• Little To Laugh About
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  Divya Meenakshi Chandramouli

• Double Scoop Sundays
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  Divya Meenakshi Chandramouli

The Useless Article

Saturday, July 16, 2005 | 1 comments

by

Mahwash Ajaz

U.N. Sex Crimes in Congo: Prostitution, Rapes Run Rampant
By Brian Ross, David Scott, and Rhonda Schwartz

A Culture of Fear

One 14-year-old girl from Bunia was on her way to the village well for water, local police said, when two blue-helmeted U.N. troops, from Morocco, stopped her. One of the soldiers raped her, she said.

"We know that these people came to bring peace to this country," Dieudonne Shabani, the victim's mother, told ABC News. "So how come the same men who come to bring peace are doing this to my daughter? It really revolted me."

The family took their devastated daughter to the police and a doctor from an aid group filed a rape report with the United Nations. The next day, the family said the Moroccan commander from the United Nations came and insulted them by offering money for the case to be dropped. Nothing has been heard since.

At this point, said the Rev. Alfred Buju, the town's Catholic priest, the people fear the U.N. personnel.

"They're saying even to young girls, be careful to not be taken by those peacekeepers," he said.

Buju had his own exposure to the U.N. problem when he said he witnessed two Pakistani U.N. troops sexually assault a teenage girl in a church convent one morning last spring. After filing a report with U.N. officials, he said he was promised that the two offending soldiers would be expelled from the U.N. mission. But one month ago, Buju said he saw one of the soldiers involved in the assault at a U.N. checkpoint 25 miles away.

This excerpt has been taken from here.

"It's a good thing that didn't happen to me."

Is that what you are thinking?

Well. It could happen to you. It could happen to anybody. It doesn't make a difference if you are not living in Congo. You could be working in a nice airconditioned office, with educated, lively co-workers; you could be on your way out from your house to get an ice cream; you could be coming home from school/university; you could be within your family; you could be anywhere. You don't have to be in Congo to have to face this.

I'm trying to find where the most irony lies. Is it in the fact that you are not safe anymore even from the people around you? Is it that more than 150 allegations were made against the UN employees themselves in Congo? Is it that sexual crimes have become so blatant, so profound that we have found it ever so convenient to let it go out of our conciousnesses when we drop our children at schools… when we want to take a walk out on the streets… when we feel that we are surrounded in a work atmosphere… and need to make a living?

Funny. Each one sounds better than the last.

What provokes me the most to write this has to be this little anecdote shared by a friend on one of the communities on Orkut. She was talking about how she walked out the door and a young boy — barely in his teens — sang cheap songs at her… and later someone made loud smacking noises…

On the forum she wanted to know what exactly went on in the minds of these people to come up with such idiocies and what made them do what they did… of course, she said, psychological reasonings could be endless… but she really wanted to hear it from one of these perpetrators themselves.

What does it take to work the insides of a sexual harasser or a molester — was the question on that forum. What they wanted to know was what could possibly make someone do something … (see, I do not even have a name for this something… can we name something like this anything else than something?) … like that…?

I'm thinking I wouldn't want to worry about what goes on inside his head. I'd want to get out of there. And fast.

But her query really did begin to be an irritant stimulus and I started to browse through articles, in my brain and elsewhere, what exactly went behind the bars of the psychopath. Instead of going there I found myself looking at a couple of statistics as given by the UN and PeaceWomen websites. Desensitizing begins and I see statistics par statistics rolling off the charts here. Dr. Shazia, Mukhataran Mai and Micheal Jackson, of late, come to mind and I am still stuck wondering where exactly I'm supposed to give the Best Irony Prize. Desensitizing continues perhaps. It is a little wonder how I am thinking what I thought initially. Am I glad it's not me.

Our shudders will not prevent us from these crimes, ladies and gentlemen. We can be victims today, tomorrow, whenever. Newspapers that dot children's names under sexual crimes could very well be our children. For those whose children they really are probably were thinking, just like you and I, sipping coffee, thanking stars. What made them suffer? What can we do to stop this menace from entering our lives?

I don't have answers and interestingly enough neither do experts. They seem to be falling deeper and deeper into pits of converging and self-conflicting ideas and theories on how to eradicate these social evils. First they say, castrate the perpetrator. Next they say — no … that's too expensive… rehabilitation is more humane and less expensive too… Then they are constantly moving people into more and more people being more and more vocal about it… last I heard they wanted to have Mukhtaran Mai over…

Is this helping? Are statistics going down? Are charts going up or down? Are we making frantic grabs at our humanism? Are we failing? Are we succeeding?

You tell me.

And if you think that this article is going to help you give or take any answers, forget it. After browsing through hours worth of websites and shocking UN webpages I'm as baffled as the next person. They are simply telling me to go hide somewhere where there are no humans around. Anyone can do this to you. It can happen anytime. I do not know how to protect myself or the people I care about. I do not know what is going to stop it all. I know that it is not safe to roam the city at night. And alone is wild step out of the imagination. You can't be trusted. I can't be trusted. Everyone and everything is quarantined.

A culture of fear is promulgated globally. Pure and good and true are things that belonged to what — the past? Notice that it is not Al Qaeda nor the American civilization that is doing any of this deliberately. We are all humans and we are all worried about what happens to our children. We all want our women to be protected, our poor sheltered and our hungry ones fed. There are no criminals thereof, so to speak. There are no terrorist groups. No secret allied forces working against the downfall of mankind. Man… it is man himself who is pushed to the edge… the same man who eats, drinks, dresses, talks and walks like you and I do… who has the psychology to rape a four year old … it is the same woman who is known to commit sex crimes against children. These are all of the same kind.

So where did we go wrong?

I am not going to answer it because I can't. I might quote statistics or psychopathological reports of diseased patients to you. I might tell you the current statements issued by women welfare workers, UN charters, policies, facts, rates of crimes, education, poverty. But that's not where your answer lies. Each of us need to find security now. Each of us need haven from the evils that increase each day. Each of us wonder whether or not we are going to be victimized.

Ask yourself. Wonder about humanity at large. Think beyond these facts for a moment and ask yourself, your family, your friends, your connections what went wrong with humanity. What has made us what we are now? What is the true nature of man and how far along is he from it right now as we speak?

The author herself confesses her limited vision of humanity and fails to understand that so many people could do so many wrongs. Maybe I am naïve. I do not know. But man's inhumanity to man made countless thousands mourn. And I am one of them.

I will not answer anything. I confess I am devoid of them. All I have are questions. And the purpose of this perhaps, useless article, is to ask them from you. I may have begun this article thinking I could reach a conclusion… but now I sadly realize… that there is none.

Except Peace.

Little To Laugh About

Thursday, April 14, 2005 | 9 comments

by

Divya Meenakshi Chandramouli

Mansi* is a young woman, whose attitude towards life is quite simply, bindaas. This thirty something jewellery designer moulds any girl’s best friend in intricate designs that reflect a refreshingly creative mind. The dancing bug caught her early and she has been dancing for as long as she can remember. The several photographs of stage performances pinned on her soft board stand testimony to her dancing ability. Mansi’s joie de vivre influences all and sundry who chance upon interacting with her.

There seems to be little wrong with this description. Wait a minute, did I say little? For that precisely, is the problem. Mansi suffers from Achondroplasia, a genetic disorder that stunts growth. Yes, Mansi is what we commonly refer to as a ‘dwarf’. Achondroplasia is caused by defective matching of genes that leads to distorted body proportions. In most cases, the upper torso is developed whereas the upper and lower limbs remain largely underdeveloped. Achondroplasics have a shorter life span of about forty years as the lack of space restricts the functioning of the heart and the lungs. In certain cases, speech might be slurred or screechy. According to endocrinologists, the available treatments are painful and most patients can ill afford them. Doctors the world over are devising methods by which Achondroplasics can avail a feasible, affordable medical solution.

Yet anybody who suffers from this dreaded disorder will tell you that the physical battle is far less painful than the social battle. Courtesy a documentary exercise in college, I had the opportunity to get a glimpse into the lives of people affected by Achondroplasia.

Manikandan* is employed as a mascot by an amusement park in Chennai, Tamil Nadu. Like most other fathers, his two-year-old daughter is the apple of his eye. His professional life begins each afternoon, when he dons a costume to amuse several other tiny tots. While the rest of us fuss over the sweltering heat, Mani seems immune. It’s just another day where the mask is all that matters. After all, day after day, his grimaces go unnoticed. The children at the park greet the masked Mani with a mixed bag of emotions. While some scream with glee, some others seem hesitant to shake his hand. The parents seem far more eager, shoving their children’s palms into the mascot’s. After several cameras click away, the audience watches as Mani and his friends take to the stage. Judging by the cheers, this seems to be everybody’s favourite part of the show. As I speak to Michael, the event coordinator, he seems completely in favour of Achondroplasics working as mascots. In the lower rung of society, it’s their best shot of earning an income, he claims.

Earlier that morning, we – my fellow director and I – spent time interviewing Mani’s family and neighbours. His wife does not suffer from the same disorder and she remains a few inches taller than Mani. This drew my attention to a few almost unknown facts. Achondroplasics do get married. They are also capable of producing perfectly healthy children. Interestingly, Mani also supports his aging mother who sings praises of her son’s benevolence, disillusioned by the attitude of her other ‘successful’ children, who couldn’t be bothered.

Mani’s neighbours seem nonchalant about his physical state. Having said that, we did hear the odd teasing phrase or two (courtesy the fuss made over the camera); but by and large things seemed to be at ease in this little colony of concrete shacks. The people around him vouched for Mani’s pleasant demeanour and the women were more than happy to have an in house entertainer for the children. As Mani’s wife rustled up the afternoon meal, he looked animated for the first time in the day. His eyes light up as he narrates his acting experiences for a few Kollywood films and few other television serials. Just as the afternoon sun got merciless, Mani shared with us his one ambition – to secure a government job and earn a secure income.

There might be marked differences in the quality of life that Mansi and Mani lead but it’s support and security they both seek the most. While Mansi has parents who gave her strength to discover the world, Mani has the love of his family. Mansi’s parents and sister are her best friends who see her through thick and thin. Not for a minute was she ostracized from family gatherings. It’s this progressive thinking extended by the family that has helped Mansi overcome all inhibitions and design her own dreams. Mani might not have been the beneficiary of progressive thinking but he has still managed to make something of his life. He is a doting husband and a proud father who wants to give his child a world, much better than his.

Mani and his Achondroplasic friends have taken fate in their stride as they set out to make the world laugh. You see them everywhere – an amusement park, a circus, a PR event for a children’s clothing store. Yet, none of us see through the masks. In an effort to make themselves heard, the Achondroplasics who work within the Tamil entertainment industry have formed an association. This is the first step in the right direction to fight exploitation of any kind. They seem determined to foray into different fields where their skills can be put to use.

At the other end of the spectrum, I was shocked to discover that it’s so-called elite society that wears prejudices on its sleeve. In certain cases, Achondroplasic children born to affluent parents are shunned and kept away from the glare of society. A sense of shame seems palpable, so much so that a successful doctor who happens to suffer from Achondroplasia refused us an interview. This only made me realise that even success does not bring off this mask that repeated rejection has forced them to wear.

These people are far above our pity. Just like any of us, they are individuals who need love, support and encouragement to blossom forth. It’s time we, the world around, turned more sensitive to the needs of those whose lives cannot be taken for granted. After all, this is no laughing matter.



* names of individuals have been altered to protect their privacy.

Haven't I Seen You on Orkut?

Wednesday, April 06, 2005 | 6 comments

by

Zainab Mahmood

[This article can be downloaded as a Word document from here.]

In a world where MMS, blogging and e-magazines have redefined how we communicate and what we read, what more are the changes we as users have to get accustomed to? As the world gears up for 4-G (think Matrix and sci-fi concepts becoming a reality), we are no longer a global village that we were in the 90’s. We are for all practical purposes, e-citizens. Almost everything and everyone has an online presence. If it’s out there, chances are you can Google it, if you can’t it is either pre-historic (read Adam and Eve era) or has gone out of existence.

With mIRC, Yahoo! chat and discussion boards as the forerunners, today we are in a much bolder and more multifarious world of software and web programs. Orkut is the newest kid on the block, combining popular features from messengers and online discussion boards. Leaving offline messages and threads of posts have been incorporated Orkut style to produce an online community which no one has fully understood as yet. That hasn’t stopped millions of users from going to no ends to gain access and rumour has it e-bay is even selling ’invites’! The majority of the users are Brazilian, which makes sense as this time last year a Google software engineer Orkut Buyukkokten designed this little concoction and named it after himself. The ’beta’ version running today boasts of millions of orkuteers, with the Pakistanis occupying the third spot (one up on Indians, go figure?). Statistically, 50% of orkuteers are single and majority of them fall into the 18-25 age category, although the most senior of its citizens run all the way up to 50+. The question is why are all these people here?

Initially, the sceptics wrote off Orkut as a glorified ’chatting’ medium and a passing fad, with competition from existing online communities such as Multiply and Friendster. But if truth be told, it’s far from dying out. Scrapping has changed people’s habits; think delayed online messaging and less hassle than email or sms. Not every thought is worthy of an email or call, and how else can you share a single conversation with a countless number of friends without having to send multiple emails or texts? On the other hand, the voyeuristic nature of Orkut cannot be underestimated. People’s lengthy profiles, photo albums and scrapbooks make for entertaining perusal and before you know it, you’ve spent half an hour going from one scrapbook to another to another, following a conversation, till you ended up on a stranger’s vacation pictures wondering how you got there. There is nothing like the freedom to ’watch’ others without feeling like a trespasser or leaving a trace.

There are several glitches in Orkut at the moment and needless to say a few good features. People have taken the personal profile section far too seriously posting lengthy descriptions of their pastimes and favourite books and the other categories have pre-conceived options, which leave the users with little discretion. Don’t get me started on the idea of listing yourself as someone’s fan or rating their Karma, or secretly counting the number of ice-cubes, smileys or hearts on your own page. Whether you see these features as harmless accessories or insults to your intelligence, the question is, when did everything become rate-able? Of late though, Orkut has gone into spamming mode. These days all I seem to be getting is an enormous number of unwelcome ’add me to your friend list’ requests. Orkut definitely has to come up with a better filtering system or else soon it will start resembling a junk box, which could bring its downfall.

To be fair, something good definitely came out of orkuteering for me. I was able to reconnect with old lost friends, certain acquaintances and friend’s friends as there’s nothing simpler than leaving a scrap to break the ice. You can play detective and carefully investigate someone’s Orkut activities before adding them to your list based on similar interests. So far so good; I haven’t added any perverts or death-row inmates, but have managed to cash in on few Orkut-inspired ideas and projects.

Let’s not forget the strangest type of Orkut behaviour, which has been cases of impostors, people masquerading as someone else, replete with family pictures and personal details. I fail to understand what this achieves, but then again an idle mind does breed some pretty eccentric activities. A major plus concerns Orkut’s format of having the picture and personal profiles alongside a user’s scraps, which makes interaction a little less dubious and a little more intimate. You feel like you are interacting with an actual person rather than online presence.

So once you’ve gone through all the trouble to fill out your profile, added 30+ friends and joined 15 or so communities to show off your varied interests, (how else can I tell people I read Sufi poetry and watch Will and Grace) then what?

Moreover, Orkut doesn’t have much of a user-to-user interface. If you are online at the same time as the people on your list, there is no way for you to know, and either way, beyond scrapping there isn’t much more you can do. To maintain its loyal following Orkut might eventually have to add calendars, address books and possibly blogs, so that orkuteers can enjoy a range of activities within its boundaries.

The saving grace for Orkut may be possibly its communities, which are spearheading the newest form of limitless global social interaction. A mature form of online discussion boards, there is never a dull moment in some of the interesting communities. From intellectual banter on the current political climate, to the latest news about TV channels and new pop acts, people are vying to be heard. As always snobbery has found a way in and Orkut elitism dictates the rules and regulations on certain communities where members can only be invited to join. In all seriousness they are turning out to be melting pots where people with shared interests and similar professions or educational pursuits can share ideas, technical know-how and even find prospective ’work’ partners. Everyone is here to expand their horizons and there is nothing like learning vicariously while sitting in the comfort of your own home. This has opened the door for countless opportunities and advancements, and a few projects such as e-magazines and similar collaborations have already taken off as a result of orkuteering.

At the moment, Orkut does not allow users to exert much control except in filling out profiles, deleting their own posts or editing a few community features (if you are the moderator). It will certainly have to become more flexible so that orkuteers can customize their pages and activities beyond what they can do now. The fact that it is still in its testing stage hasn’t stopped the creators from starting a Media section. E-journalism is all the rage and Orkut certainly has hinted that it has a broader vision than one would assume at first glance. Regularly updated columns, articles and entertaining blogs from chosen writers have been posted up. Let’s see if it succeeds in capturing the market, as people interested in this sort of activity are most likely loyal visitors if not contributors to established places like Chowk and Cerebrate.

There are plenty of Fisks, Kureishi’s and Lahiri’s out there, which is evident from the painstaking rants on many communities and the countless number of blogs advertised in personal profiles on Orkut. It seems as if people have a greater need today to share, to be heard and to interact with other e-citizens, more often and with greater ease than online chats or messengers permit. What better to fill this void than Orkut, the online community of today that could serve as the biggest database for developers and market researchers in the future?

Last of all what Orkut has undoubtedly achieved is that it has broken down barriers and introduced a new form of communication. E-morality is the new principle which the orkuteering generation is struggling to define. Censorship, what is allowed and what isn’t, what should be tolerated and what shouldn’t, how far does freedom of speech extend, are all fluid concepts right now. What will come to be known as uniquely Orkut behaviour and Orkut-language is in the conceptual stage at the moment. Now what remains to be seen is where the creators are headed with Orkut. There is a great deal of potential here, we can only wait and see if it is realized. Nuisance or necessity, only time will tell, but Orkut and the likes of it are certainly going to be the next big thing.

But what is for certain is, newer, greater and more complex e-activities bring in greater possibilities and heavier responsibilities. We now not only have to rediscover what our online ethics will be but also need to ascertain what are we really getting out of all this? Online recreation is all well and good but there is more to maintaining an online presence than occasionally blogging, leaving a scrap or two or reading community threads. We are just beginning to realize what is out there for the taking. In a world where everything is being up-sized once again, bigger laptops, bigger phones, even web communities will have to adapt and expand offering a wide range of services under one roof. In the meantime, orkuteering is the newest sport in town, so gear up and scurry on, there are communities to rummage through, photo albums to snoop around in and people to scrap! After all the honeymoon period can’t be over so soon!

Double Scoop Sundays

Thursday, March 31, 2005 | 7 comments

by

Divya Meenakshi Chandramouli

It happened one fine day, like most other things. An erudite bunch of twenty somethings, fired by the passion to make a difference, all set to make the most of a rare opportunity. An opportunity presented by the judicial authorities of Chennai, Tamil Nadu that welcomed voluntary organizations, to help with proceedings at the State Juvenile Justice Homes. My lot was asked to help out with the Girl’s home, which housed an orphanage for underprivileged children.

After a thorough interrogation, which summed up the attitude of the staff towards ‘outsiders’, the perplexed watchman let us walk through the gates. I watched as the activities came to a stand still and all eyes assessed the ‘Akkas’ (tamil for elder sister) and ‘Annas’ (tamil for elder brother) who had trespassed into their world. There were some hushed speculations as to what our motive might be. Undeterred, we kept pace with our guide who led us to a sprightly group of thirty girls. Clean skirts, clipped nails, two plaits that dangled forth- it was obvious that they had taken some effort to make an impression upon us. Impress us, they did. Be it with their cheeky repartees to questions that undermined their intelligence or their attention to detail that reflected in dance impersonations of Kollywood’s biggest stars. Quite simply, these young girls were made of sterner stuff than the dilapidated buildings, which was their home.

It isn’t as if they lacked the intelligence. It isn’t as if they are denied a basic education. Yet, their minimal interaction with the world outside left them vulnerable to strangers with ulterior motives. The need of the hour was interaction with different individuals that would change their behavioural patterns. In less fancy terms, we were their first taste of the world outside. Through origami, painting and English lessons we had broken past more than just ice. This was more than an arts and crafts class. Children who have the love and support of a family and a secure place to call home would only take back the paints, paper and brushes from these sessions. These girls were learning to colour the bigger picture. These girls were learning to recognize the beautiful mornings even as we taught them the English greeting. Roopa, the artist, Lakshmi the danseuse, Priya, the teacher… this was a start, marked by newfound confidence. Fostering an interaction between the group, teaching them to share and reach out, it’s amazing how wiping the slates clean can bring about such significance. As the pink and purple excitement continued, you couldn’t help but wonder if people would give them a chance to discover themselves? To just be children?

Two fun Sundays later, we were confronted with a strange problem. The girls, who were starved of any male attention and constantly fed on imaginative filmi plots, staked their claim on the Annas, who were their tickets to an escape route. It came as a surprise, because we thought they were responding well to our sessions. Little did we anticipate that this turn would unearth certain ghastly truths.

These girls are only aware of two kinds of men – the men in their families who remained helplessly stricken by poverty, reducing them to the state of orphans and men who took advantage of their naiveté. The few good men who did exist were from the movies. The girls would bare their body and soul, only to be loved by a man. You feel immense pity for a young prostitute, forced into the flesh trade by malicious forces but what you feel for these girls is indescribable. After years of rigid suppression, their hormones eventually get the better of them. It’s almost as if they were left with no choice, but to fall for sleazy innuendos. Since the authorities do everything in their might to keep the men at bay, their sexual frustrations boil over. Lesbianism is rampant amongst the older girls in the orphanage. The situation stands at a stagnant lose-lose. If you rope in the men, you have teenage pregnancies. If you don’t, the girls resort to sexual exploration amongst themselves.

How then could you reach out to make the girls aware of the diverse relationships that a man and woman share? As father and daughter, as teacher and student, as colleagues at any workplace or as best friends? Unfortunately, not much has been done to break these barriers as an empathizing Superintendent delivered the ultimatum- she understood the circumstances better than any of us, but she wasn’t prepared to be harassed by the system. The group could stay if the men opted out.

This was a learning process, indeed. It isn’t always easy to watch your liberal ideas being squashed under rubber chappals. While penning these thoughts down, my attention drifts towards the system itself. While a commendable effort was being made to make operations more transparent, a great deal still remained flawed. The wardens of the homes still continue to employ these girls as free manual labour to clean their quarters in exchange for a tastier meal. Exploitation notwithstanding, I don’t blame any of the girls who grab hold of this opportunity for the meals served at the home gets monotonous. The hugest challenge that the Superintendent faces is the indifference that the girls show towards their staff. If the staff fails to understand their requirements, the consequences range from ripping apart furniture to slashing wrists. This relationship seems to be jostled by desperation at both ends. It should be noted that the staff consider this as a routine government job and remain oblivious to methods of change.

Despite several events that came to light, we persisted, sans the men. As the Sunday trouper’s visits grew more frequent, we earned the grudging cooperation of the hitherto sniggering wardens. Maybe the girls would listen to us, after all. Maybe this was the way to keep them from staging a rebellion. The wardens seemed more willing to let the girls attend our Sunday sessions and at times we were even greeted with a smile.

It’s been over a year now, since we embarked upon this mission. Alright, scratch that. We didn’t change lives overnight. Yet, with time, the equations did change. The constant bickering amongst the girls has lessened. It seems less of an issue now if one group had more sheets of paper to paint on or a few more beads to string together. The tell tale stories of woe didn’t vanish altogether but they make fewer appearances. These small changes accounted for bigger changes in the group’s attitude towards their own lives.

None of this happened because ours is a gifted group. We walked in as just another bunch trying to bridge a divide. There has been more than one occasion where we have yelled at the top of our voices to get a point across or refused to fulfill certain unreasonable demands. It only goes to show that a group such as this will break down the walls, if you are willing to lend them your ears. Is there a point to all of this? There is. I’m sure there are many other groups making an effort to reach out. If you have the time and the will, put your hand up. At the risk of sounding preachy, I shall tell you that this has been one of my better life experiences. If for nothing else, you’ll start to view your life a little differently.