from badges pinned on t-shirts to painted faces to flags at every nook and corner saluted the three worthy colours. It's been five months since half the country took a 'well earned' Monday off and put their feet up while the other half paid a 'truly deserving' tribute to those who fought for the India that is today. 

Yet, the badges linger in car dashboards waiting for next year, the painted faces are still alive on every Facebook album and the flags continue to flutter in the same manner, undisturbed. I couldn't help but notice one particular group of tricolour flags, babbling away to each other every morning as I passed them. There they flutter at K.R. Puram station, their plastic bodies glistening in the dusty morning sun...well above the several hundred commuters and several hundred vehicles whizzing past. 

While the famous K.R. Puram bottleneck is witness to the ten precious minutes I killed in the jam, the flags had already filtered out the tourists from the future gang leaders that the daily mail had brought in. They sorted out the Breaking News from the scandal of the day. They even managed to tease the birds flying by while sniggering at the struggling pedestrians, all at the same time. 

While I was busy trying to crack their code, I was silently wishing I was in their place. And hardly had that thought translated into a frustrated honk when a big nagging crow blessed them. And then sat a few feet away, right on their heads.

They didn't seem to mind...took it in their stride. The same principle that three fourths of the country is raised on. Traffic starting easing out. I had to take leave of my new muses for the day. 

And as I left them I made a mental calculation of how much longer it would be before the rains would strip them to freedom, when some curious bird would then suffocate in their warm hug and when they would finally land up decorating the garbage trucks. 

After about five more claim-to-fame, game-changing rallies.

Sharing the Lemon Tart

My frustration hit the roof while the water splashed all the way up to the window. Why I always end up leaving work at the wrong time is beyond me. Today’s cue was heavy rains and an unbelievable traffic jam. 

Struggling to see through the glass, my poor car getting battered by the downpour from all sides and the furious honks from everyone else around for music wasn't exactly my idea of a mid-week evening. I guess that’s the joy of having many still-single friends on the brink of marriage. It overtakes, overpowers and over dramatises everything. 

I’ve barely just recovered from the pressure of Lia getting married, when Arathi decides to drop a bomb. A link to the profile of her would-be on keralamatrimony.com No, my tea didn’t spill all over and neither did I choke. It was obviously her silly humour at play. They were clearly a mismatch because our Arathi wasn’t in the least bit sweet, polite or homely. 

So any ping now and she’ll agree with me or laugh it off with one of her wise (not) cracks. One would think, right. Instead, she spits disgust and fumes about how I’m wrong and how he’s definitely the one for her. Confusion reigns supreme. Turns out, she’s in this vile temper because her sister voiced a strong opinion in favour of this match. And thinks they are perfect for each other. 

I’m glad this was all over chat, because it was all I could do to not start giggling at that pretty picture of the future I had just painted. But when she cancelled our coffee date and called me home instead, I panicked. It wasn’t like her to be so affected by something like this. Or maybe it was just like her. Nevertheless, this is exactly why I ended up in the oh-so-serene jam right in front of her house. 

An hour and a half later, after an unnecessary kilometer long diversion, I was back at the same place, but on the opposite side of the road. I parked, whispered a rather loud hallelujah and brought out my crushed pink umbrella. It would suffice; her house was hardly 50 steps ahead. The door opened to a morose Patti Kutti and a rather cheerful mug of steaming hot tea. 

I think I saw a hint of remorse for having brought me out into that monster of a jam, but it vanished before I could be sure. I sat down and asked her to spill it out. She chose to spit it all out. All she kept repeating was that it was not like her sister to behave this way. After a good hour long venting session, she said it herself…she felt she was over reacting. That definitely won my vote and the fact that her sister was probably pmsing. 

She seemed to have made her peace with it, because she asked me what I wanted for dinner. I finally opened my mouth, only to have it shut by saying she could make me scrambled eggs and toast. Scared to aggravate all that spit out again, I said I was ok with anything. 

After a couple of repetitions of the same dialogues, we miraculously agreed and unanimously decided to go out. And cutting a long story of Coke, random starters, a gigantic sandwich and many gossipy chuckles short, I am happy to say that she had forgotten all about Mr. Wrong.

We sat amidst all the Nepalese waiters staring at us museum pieces, laughing at ourselves, re-strengthening the belief that we were born to change the world and out of the blue, what a whiny pig Dryer was. 

As we devoured the final few moments of our date, the cold tang of the lemon tart struck the warmest of chords I’ve felt in a long time. I looked at her and beamed. My girls just never fail me. 

I had come to help bring her out of the doldrums, but couldn’t help thinking how worth it that traffic jam was… for myself, my own doldrums. 

The Moth Ball

Wiping the lens of my ‘power-less’ glasses clean, I looked up, and out the window. Through the dust covered pane, I spotted an even dustier black moth hovering around the Ashoka tree nearby. It flew in and around a sleeping bat, trying to wake him up…but with no luck. 

It was a perfect morning to be doing nothing. And I was doing just that. I was physically at work, but mentally in bed. The sun yawned lazily, infecting me with the same drowsiness.

Glasses back on, I sipped on Shantamma’s piping hot filter coffee and gazed longingly at the warmth outside that beckoned ever so quietly. I could live on her coffee. It came in second, just after my granny’s. My heart turned over nauseously, as I spotted Arun return from his meeting. It was time. Time to move on, and time to get a cold stare. 

Still caught in the famous turmoil of the heart and mind, I nervously printed out my resignation letter. I was due to put my papers in that day, so that I could start serving my month long notice period. The moth had somehow flown into the office, and was fervently trying to find a way out. All the windows were shut. So I opened mine to let it out, gulped the last of the coffee, gathered my guts, picked up the letter from the printer n walked towards Arun, the VP’s office. 

Arun already knew about it. I could tell because he didn't crinkle his brow the way he usually does when he’s reading something that suddenly hits him by surprise or something he doesn't understand. He stared at my letter. I heard a girly shriek. The moth was still hovering around. I’m still not sure whether he read my resignation letter, because he signed on it without a word. And then he nodded. Ah…the polite gesture for ‘get the hell out now’. 

Letter in hand, I walked out a little dazed. That, I had not expected. I could see the stupid moth nearer my open window now. Was it terror or the habit that humans share…of sniffing every corner before taking off, that takes them insects and birds so long to find a way out? 

I went and dropped my letter on Vamsi’s desk. He’s our Accounts Head, and a good friend. He smiled and asked what happened in there. “Nothing” I replied, nonchalantly. He stared. I narrated what had happened inside. And in his characteristic style, he gave me his famous smile that had a hundred connotations to it and kept my letter inside. I turned and walked out.

The walk from his cabin to my table is barely 10 meters, but my mind had completed two marathons by the time I got there. Why hadn't Arun said anything? What was he thinking? Why was his shirt stained with a green patch? What had Vamsi inferred from all this? Why did he always have to give me that infuriating smile? Was I doing the right thing? What if the known devil was indeed going to be better than the unknown? I had reached my table. 

The whizzing pipes on my screen saver echoed the state my mind was in. I noticed my window was shut. Had the moth managed to get out? If not where was the little guy? And then I saw him. Wedged in between the sliding window, there he was, in a black ball, all slumped and defeated. 

Someone had rammed the door shut on his face, making him regret wanting to ever fly out of the office...forever. 

MEET THE HOMIES

DATED: WAY BACK IN 2005

So Adithi Mathews and I just walk in to C-24B, after settling the pending scores from our previous birth with the hostel warden (Mr. Kulwant Singh), hoping that's the end of it. Little did we know what awaited us at the hostel department in the MIT campus for the next two years. But that's many stories flattened together, and not at all fair to mix one with the other.

So coming back to the present...Adithi, mum...dad... me, mum... dad... and 20 odd bits of luggage later, land at the doorstep of our home to be. It's locked. So now we have to run around searching for some invisible person, in an unfamiliar campus, to get the keys.

No sweat there. After a few wrong turns in the scorching heat, we find the caretakers office. Surprise.. no waiting. We get our house keys immediately (so unlike what we've been used to at Bangalore), and a welcoming smile.

I warmed up to the place immediately.

Trotting back to the quarters, I eyed the lazy cows lying down in the small patches of shade. They weren't in the least bothered. But I was. The cows in Manipal are minuscule! They're such dwarfs, that our Bangalore cows can sneeze them down in a second.

We're back at C-24B now...enter to see a government hospital like 1BHK, with 4 pencil-sized beds that look like they have not been touched for years, floors carpeted with 6" of fungus, windows that cannot be opened because of the rusted fungus, cupboards that creak if you even so much as look at them, and a back door that seems to open only from the outside. The loo however, is the best part...airy, spacious and with a mini tub (tank)!

We grab the inner room, leaving the hall to the other girls who will join us as housemates. Adithi's efficient dad swings into action by buying us a big lock, and seals our room with it, accompanied by a sweet little note, 'BOOKED BY ADITHI AND SUSHMITA'. :)

We return the next day, to see that our other 3 housemates, Prarthana, a teddy bear she keeps referring to as teddu and Arathi, have already settled in, quite comfortably. They got the hall, thanks to our note. ;)

After an awkward 'hi' and 'how was the night', we scurried into our room. And so the scrubbing started. I looked like a class 'A' monkey, up on the window...holding on to the grills for dear life, as mum squeezed the cloth after every wipe 'n' handed it over to me. Adithi on the other hand, as daintily as the word can get, wiped her side clean, pulled out a set of new sheets, pink in color, 2 large as life pillows and a BLANKET.

At my quizzical stares, she said, "O i'll feel cold...i feel cold at the drop of a hat". BELIEVE ME, there hasn't been a day, in the summer, winter or rainy seasons when she has not used that blanket.

I'm so sorry, but i forgot to introduce two other very important people here - Namita liz Koshy and Elizabeth Abraham.

So there sat the giant spoilt blonde from Abudhabi, moping all morning because the a/c room she was promised wasn't available. She dumped her bags at our place and marched off to the warden's office. She promptly returned in a bit, with Nam and a set of keys. They were to stay in quarter C-36A, a small distance from ours by night, and a really long one while monitored by the sun. Off they went, baggage and all. The only thing that kept Lia going was that her best friend from Abudhabi was to be their third housemate. Nam however dint look too pleased to be stuck with these two glue sticks.

I couldn't help but crack up after she left...this was going to be a riot. Me and five mallus. 

A spicy coconutty bond that little did I know, was to last forever. 

The rest of the day goes in sprucing the place up and hearing Adi swoon at every movement of Paapu's saying...awww.....she's so round and cute!!

The clammy air gave way to a morose night, where sad goodbyes met teary eyes, and leaky noses met reluctant shoulders. I settled into my space, grinned sadly at a picture where mum, dad and granny grinned right back, and said a soft goodnight to my mallus. 

The tired arms and legs accelarated sound sleep...the sadness within soon melted into a nervous uncertainty that awaited tomorrow - our first day at college.