‘in the name of development…’
Bataaiye kahan se bachegi beti…? jab ghar hi nahi honge… sar pe chhat nahi hogi to kahan se bachegi beti? (when we’ll have no roof above our heads, when there’ll be no homes left, how will our daughters be safe?) A girl in pink shirt, a little younger to me, shouting alongside many other whose homes were being demolished right in front of their eyes as they watched the walls being torn apart along with countless memories that were plastered on to them. “she is so young! She should be enjoying her childhood… she should be playing… she should be studying. Instead, she is holding her family together in the worst of times”- I thought, as I hopped onto the bike with Achintya. It was too much to take, we were heading back to home… to our comfortable beds.
Prayagraj ( earlier known as Allahabad), a holy city, situated around the basin of two of the most worshipped and sacred rivers, Ganga and Yamuna and a mythical river Saraswati (and the confluence of these three collectively called as “Triveni Sangam”), witnessed a cruel and massive demolition drive this Ardhkumbh, 2019. Branded as a massive success, which most of us would not find any reason to disagree with, the Ardhkumbh came down as curse upon people living in the slums in and around the area where Kumbh happens. I was left in disbelief when I saw with my own eyes… wiping out entire communities, demolishing houses and markets that were built as long ago as the independence, providing no habilitation or compensation to those who were left homeless while spending thousands of crores on statues and name change and hysterical publicity, taking away memories, snatching privacies away, denying school education to kids, brutal felling of trees… what kind of development or success is this? Here are mere glimpses of what in the name of development was done to the city of Allahabad and some stories from the city that otherwise go untold with hopes that it’ll bring, even if a little, awareness.
The entire city of Allahabad was full of such images of people, breaking down their own ‘homes’.
“apne hi haanthon se apna ghar tod rahe hain”
When asked about the same they said that bulldozers will tear down the house to shreds and nothing that will remain will be of any use so they are doing it on their own…“ekdum se notice aata hai bas… hatado, aur koi compensation nahi… kuch nahi.”
Suddenly your own house that you had gradually grown an attachment to… that you love so dearly… all the memories and periods of life that you shared with the place, in a matter of seconds, would be obliterated.
I couldn’t quite put a finger on… when was the last time I’ve had this emotion? Where else I’ve seen this sordid imagery? And suddenly my head was filled with this thought, “Are we in the middle of a war zone… are we in Syria?”
The sheer intensity of demolition reminded me of the images I had seen of Syria. There are people suffering everywhere. The whole city looked like fighter jets had bombarded the place down to rubbles.
The remains of a temple which was established in 1838 and speaking about cows being venerated in India…where are the Gaurakshaks?
The lady covers the leftover portion of the temple with the curtain in order to protect the idols. “humare ghar to theek hai… 200 saal purana mandir bhi gira diya”. Faith and belief are strange. They cared more about the temples that were demolished than their homes, I wonder why.
This house was demolished just a couple of days ago. The person with a bandage wrapped around his wrist had hurt his hand while taking down his own house.
She lived alone in this house after marrying her daughters off. Her neighbours were her only help and family, but now there is no neighbourhood left. Every house of this slum had been demolished.
This used to be her house-cum-room before her family left, with a bed large enough for her to lie down and small enough to fit inside this tiny room.
This family was the neighbour of that old woman who lived alone. They all lived on a street called “Kali Sadak”. Named after goddess Kali this street is on the highest point of the area where Kumbh happens. During the floods, Kali Sadak acts as a natural dam on which Kalisadak is situated and protects the city from inundation.
To make way to the temple where god resides homes were destroyed where humans lived.
“School jaate bachon ko… kaise padhaein…?”
One of the daughters was back home for a short while with the grandkids who were returning from their tuition classes.
“Hum log andar hi baithe they jab vo log aae chillte hua, bahar aao… bahar aao, tumhare pass 1 ghanta hai apna sara saman nikalne ke lia… hum log yaha 30 saal se rehre hai…hum log ki yahin… puri paidaish yahin hai. Hum log kaha jae teen teen bache leke” “Koi khabar nahi… na koi notice… aur ab na hi koi muavza… compensation”
The girl was supposed to be giving her exam today… but…“Kya padhna acha lagta hai?… Muje?…. sab kuch” “Kumbh ke liye kitna jagah chahiye?… jitna jagah unko lena ho lelo uske baad hum logon ko seedha bata diya ki hum log ko rehne ki ek kamre ki jagah bhi nahi hai, kahi bhi nahi”
A family taking their house down brick by brick, piece by piece… so that they can save as much as they can… before the bulldozers run over their house destroying everything. I was reminded of the concept of ‘huzun’ as explained by Orhan Pamuk in his book ‘Istanbul’. The subtle bliss and calmness that overwhelms you when you see the melancholy of worn out things. The colors of the houses in this bastis were extraordinary. Bright fluorescent colored broken walls were all that I could see. A part of my brain was telling me that these would help me create good photographs while the other part knew all these colors will perish with the houses and the people living in them will all be gone… is this what they call development? They really do have more colors in life… literally and metaphorically. There was a vivid beauty in those cracked and bulldozed old houses, which is hardly seen in which can hardly be found in a city made of concrete these days. It felt as if this kind of vestige beauty was being taken away from Allahabad. Shouldn’t we save them? It feels like city life is a colorless life… monotonous life…. like all the colors have eroded away. Cities, megacities, metros, malls, concrete jungles… all of this looks so monotonous. People work 9 to 5 following a command feed… stay in apartments… homes have become night shelters… there is no interest, they earn and they spend… that’s what their lives have become.
While trying to capture the agony and sheer scale of the destruction through my lens, I met a couple which left me introspecting about my own life. Few years ago, they had lost their daughter in a road accident and today their house had been uprooted and yet they were trying to find happiness in the little moments of joys.
They invited us into their bulldozed skeletal house… there was no roof, only broken walls and a door was left. They told us where they kept their bed. The corner where they had built their one stove kitchen. They told us how they used to live in this house before they destroyed everything along with the decades and decades of memories they shared with it…
“aap dono ki umar kitni hogi” — I Asked.
“Inse poochoge to ye to abhi bhi unnees (19) saal batengi” — said the husband about his wife who was blushing with a big smile on her face. Their optimism and positive attitude towards life, despite all the miseries they had faced, made me question myself. We have so much more than we actually need…still we aren’t as happy and content as they are, whereas they did not have anything of their own still they were happier. They certainly knew how to live life better. The more privileges you have the less you appreciate it and the less you have the more you appreciate it. Why…?
A lady as soon as we left that house offered us tea from her stall. I could feel so much dust in my mouth and throat after roaming around the whole day, that I just wasn’t in the mood of tea at the moment, but it was being offered to me so generously that I couldn’t say no. We tried to pay her for it but she refused saying, “beta mai apse paise nahi le sakti aap hum log ke lia itna kare ho thoda hume bhi karne do”.
We tried convincing but she refused again and again… It felt a bit embarrassing to think how someone like me, who comes from a well off family, still keeps a track of every penny I spend…while they, despite having so little refused to accept money and was so selfless and generous… I was ashamed.
We were about to leave when a man came and took us to the spot where his home was and said, “mera ghar yahan tha, main yahan kuch kuch karta hun aap meri bhi photo kheechna”. He started to move around the logs and bricks slowly. I started to capture… all of a sudden a feeling of guilt struck, in spite of all this mishappening I was making them do all of this… but that is also when I realised how that person saw a hope in us… who knows if something happens perhaps he wanted to be a part of it.
The remains of the market which was established during the time of independence. I was standing at this spot while Achintya was asking the way to the refugee market from people on the street. We get to know that the Refugee market was there only where I was standing on a broken pillar trying to capture the Ratan Hotel in front of it. There was literally nothing left. “Itihaas to ulat pulat kardia hai”
I wish I could explain what I felt. I wish I could write about how the dust smelled.
“hum bahut pareshan hai… ”
We are living here for 35 years. They came here for the office which was there in front but as they started digging from below our house also fell. There was no notice given to us. They told us that compensation will be given. They will give us how much they want to give. There are a lot more houses which will be gone.
There will be a drain build here only after that it will be decided whether this room is going to stay or not. We have heard that a road will pass from here. This will all go away.
“Bataiya kaha jae hum log…..bataiye kaha jaengay”
“hum log ke pass registry hai madam”
Up until now I had only seen demolished houses… but that day we saw a rahen-basera falling like a deck of cards right in front of our eyes with the residents sitting across the road watching helplessly.
Everyone was asking, which media are you from?… where will this get published… there was no media to cover their story… I felt, I went there as the slightest of hope as there was no one to whom they could tell their story and share their pain. A man took us to a primary school where they were temporarily staying. Suddenly a lot of them started to surround. His daughter also came and lined up in front of me and burst into tears. We were surrounded by people who were speaking all at the same time trying to share all their pain… all together… “side wale sab haasre hai” “unka kyu nahi todre sirf humare hi kyu todre hai” [dono taraf se lelo] “humne to kaha tha itna lelo hum khud todengay par nahi khud aake todke chalegae pura” “khud to AC me badi badi gaadiyon me baithke ghoomte hai” “kissi ki izzat nahi bachegi” “har ghanta apko ek news milti hai ladkiyon ke bare me hum log beghar hojaengay kaun hum log ko bachaega hum log ke ser pe chat hi nahi hai hum log kaha se safe bachengay” [logo ko ekdoosre se bada kyun banana hai barabari nahi ho sakti kya]
When I heard this girl shouting and her father standing right at her back, I could actually see myself in her. She looked so mature all of a sudden and I saw my mirror image in her. And for a second, I imagined me and my father in them. Tomorrow if this happens to me, where will I go… I stay in a flat… I won’t even have a land. All these thoughts brought tears in my eyes. I was trying to hold it in… but I could feel a crack in my throat. I had this piece of cloth covering my face from dust. If my face wasn’t covered I would have burst out. I couldn’t even look at them in the eyes, I was so devastated. That moment something happened to me I don’t know what it was. All the people shouting in the background… all the noises fading away to an absolute calm and the images getting blurred in my mind, all I could only hear was a voice in my head saying I have got to do something for these people.
That scarf was like a front wall which gave me privacy and helped me escape that moment. Think how snatching it away, would feel… that ‘escape’ is something everyone needs which was taken away from them. Even little breach in your privacy makes you feel bare… naked. How these people must be feeling… is unfathomable. Are rights and privacy really a class thing? Those people were crying in front of me I was standing there holding the mic trying to control myself from bursting out in tears. I just kept on asking myself will I be ever able to do something for these people….And that was too much to take for the day so we decided to return early.
“ye log andar se hollow nahi hote hai kya? Seriously koi itna bura kaise ho sakta hai? Sabko apne aap se hi matlab kyun hota hai. Kyun ye log doosre logo ke baare me nahi soch sakte? Kya karengay log itne paisa kama ke sabko apne lia hi kyun paisa kamana hai? Kis tarike ka vikas hai ye? Inti uuch nicch kyu hai?”
“siyani siyani gudiyaon ko leke bachpan me kaha jae… na ghar hai na diwar hai na idhar kahi rehne ka thikana hai”
“kaha sarkar ki beti bachao beti padhao kaha se bachegi….beti kaha se bachegi… aaj ka nahi 5 5 peedhi ka ghar hai ye… gareebi nahi gareebo ko hatare hai”
Durgesh, a 25 year old and his father are boatman at Sangam, they used to stay here with his family. He earns 100–200 rupees for one to and fro ride and does 2–4 rounds a day.
At around 12, two days ago the house and the temple both were made debris. He was born here… this was a 30–35 years old house… there are 5 members in his family.
“saman sara aisa hi pada h jab ghar ho admni tab hatae na”
It was amusing to meet his pets that he named Pihu… they have so little resources for themselves and yet they find enough to keep and take care of parrots… 1st class me hai bhai. School ki fees… “ab kya kare yaha dekhe ki kamae”
“sahib ji jab apko road chauda karna hai mandir girahidena hai to fir giradijiye samaan hum kya kare bacha karke usko bhi issike sath tod dijiye gira dijiye”
“Bacha ye sab bhagwaan ki leela hai aur bhagwaan sab kuch pura kardega sab kuch aaj bhi pura kar rahe hai aisi baat nahi hai aur aagay bhi karengay vo sab kuch khilaengay pilaengay zanam dene wala paalne wala marne wala ek hi hai to sari vyavastha to vo karengay na”
“aur banade to bhi achi baat hai aur na banae to bhi achi baat hai… sarkar ka humare upar upkar hai sarkar ne itne din tak humko yaha par rehne dia itne din tak pooja path karne dia ye upkaar hai unka humne sarkar ko kya dia sarkar ne to humko itna…”
“40 saal hogae… pura ittihaas hai… mai 40 saal pehle apni mataji ko sath me laaya tha yaha par unn mataji ko son 1986 me humne pura bharat bhranam kia cycle me bitha karke unko saare tirthsthaan me yatra karai uske baad aae mandir banaya, mandir bana karke yaha par pooja bhajan yehi karte hai…”
“muavja to sarkar de chuki hai itne saal unki zameen pe mai raha to yehi muavja hai, aur kya degi sarkar yehi muavja hai ki unhone jo hai 40 saal tak rehne dia ab unka tha unhone le lia koi pareshani nahi hai theek hai dedengay hume koi dikhat nahi hai… jahi vidhi rakhe ram tahi vidhi rahiye ram ram sita ram sita ram kahiye… ishwar jaise rakhe vaise rehna hai jisko jo karna hai vo kariya hume jo karna hai hum kar rahe hai ”
It was interesting to hear the opinion of a priest. His faith has really helped him bear all the sufferings and forgive all those who were responsible. He had no complaints. However, not everyone had managed to attain his level of calmness. They had complaints. They were angry. They were helpless. They were broken.
While interviewing pandit ji two kids came to see what was going on, we asked where they lived, and they took us to the spot where they lived. Their entire house was on ground and they were now living on a bed of bricks. “machine badi wali aai aur tod diya”… Cycle repair karte they… 6 log h hum gharwali… beta betiyan”
“yahi sab kuch hota tha khaate peete bache khushi se rehte they… sab bikhargaya”
I was looking through the viewfinder trying too hard to form the best possible compositions suddenly I observe the girl’s expression change through the viewfinder. It took me a while to realize that she is about to cry… am I scratching their wounds — asking them to tell me their stories again and again? Am I doing this to them — making them relive the horrifying memory? I kept the camera on one of the bricks and rushed and hugged her. And we both burst into tears…
“na kheti hai na bari hai na naukri hai na chakri hai ab kya karengay ro kar kissi tarah se haazaar do haazaar rupeeya ka karza leke paida kar rahe hai baal bachon ka pet paalre hai agar inko vaha se bhaga diya jaega to kaha jaengay… todne ko to pura Allahabad todke rakhdia lekin kahi final karpae”
“ya to Ma Ganga me kood mare ya to Ma Ganga me mela jaise club vaas karti hai vaha rahe fir teen teen mahine barsaat hota hai uske baad fir aake kaha rahengay kiske darvaje par bhagaengay… do din se nahi jaare hai kya kare”
“bhaiya ‘myself’ aata hai… myself name is Kashish Misan… my father name is Kanak Ram Misan… my mother name is Shri Devi… my class teacher name is Sapna mam… I am 9 years old… my principal name is Suna Agarwal… my brother name is Aryan… my sister name is Tanya… my grandfather name is … my grandmother name is Divya Devi”
“Mera ek chuddi aur kangan ka dukaan tha yaha pe rehte they… isko gate banaengay boundary gherengay”
“husband bhi dono yahi rehte hai humara admi bahut bimar rehta hai… humara sugar hogaya hai… pet me dikhat rehta hai kabhi liver idhar udhar… gale me operation karwae hai humesha bahut si jaanch ka kharcha hai”
“to uska kharcha aap hi karte hai?”
“vhi thele se hi kamate hai ussi me pura karte hai”
“dekho sir meri ek ladki hai tuition ghar me padhati thi ab asal me humari manati aagai hai… hum log ka ghar tuta hua hai syaan ladki hai 17 saal ki”
“rehti yahi pass hi me rehti hai halvai ki dukaan vahi upar rehti hai ab hum log sadak pe baithe syaan ladki ko kaise bithae issiliye zaroori hai”
“bas ye sochre hai kaise Ganga maiya ko paar karke do bachi ko shadi karade ab admi bhi bimar rehte hai sir kuch nahi kar sakte ab yaha toot jaega to hum log kuch kar hini sakte hai… kam se kam yaha ganga ma se sharan me kuch kama lete kha lete bachi te paal lete hai aur yaha se jaane ke baad kai ladies kama nahi sakti har jagah safety bhi nahi milta hai bas yahi hai hum keh rahe Ganga ma se ki hum log ko fir yaha basa de. Bahar jaane ke baad na ladki safe me rahegi na hum log safe me rahengay”
Everywhere it turned out that the 2019 Mela clearly had the air of being successful. It was really unfortunate to see that there was no one to share these stories. Kumbh happened but was it just about the Kumbh… a realization that makes my spine go cold is that there are many more families, many more houses that are being demolished all over the country to make way for their so-called development. Whether it’s the slums that were demolished for commonwealth games in Delhi or the ones submerged under the reservoir of Tehri dam or in Sonbhadra. What sort of development is this? How long are we going to look away? For how long will they have to suffer before we start to notice? Till when will we continue to be a hopeless silent victim of ‘development’? Those who do not speak against it, those with voices, are just as much a part of this demolition drive, as they are… I hope this little attempt of mine becomes the voice of the powerless… the victims of power.